FIERY ILLUSIONS (Keeper of the Emerald Book 2)

by B. C. Harris

  After months of having to sit and listen, she pounces like a starving panther. “Mr. Kraviak, there’s a mysterious man currently living in the Roman Colosseum. Some people say that he’s attempting to become the new savior of Rome; that he might become a new Julius Caesar or even a new Jesus Christ. What do you think?”

  Mr. Kraviak looks like someone who has just woken from a very long sleep. His lips tremble as though he wants to say something but he’s uncertain what that’s going to be. He glances at the screen on the wall that he has been reading from as though the answer to Martha’s outburst might be there. He even walks over to his desk and begins to thumb through a textbook.

  There’s a murmur of energy rippling throughout our class for the first time since we arrived at the beginning of the term.

  Martha continues, “Some people say this strange man is insane, but others say he has come from heaven. Every day he’s gaining thousands of new followers.”

  I’m beginning to think that Mr. Kraviak is going to succumb to collapse. His body begins to shake. Martha has knocked him out of his comfort zone and he doesn’t know how to respond.

  “Well,” Mr. Kraviak finally manages to utter between heaving gasps for air, “what do others in our class think?”

  Good God. Mr. Kraviak has asked a question.

  First, my once timid mother destroys Ms. Cathbert, a feared woman throughout our school, and now Mr. Kraviak has asked my class a question. If things come in three’s, I can’t wait to find out what else is going to happen today.

  “What’s your name?” Mr. Kraviak asks Martha.

  Another question. What’s happening?

  “Martha,” Martha replies. Martha is an annoying student that everyone loves to hate. Yet, Martha has woken our class. Maybe she’s even saved us all from drifting into comas before the term ends.

  “Martha, what do you think?” Mr. Kraviak asks as he shuts off the projector that has been controlling our class for more than three months. “What do you think Martha?” he asks again, in a manner that suggests he’s suddenly enjoying being able to ask a question to a student whose name he actually knows. Perhaps Mr. Kraviak has had an eureka moment in his teaching.

  “I think,” Martha begins in her boastful fashion, “that this man is insane. My mother told me that most people need someone or something to believe in. This strange man is fulfilling that need even though he’s crazy.”

  “Fulfilling that need?” Mr. Kraviak responds as he steps closer to us. He has broken the barrier between his projector and the first row of desks. He has stepped into a new frontier.

  “Well,” Martha says in her horribly arrogant voice, a voice that at this moment is actually refreshing to hear, “some people need a god to believe in. For those people, this mysterious man is going to meet that need.”

  “Like superman,” Michael interjects. There is a ripple of laughter in the room. It has been a long time since Michael brought a smile to our faces. “People need their super heroes. People want something greater than themselves that they can believe in, even if it’s just a comic book hero, or some other fantasy.”

  “All we need is another religion to create more wars in the world,” an unidentified voice behind me says sarcastically.

  “Religions don’t bring wars; they bring peace,” Susan Michaels, a tall girl with shoulder-length brunette hair firmly states.

  The class explodes with emotion as various students react to Susan’s comment.

  “What planet have you been living on?” a boy in the far corner of the room, replies. “I’d like to see you name one war in the history of our world that isn’t somehow connected to religion.”

  There’s an awkward pause before another student says, “Every religion thinks that their God is superior to the God of other religions. It’s this belief that makes people think they are better than others. When their faith is challenged, religious people have no trouble going to war because they think their cause is righteous. Some people even think that a measure of their faith is the successful conversion of others to their religion, even if they have to do it by force, or by psychological manipulation.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Susan says angrily as she stands. “Religion brings peace. My church brings joy to the world, not war.”

  “Unless someone else happens to believe in something different than what your church teaches,” Jamie replies with a display of unusual emotion. “Have you heard of the Inquisition? This is but one example of what one religion did to those who didn’t follow their rules, or didn’t believe what they were preaching. Innocent people were tortured and even burned at the stake. Is this the message of peace and joy that you are talking about?”

  “I don’t believe anything you have said,” Susan replies to Jamie, taking a step towards him and staring menacingly at him. “At my church I have never been taught anything about what you’re saying. I think you’re lying. I was taught that we have been chosen to reach out and love others. There’s no way that a church member would ever harm another person.”

  A collective groan echoes throughout our room. I can’t believe how strongly the opinions are against what Susan said, although I also can’t believe how naïve she is.

  “Susan, you’re the perfect example of what’s wrong with religious people,” Jamie continues. “You are taught to mindlessly obey everything you hear at church without ever considering whether you are hearing the truth.”

  “I am not,” Susan angrily replies. “I’m quite capable of thinking for myself. I know that I have been taught the truth,” she says as she begins to pound Jamie’s desk with her fist.

  “Susan,” Martha says, “thousands of people from all over the world are heading to Rome because they think this mysterious man is a god. He’s a modern day Jesus, someone that people can actually touch to be healed. He’s very quickly establishing a new religion. People are allowing themselves to be brainwashed by someone who is doing their thinking for them.”

  “Then he must be stopped,” Susan strongly replies. “There can only be one true God.”

  “Exactly,” replies Jamie. “That’s what is wrong with your religion. You are unable to see and accept that different people may believe in different interpretations of God.”

  “There are no different interpretations,” Susan screams. “There’s only one way to salvation. There’s only one form of truth.”

  Before anyone else can speak, and the pent up tension in the room suggests there’s a lot more to be said, the bell rings.

  Normally, there’s a massive rush for the door. Today nobody moves. It’s almost as if everyone wants Mr. Kraviak to give us permission to stay longer.

  Unfortunately, Susan ends that possibility. “This conversation is over,” she angrily replies as she struts towards the door in a manner that makes Martha look humble. “You’re all wrong. Someday when we all stand before God, you will have to answer for your disrespect to Him. As for right now, I’m not going to waste my breath talking to a bunch of ignorant pagans.”

  Groans, mixed with incredulous laughter, greet Susan’s parting remarks.

  As Susan vanishes, the rest of us slowly follow. The conversation, for the first time this term, continues into the hallway.

  I’m so fascinated by what has occurred that I have momentarily forgotten about meeting Drew until I see him leaning against some lockers outside our room.

  He doesn’t appear to have noticed the fervent dialogue that is drifting out of the room as he smiles at me.

  Drew and I walk down the hallway towards an exit.

  As we pass other students, I notice that some girls are looking at me with envy. I think I even see a few guys leering at me in a manner that suggests I’m desirable.

  I’m quickly aware that my status in the school would change if I was Drew’s girlfriend.

  Yesterday, I was worried that what had happened between Drew, Jasmin and me was going to harm my reputation. What I’m now experiencing is that my reputation has changed for
the better. I’m being perceived as Drew’s girlfriend. He’s the hottest guy in the school. I’m being perceived as someone who knocked another girl to the floor in a fight over Drew. I’m also being perceived as someone who got suspended and then beat the suspension. I won against Ms. Cathbert.

  I think it’s a little strange that no one paid any attention to me when I was a serious student, but now that I might be considered a bit of a rebel, I have found new respect amongst my peers.

  As Drew and I reach a door leading outside the school, no one has to tell me that school would be a lot more fun if I accepted Drew as my boyfriend. Sure, I would likely lose Jasmin and Jamie as friends, but the benefits might outweigh my losses.

  It’s a mild December day as Drew and I step outside. It certainly doesn’t look like we’re going to have snow for Christmas.

  “Okay to go to the park across the street?” I say to Drew.

  “Sure,” Drew smirks in a manner that suggests I’m looking for a secluded spot where we might continue our amorous relationship.

  As I feel Drew brushing against me, my anxiety increases.

  However tempting it might be to have a relationship with Drew, I’m not going to continue this charade with him. I’m going to do whatever I need to do in order to save my friendships with Jasmin and Jamie. I’m going to tell Drew that I’m not his girlfriend.

  As we reach the park, I walk towards a table where we can sit to talk.

  - 8 -

  MIXED MESSAGES

  For the past hour I’ve been sitting in a daze. I don’t think that Drew understood our talk today at school.

  After supper, I had a message from him. He asked if he could visit me tonight, or whether I wanted to come over to his place. Obviously my attempts to discourage him at lunch didn’t work. I suspect I was too passive in talking to him. While I told him I wasn’t ready to be his girlfriend, I also told him how much I liked him. I tried to mix what I thought he wanted to hear with what I needed to tell him. By the end of my conversation with him, I fear that I gave him a gentle push away that said, “If you try a little harder, I could be yours.”

  Or perhaps I gave Drew the impression that he could have both Jasmin and me. Whatever message I left with him, it certainly wasn’t what I intended.

  My problem is that I’m not very good at dealing with confrontation, especially if I think that something I say could actually hurt another person. Instead of ending my brief relationship with Drew, I think I might have encouraged him.

  Then I received an email from Jamie wondering how things went with Drew. I haven’t replied back to him yet because whatever I say to him is going to be meaningless if Drew is all over me at school tomorrow.

  I know the only way I’m going to resolve this problem is to invite Drew, Jasmin and Jamie to my house at the same time. I think this will help me to be firmer with Drew and ensure that my other friends hear what I have to say to him.

  I realize that what I’m trying to do is please other people. I will be telling Drew what I think Jasmin and Jamie want me to say. What about me? Do I have feelings too? What do I really want? What would make me happy?

  Although I have the sound turned down on my basement TV, the news is all about the Miracle Man in Rome. I still haven’t told any of my friends that this is the man who tried to take my emerald from me during the fire at my mother’s work last year. I know I can’t keep this secret much longer.

  I begin an online search for more information about this mysterious man. How has he resurfaced? Does he really possess powers to heal other people? Although part of me is considering how to handle the problem I’m facing with Drew, another part is attempting to learn more about the Miracle Man.

  I quickly discover that the web is saturated with articles about him.

  I start by reading the most recent posts.

  It doesn’t take long to realize that the Miracle Man is creating a monstrous mess in Rome. It’s now estimated that more than one-million people have filled the city seeking to meet him. Among the massive crowd are endless numbers of people who are blind, crippled, or who have other diseases. I constantly see the words Messiah and Savior being used to describe him. If only the world knew what he tried to do to my mother and me, they wouldn’t be so quick to worship him.

  Traffic throughout Rome has come to a complete stop because people are lining every inch of the streets making it impossible for cars to move. Feeding the incoming masses has become such a great problem that the Italian army has moved into the city to help provide water and food. Sanitation problems are already creating havoc.

  The Italian police have set up a system of barricades to surround the Colosseum in an attempt to keep the throngs of people from pushing their way to meet the Miracle Man. It’s obvious that the authorities in Rome are well aware that anything that might cause a panic could result in thousands of people trampling each other.

  In addition to the enormous number of people who are attempting to reach the Miracle Man are thousands of others who came to protest against him.

  The Vatican has already taken a stand that this man is a fake. Some church leaders around the world have labeled him the anti-Christ. To others, he’s a lunatic.

  But to most of the huge mob that is descending on Rome, he’s God, a God that people can actually see and maybe even touch if they’re lucky. Although the stranger has still not identified himself and has not even spoken publically, he has become God to thousands, perhaps even millions.

  As I look at pictures of the mysterious man, his face frightens me. His thick lips and deep-set eyes are a reminder of his attack on me at the fire in my mother’s office last year. I notice a tattoo that looks like an Egyptian hieroglyph on the ring finger of his left hand.

  I turn back to the TV and increase the volume. Regardless of which station I watch, every broadcast is about what is happening in Rome.

  The reports are all in agreement. No one has seen the mystery man for the past 24 hours.

  I think I hear footsteps upstairs. Is it my mother, or has the Miracle Man returned for my emerald?

  Suddenly a bulletin crosses the bottom of the TV screen.

  The Miracle Man is going to speak at sunrise.

  Sunrise? Why sunrise?

  I change the channel. The same message drifts across the bottom of the screen. A news analyst begins to talk. Thousands and thousands of candles and flashlights are waving in an eerie display around the Colosseum.

  “In another few hours the man who has captured the attention of the world will be making his first public speech.”

  A few hours? That won’t be sunrise. Then I realize that with the time difference between Rome and here that it might very well be the early morning in Rome in a few hours even though it’s still night here.

  As I continue to listen to the TV, I gaze once again at the face of the man who is being hailed by some as the second coming of Christ.

  As I stare at him, I remember something else. When I first saw him during the fire at my mother’s office, I thought I recognized him from somewhere in my past. Now I have that same feeling.

  - 9 -

  SUNRISE

  Five minutes before the scheduled appearance of the Miracle Man, and past my normal bed time, I hear my mother entering the house. I breathe a great sigh of relief. I have been dreading having to watch this man by myself, even if he’s only on TV.

  “Em, I’m home. Be right down.”

  On the bottom of the TV screen is a digital clock counting down the minutes and seconds until the appearance of the Miracle Man. It’s like watching the countdown on New Year’s Eve.

  Knowing that the Miracle Man must be an imposter, I have become more and more aware that the world is turning its attention to someone who is likely going to bring pain and destruction rather than hope and peace.

  I suspect that I alone know his real identity, but as I’ve thought about this further, I have to conclude that I don’t know who he really is either. After all, my only contact
with him was in the fire at my mother’s office last year, although I will never forget the evil in his eyes. How can he now be presenting himself as a hero, as a healer of the sick?

  Two minutes and twelve seconds.

  My mother is coming down the stairs.

  Her first words are, “Did you get the written apology from your vice-principal?”

  My mother looks tired. She stops at the bottom of the stairs and slouches against a wall. Her short black hair could use a brushing.

  “Yes,” I reply, thinking that’s an odd thing for her to say in light of what’s happening on TV. Surely, she knows what’s going on. Others must have been talking about this at work. My mother always plays her car radio even if she chooses stations where there are no news broadcasts. At a moment like this, I’m sure that every media outlet in the world is covering this story.

  One minute, twenty-three seconds.

  My mother looks briefly at the TV, shrugs and beings to walk back upstairs.

  I can’t believe that she’s not interested in what’s happening.

  “Mom, wait,” I say as firmly as I can.

  My mother stops and turns to me.

  Forty-five seconds.

  “Mom, I need you to see something,” I say with earnest.

  “Emily, please turn the TV off. You shouldn’t be watching this.”

  What’s she talking about? What does she mean I shouldn’t be watching this? Does she know something that I don’t know?

  Ten seconds.

  The crowd begins to count down the last ten seconds as though they’re anticipating the drop of the ball in Times Square to usher in the New Year.

  Precisely at zero, a streak of light from the rising sun strikes an outer wall of the Colosseum. As the light grows, a figure appears in front of the wall. It’s a man dressed in a flowing white robe with purple edges. It’s almost as if a Roman emperor has emerged before us.

  The crowd goes wild.

  The TV cameras pan the crowd from every possible angle. Most of the faces are ecstatic. Many people are crying. Hands are being raised throughout the mass of humanity in reverence to this new god. He’s being showered with admiration that might be fitting for the Pope or for a king.