The Greatest Gift

by Michael John Sullivan

  “Back? There’s nothing back where I have been except anger and more anger.”

  “I don’t think we are here to demand answers from anyone.”

  “We aren’t,” said Elizabeth. “We should give them what we have found.”

  “Do you think it’s any coincidence that we’ve ended up here?” Michael asked Hewitt. “I have to give them this.”

  They approached the family. They saw Joseph stop packing his belongings. “I will take care of them,” he said to Mary.

  “We need to travel now,” Mary replied.

  “Please do not leave,” Michael begged.

  “My daughter,” Hewitt said. “My daughter. I need to know if she is at peace.”

  The baby let out a short cry as Mary wrapped a blanket around Jesus. She gave him a kiss and reassured him.

  “My friends, it is cold and not a night for anyone to be out,” said Joseph. “I must find a safe and warm place for my family. Can you understand this?”

  Michael stepped closer to him. His eyes were dark brown. He could see him shivering from the brisk wind. “We have come a long way. We need to give you these.”

  He took out the cloth and handed it to Joseph. He looked at it and put it to his face, closing his eyes. He breathed deeply, letting the smell fill his body. His eyes opened, and he handed it to Mary. She touched it and held it up to her right cheek, rejoicing in how it felt. She removed the blanket and placed the cloth around Jesus before tidying him up again with the blanket.

  “Can you help us?” Michael asked.

  “What do you need?” Mary said.

  “My daughter, Hailey,” said Hewitt. “Is she safe?”

  “She is.”

  “Why was she taken from me? What good has come out of this?” Hewitt approached Mary as Joseph gave him a nervous look. “What happened to my daughter has caused my ex-wife and me so much pain. I hate this world for what it has done to us.”

  Mary held the baby close to her chest, rocking him back and forth.

  “You should leave,” Joseph said.

  “There is no need,” reassured her husband. “They will not harm us.”

  Hewitt started to cry. Michael put his hand on his back. “We should go.”

  “No, I need answers. I want to know what God who controls this world would allow such a terrible act to occur. I thought God protected his children. He never protected mine.”

  “Look in your heart for the answers,” Mary said.

  “My heart? I do not have any joy left in my heart.”

  Mary handed Jesus to Hewitt. His little legs were kicking up a storm as the blanket unraveled from around his arms. “Do you not see what has happened because of your daughter?”

  Hewitt frowned. “Pain. Doubt. Anger. Bitterness.”

  “Look deeper beyond these emotions. Look into your heart. How have you changed? What do you feel?”

  Michael listened yet stared at the baby swinging his arms and legs. He let Jesus grab his thumb as the baby smiled.

  “I want to protect every child like he or she is mine,” Hewitt said. “I want to stop the madness of this world. I want every family to be able to hug their children at night, free from danger.”

  Mary smiled. “You want what our Father wants. You are doing the work of our Father. You are helping protect the children of this world like our Father wishes.”

  Hewitt sighed as Michael gripped his shoulder. “Your son is so beautiful,” Hewitt said.

  Michael smiled, remembering the day Elizabeth was born. Strangely, he previously only recalled it with much pain as Vicki passed away that night. Now, he was only remembering the joy of his daughter’s smile. He hugged her with one arm.

  Mary put her hand on Hewitt’s face. “You decided to live your life in love for others so many mothers and fathers would sleep in peace.”

  Mary turned and handed the baby to Michael. “Let your heart beat with new life.”

  He felt his knees weaken, and he dropped to the floor, holding Jesus tightly. Mary’s face faded, and he could see Elizabeth reaching for him. In a moment, she disappeared from his sight. The church shook, and the walls vibrated around him. The concrete ceiling cracked, and a gust of hot air whipped an inferno toward him. “No!” Michael held onto Jesus, gasping for air. “Elizabeth! Go!”

  Her voice was faint. “Dad, Dad, where are you?”

  “Don’t wait for me. Get outside,” he shouted.

  The lights went out, and a mist surrounded him. Michael pulled his body up and took a deep breath. He looked in his hands. Where did he go? He surveyed the area and saw only darkness, except for a little crack of light. He started to crawl on his knees toward the opening. The mist became heavy, so he got to his feet. “Elizabeth, are you up there?” he cried out.

  There was no answer. “Elizabeth!”

  He squinted and lowered his head, gasping for any clean air. “Elizabeth,” he mumbled.

  Michael took several more steps, stumbling side to side. “Ugh,” he said, struggling to breathe. “Elizabeth,” he whispered.

  The mist clogged his lungs, and Michael fell to the floor. He crawled a few more yards before lying down. “Elizabeth,” the words barely left his lips.

  “I love you.”

  The mist dissipated a few minutes later. Michael lay motionless, his body numb and his mouth soaked with moisture. Unable to move his arms or legs, he picked his head up. A wider light shone off a small opening.

  There. There it is. The opening out of the church.

  He crawled like a snake for several yards, pushing toward his freedom. “Are you there, Elizabeth?” he asked with a little more force.

  Michael made his way out and pulled himself up, finding a small flight of wooden stairs. Each step creaked as he walked. It was a familiar sound, one he had heard often many years ago. He gathered some strength. He felt the texture of the wallpaper. “What?” he said.

  A lone picture hung on the wall near a door. He wiped away some dust and staggered backward, his face etched in bewilderment. This can’t be. “Hello, is anyone in there?” he asked through the door. “Elizabeth!” he shouted. He knocked four times and listened for a response. There was none.

  Michael looked down the hall and saw three more doors. He took a few steps toward the far end and retreated. No. This can’t be.

  He went back to the picture and wiped it again with his sleeve. “Hello,” he yelled. “Is this some sick joke?”

  He pushed on the door. A creaking noise snaked its way up his spine. He jumped and his heart skipped. Michael leaned hard on the door, opening it wider. A dresser stood in front of him. The top of it was empty, except for a lone, gold ring, sitting near the far edge. His footsteps squeaked as he walked toward the dresser. He reached across and picked up the ring. He quickly read the inscription and dropped it just as fast.

  My God. “Is anyone home? Elizabeth, are you here?” he shouted. Michael ran back to the hallway. He checked the next room and raced out. He entered the far room and exited quickly. Michael peered up the stairs and then ascended the flight two steps at a time. Out of breath, he slammed open the third-floor door. Pictures hung on the wall, covered in dust. He wiped the white coating away and stumbled back against an old wooden dresser.

  “Mom!” He jumped three steps at a time and searched the rooms on the second floor.

  Empty.

  What’s going on? Am I dreaming? Maybe I died? Maybe this is part of going to heaven? Oh God, I hope so. Or maybe I’ve gone to the other place?

  Michael took a few steps down the stairs leading to the first floor. Family pictures graced the walls. He stopped at the first one and placed his hand on it. He began to cry. “Mom,” he said. “Dad.” He touched each person in the picture. “Sammie.” He wept harder. “Connie.” He kissed the picture, noticing the reflection showing the redness in his eyes and sadness in his face. Michael took a couple more steps and looked at another family portrait. “The day
Connie got us all together for Mom and Dad’s big anniversary,” he said. Michael smiled, recalling how they went up to Jamaica Avenue to sit for a picture. “Mom and Dad were so happy that day.”

  He wiped his eyes and realized his hair had no more gray. “Bizarre,” he said to the picture, obviously not expecting a response.

  Michael found the next picture hanging a few more steps down. He didn’t notice who was in it but just looked at his own reflection again. He pushed back his hair, now thick and dark brown. His eyes were clear, and the wrinkles below them had faded. He stared for several minutes. I’m dreaming or else I’ve died. I don’t know where Elizabeth is either. Is she alive? Did she get back safely? Is she with me?

  Michael’s head began to throb. The slicing pain stretched from the bottom of his neck through his eyes. The room spun around several times, so he closed them. He clung to the banister and tried to compose himself. He lay on the stairs for several minutes, taking deep breaths.

  Some time later, still groggy, he sat up and pushed away a robe lying near his legs. Whose is this? It was light pink, thin and small, certainly not a robe for any man. Where am I now? He placed his feet on the ground, trying to determine the texture as brown floaters filled his eyes, darting back and forth like pinballs off walls. His left hand hit a pillow, big and fluffy in size. This isn’t mine.

  He rubbed his eyes, trying to steer his vision in a steady fashion. Why is the bed facing the dresser? He saw the top of a small jewelry box, slightly closed, with a gold chain dangling from the opening. Michael shook his head, trying to remove the black spot-like figures from spinning side to side in his eyes. As he took a couple of steps toward the door, his feet stumbled upon a pair of slippers, dark pink in color. He wobbled and sat down on the bed.

  He gazed at the slippers, puzzled as to who owned them. He stood back up and opened the closet, filled with women’s shirts, blouses and sweaters. Several pairs of shoes lined the floor. Am I in the right house? What happened to my father’s house? This looks like Northport.

  He walked deeper into the closet and came out with a bright red sweater. Michael put his face in it, absorbing the smell. His eyes widened.

  “Elizabeth! Elizabeth, are you home? Please Lord, please.” He raced down the hallway and barreled through her bedroom door. “What?” He didn’t move. The room was a light green and pink, with painted balloons on the walls. A bassinet was cradled in one corner while a half-made crib lay in the middle of the room, parts hanging out from a big, cardboard box.

  Michael didn’t move a muscle, still gazing at the interior of the room. A small, stuffed Pikachu doll was sitting inside the bassinet. Chills swept through his body as he returned to the hallway. He walked slowly down the stairs, noticing the spotlessly kept floors and sparkling carpet. His heart started to race, yet his headache was dissipating. The sink was clean, the counter wonderfully organized, and a stack of mail was arranged in fine order. He picked up the envelopes and strummed through several of them. “Medical bills,” he said softly. Michael opened one up. “A doctor’s bill?”

  He pulled open a drawer and saw the utensils placed carefully in the proper slots. The small cabinet was devoid of liquor, featuring plates and cups. His heart pounded, and adrenaline surged through his body. He looked on the far wall and walked closer to see the calendar. December 25.

  He raced back into the kitchen once more to make sure he had read the date right. Michael scurried back up the stairs, checking first his room, falling to the floor, peeking under the bed. He dashed again to Elizabeth’s bedroom. “The crib, the crib I never finished.”

  Michael slammed the bathroom door open, breaking a piece of the bottom off, catching a glimpse of his face. He stared. His hands felt his skin. He noticed his reflection was much younger now. He pinched his cheeks.

  He raced down the stairs, taking two steps at a time, tumbling the final few but unfazed. The newspaper lay on the floor near an unfinished Diet Coke.

  Michael stood in the middle of the first floor, hyperventilating, the adrenaline pouring inside his chest and squeezing his breathing. He settled himself down and bent over.

  Beep!

  A car horn from outside shook him. His body shivered. He ran to the front door and opened it. Sitting inside his old Toyota was a woman on the passenger side.

  “My God,” he said softly, half happy, half crying. He raced down the steps and pulled open the door, falling to his knees, grabbing at her hands.

  “Are you proposing again?”

  “Vicki!”

  “What were you doing inside? Did you finally fix the crib like I’ve asked for the past few weeks?”

  He stood up and pulled her out of the car. “I love you! I love you!”

  Michael squeezed her, absorbing her warmth and body against his, touching her hair and pulling her head to his nose to smell.

  “Take it easy or you’ll push the baby out now,” she said with a laugh.

  He pulled away. “Elizabeth.”

  “Well, we haven’t finalized the name yet. Right?”

  Michael kissed her on the lips, her cheeks and neck.

  “Okay, okay, you don’t have to put together the crib yet. But the baby is due soon. Can you get it done this week?”

  He pulled away from her. “Elizabeth!” He dropped to his knees again and leaned his head against her belly. He smiled. “She’s kicking.” Michael looked up at Vicki. “She’s kicking!”

  “I know. Kicking like crazy today, more so than any other time. It’s like she’s upset about something. Strange. Put your head against my belly again.”

  She placed her hand on the back of his head and he listened. “Wow, is she really ready to come join us in this world?”

  Vicki helped him up.

  “I love you. I love you so much,” he said.

  “What did I do to deserve this today?”

  “You can’t imagine.” He continued to caress her cheeks with butterfly kisses, touching her hair, and placing his hand back on her belly. “Keep kicking, Elizabeth.”

  She smiled. “What happened inside? Only a few minutes ago you were griping about putting together the crib. You were being cranky about seeing the relatives again.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He kissed her again and again.

  “All right, we should get going to Sammie’s house.”

  He froze in fear. “Not today.”

  “But it’s Christmas. Are you crazy?”

  “No. I’ll fix the crib.”

  “You can fix it when we get back.”

  “No. It should be fixed today.” Michael hugged her again, touching her cheeks and moving a strand of hair from her eyes. “You’re so beautiful.”

  “What will Sammie say if we don’t come over?”

  “We can go tomorrow.”

  “Why not today?”

  He closed the car door and held her hand. “Because I want to live today like it’s the last day of our lives.”

  Also by Michael John Sullivan

  We hope you enjoyed The Greatest Gift. If you haven’t read the other books in this series, we hope this latest novel has inspired you to do so. You can read a bit from Everybody’s Daughter and An Angel Comes Home in the following pages.

  What if you had a chance to ask a loved one for forgiveness – after they died? What would you say?

  Would you give up your own lifetime of happiness for someone else?

  Michael Stewart confronts these questions as he travels back in time through a mysterious tunnel in an old church when the Romans ruled with brutal violence and Jesus preached his peaceful message.

  His teenage daughter Elizabeth soon follows Michael, but is surprised to discover that her father is nowhere to be found. Little does she know that Michael has returned safely to the present, leaving her to battle a vicious Roman soldier.

  Separated by centuries, Michael is trapped to fight his own battles in the present day. Elizabeth’s
disappearance, and the discovery of her blood in his car ignites a rush of judgment as the FBI focuses on him as a person of interest. Michael’s only hope for saving his daughter rests in the hands of his best friend – a local pastor with secrets of his own – and a mysterious old journal containing tales of miracles within the walls of the old church itself.

  Thrilling and suspenseful, Everybody’s Daughter takes readers on a miraculous journey of their own, where salvation can be found in acts of sacrifice and hope remains forever eternal through the passage of a tunnel.

  Here’s an excerpt:

  A comforting breeze brushed Michael’s face as a white vapor swept through the air. He wiped his eyes with the cloth. He thought he heard a female’s voice calling his name.

  He turned to Jesus. “Is that Vicki?”

  Jesus nodded. “Speak to her.”

  He turned around and looked up but he couldn’t see where the voice calling his name was coming from. “I can’t see her.” Michael wiped the moisture away from his eyes. “Vicki, is that you?”

  “Yes,” the female voice answered. “It’s me.”

  I can’t believe this. My wife is talking to me? He held his breath, hoping the voice would keep talking so he could walk toward her. “Where are you?”

  “Look at me, Michael,” she called out. It was a voice he’d never forgotten, a voice ingrained in his heart.

  “I’m trying to find you,” Michael said, his heart in this throat. “But I can’t see you. Can you see me?”

  “Yes, I can.”

  The surreal experience made it hard to breathe, but he pushed through the anxiety, embracing the elation at the prospect of seeing her again. “Tell me what to do so I can see you.” He knew he was speaking fast and hoped it wasn’t incoherent. “I’ll do whatever it takes. What is it you want me to do?”

  “Close your eyes and say a silent prayer. Do it now for me, please.”