Persecution: God's Other Children. Book 2

by Rob Mclean

  “Didn’t that used to be Saint Albans?”

  “Yes,” was all she said.

  John hadn’t thought about it until just then, but there were so many hospitals in L.A. that had been linked in one way or another to religious institutions, either founded by an arm of a church or a college set up by a religious organization. The healthcare industry, it seemed, had unanimously declared themselves to be above politics. Their pragmatic solution was to simply rebrand themselves in keeping with the changing times.

  “That’s not too far.” John hoped to make some conversation, but she kept her eyes on the road ahead. They drove for a few blocks, but her silence began to make him feel uncomfortable.

  “Look, your dad’s a tough old cookie. I hope he’ll be okay…”

  “Hope? We pray,” she snapped.

  “Yeah, hope and pray, sorta the same thing in my book.”

  “Big difference,” Angela shook her head. “That kind of hope is like shouting out blindly for help in the dark, but praying is a direct line to God.”

  “But He hears you either way, right? ‘cause he’s God and he hears everything.”

  Angela pursed her lips in reply. “But no matter if we pray or hope, he will die one day. If not today, then soon.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s a good man.”

  “Yes, we just want him to have a good death, a dignified death…” Her voice trailed off and she dug around in her handbag for a handkerchief.

  “Your mother told you I dropped around some replacement pills?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she nodded and turned away to watch the world passing by.

  He gave her a few moments to herself. He was pretty sure she was crying softly to herself.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she said, not turning around.

  “You sure don’t sound fine…”

  She turned and gave him a level stare. Her cheeks were wet with fresh tears. Her red rimmed, blue eyes narrowed and her lips pursed tightly. “What do you think?”

  John did a double take, but she was still staring at him. He forced his attention back to the road, taking the time to carefully pick his words. He wanted to be gentle, but he figured, with her engaged to that loser Zeke, he had nothing to lose anyway.

  “Look, you have every right to be upset and that’s okay…”

  “Well, thank-you for your permission to be sad. I feel so much better.”

  “I would be too if I were you…”

  “Would you?” her voice heavy with sarcasm and anger.

  John ignored it. “I know your whole world’s falling apart…”

  “What would you know?” she turned away to study the passing houses.

  “As far as I can see, everything you’ve always relied on has gone, or is about to go…”

  He felt he was talking to the back of her head as she continued to stare out her passenger window.

  “Besides your dad’s… condition,” John paused to be sensitive to the seriousness of her father’s situation, “your church is going, it’s been outlawed, your childhood sweetheart has gone rogue, stolen your car and who knows what he plans to do…”

  She turned to face John again. “He plans to do what he thinks is right…”

  “He’s a terrorist.” John tried to keep his voice sounding reasonable.

  “He’s an activist, moved by his convictions…”

  “He’ll get convictions if he gets caught.”

  “No. Not like that.” Her features softened then frowned. John watched as an internal debate played out on her face. John’s patience was rewarded when finally she decided to explain herself. “He believes he is convicted by God.”

  John just raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

  “He believes God has put His plan on his heart.”

  “God told him to kill the Envoy?” John couldn’t hide the scorn. “Really?”

  “Really,” she said as she fidgeted with her handkerchief in her lap.

  “Well, he must have a different God to the rest of us,” John said stopping for a red light.

  “So, what about you?” John reached over and touched her arm to get her attention. “What do you believe? Does your God tell you it’s okay to kill the Envoy?”

  A glazed look came over her as she stared straight ahead. “I don’t know what to think. Maybe we think too much,” she said still staring straight ahead without blinking, as if trying to get a glimpse of the future. “I think if God wanted the Envoy dead, He would make it happen.”

  John nodded.

  “So maybe Zeke’s right when he says that he’s doing God’s work?” She turned to face him, but her eyes were unfocussed, trance-like as if her thoughts were miles away.

  “Killing is wrong,” John said, “no matter what.”

  She blinked and lowered her eyes. After a few moments, she added, “I told Zeke that, but he says killing the AntiChrist is his duty.”

  “But, just suppose, you know, for a crazy moment,” John took his hands off the wheel, shrugged and waved his arms around theatrically, “that the Envoy is actually who he says he is? What then?”

  “Zeke says there are no aliens,” she didn’t look up from her lap. “He says it’s all mind tricks and the AntiChrist has power over the ungodly.”

  “Zeke says?” John shook his head. “I don’t care what he says. What do you say?”

  Time stretched out as John waited for her answer. Outside, painted in black paint against a psychedelic floral background, John saw a message sprayed across the brick wall street corner side of a store. ‘Imagine there’s no Heaven’ it read. He watched Angela’s head follow it as they passed.

  “I don’t know.” Her voice was small and barely audible above the road noise.

  John wanted to push his point further, but in the silence that hung between their words, his father’s voice spoke to him. “Let her be.” So they drove on in peace until they arrived at the hospital.

  John saw there were a dozen or more ambulances lined up outside the E.R. as they drove past looking for the short-term parking.

  He parked the car a distance away from all the others, not wanting anyone to chip the paint when opening their car-doors.

  They walked briskly to the E.R, John glad Angela was wearing flats. He pulled out his phone. “Does your mother have a cell phone?”

  “No, she might have dad’s, but I doubt it, she hates all technology, especially cell phones.”

  “You got his number?”

  Angela reached for her back pocket where her phone should have been, then cursed.

  “Wussup? Left yours at home?”

  Angela frowned. “No.”

  “He took it, didn’t he?”

  Angela nodded her head ruefully. “And the recharger.”

  “Damn, he took your car and your phone? Did you buy him an assault rifle as well?”

  Angela shot him an evil look. “Look, you drove me here, like you said you would and I thank you for that, but…”

  “You know your mother was our informant?”

  Angela nodded. “Thought so.”

  John had to turn back to talk to her. She was struggling to keep up his pace and was falling behind.

  “Wonder how long it’ll take Zeke to work it out?”

  “You’ll have to slow down,” she said breathing heavily.

  “Oh, sorry.” He wagged his phone, “You don’t know you dad’s number then?”

  “No.”

  He put the phone away. “Guess we’ll just head to the E.R.”

  Angela nodded. They took an elevator, deciphered the map inside and worked out where they had to go.

  “She called me to tell me what Zeke was up to,” John said watching the numbers count down to the ground floor.

  “What did she say?”

  “That she wanted Zeke stopped from getting himself into trouble,” he said. “Not arrested, but sort of given a warning.”

  “Really? Can you do that?”

  “N
o. All I could do was to report it and then it’s out of my hands.” He gave her a smile as the elevator doors opened. “In the lap of the Gods, so to speak.”

  “Hmmm…”

  They followed the signs to the E.R and asked at the desk about Geoffrey White. They were directed to a waiting area outside the treatment rooms and told, ‘someone would see them soon.’

  After the frantic rush to get here, John found that waiting and doing nothing were almost unbearable. He prowled about around the waiting room like a caged zoo panther. In his black T-shirt and multi-pocket combat pants and boots, he drew many looks from the other people in the waiting room.

  “Come sit with me,” Angela said. “You’re making everyone nervous.

  John grunted and took the plastic bucket seat next to her. It was fixed to the wall, but the whole row of them rocked as he bounced his knee, seeking an outlet for his nervous energy.

  Angela placed her hand on his knee to calm him. “It’s okay,” she said with a smile.

  “I should be saying that to you.”

  “You know, Zeke thinks I ratted on him.”

  “He would.”

  “And he wouldn’t change his mind unless you and mom told him different.”

  “Well, I won’t be doing that,” John smiled to himself. “Company policy,” he added.

  “And she didn’t volunteer it either when he was accusing me…”

  At that moment, John’s phone chimed. “Sorry,” he said, digging out his phone. “I gotta check this.”

  Angela got up and walked over to the counter. He kept half an eye on her as she spoke to the attendant. He scrolled through his messages and tried to listen as she spoke. He made a mental note of which treatment room the woman went to while Angela waited. When he had finished with his messages, he went over to her.

  “They’re checking on dad now,” Angela said. “She thinks we might be able to see him.”

  “Good.” John said. He did a quick scan of the waiting room before adding, “They’ve tried to track your phone.”

  A look of worry crossed her face. “They can do that?”

  “Yeah, but no luck. It isn’t turned on.”

  “Oh, okay…”

  “You know they’ll get him.” John studied her face for any betraying emotions, but the prospect of her fiancé being arrested got no response. “The whole military, industrial, intelligence machine,” John waved his arm about expansively, “honed by decades of cold war followed by the war on terrorism is looking for him right now, not just me.”

  She just nodded.

  “He’s a threat not only to the national interest, but to the whole world…”

  “But…”

  “Doesn’t matter what you think,” he interrupted her by raising his palms, “or me, or even what he thinks. They think he’s a terrorist, so he’ll be hunted down…”

  “So much for innocent until proven guilty.”

  “It would be better for him if he were to be caught now…”

  “Before he’s actually done anything?”

  “Yeah, while he’s still in the planning stage. So…” He looked into her eyes, searching for some sign that his words were registering, “if you know anything, it would be good for everyone if you told me now.”

  Her shoulders sagged and with a sad, wistful look she said, “I don’t know anything. He didn’t tell me any details, just said he – and his ‘like-minded friends’ were going to kill the envoy. Sounded more like a brag to me.”

  “Okay.” John felt the truth of her words. It fitted in with his picture of Zeke. He wouldn’t tell her anything much, not to protect her, but more likely because he had no real plans and was just full of hot air, trying to impress her.

  “I’ve given up trying to work out what’s right and wrong here.” She turned and started back to their seats. “I guess I’ll just have to trust in God and whatever happens is His will.”

  John heard the resignation in her voice. At one level, he admired the trust and faith she showed in her God that she could surrender her fate so willingly and completely. At the same time, it was so totally foreign to his way of thinking.

  In John’s world, at best, God was asleep at the wheel while the world was rolling off the rails. More often it seemed God was fickle, changeable and capricious. Being the type of guy that needed to be in control of his own life and to be aware of what was going on around him, he knew he would struggle trusting this version of God as Angela did.

  While he mused over the differences in their deities, John noticed the nurse attendant beckon them over from the door of Geoffrey’s treatment room. A touch on Angela’s arm dragged her thoughts back from her meditations and steered her towards her father.

  Geoffrey had been transferred to a hospital bed. A drip line had been secured along with a multitude of electrical leads. His eyes were closed and his face pale, but a rise in his chest told them he was still alive.

  “You still here?” Clarice frowned at John from her seat on the other side of the bed.

  John ignored her as Angela stepped in and gave her father a hug.

  Geoff responded with a murmur. His rheumy eyes creaked open and a smile eased across his face.

  “Love you dad,” she said.

  He nodded, then, as his eyes fell on John, he raised his hand with what appeared to be a huge effort.

  John moved and took his hand in a double handed clasp. “Good to see you, sir.”

  “This one,” Geoffrey said, his eyes went to Angela, then closed.

  “John Hunter,” John said in a slightly louder voice. “I’m a…”

  “He knows who you are,” Clarice snapped. “He’s tired, not senile. Now, why don’t you go? Give us some privacy and leave us in peace?”

  “Mom!” Angela protested.

  But John had already released Geoffrey’s hand. He noticed the numbers rising on Geoff’s heart rate monitor as he straightened and stepped back. “No problem. I’ll wait outside.”

  ‘Sorry,’ Angela mouthed silently.

  John gave her a nod, and then went back to the waiting room. He toyed with the idea of calling a cab and just leaving them to their own problems. If he never saw Clarice again, it would be too soon. Why wasn’t she the one in the hospital bed instead of her husband? Maybe it was true that only the good died young?

  After a few minutes, Angela came out. She sat down next to him and took his hand. “Sorry about mom,” she said. Her eyes were red and swollen, but her hand felt soft and warm.

  “She’s probably really stressed at the moment,” John offered. He covered her hand with his other hand.

  “She can be incredibly insensitive,” Angela said. She put her other hand over his to make a four hand sandwich. It was just as soft and warm as the other.

  ‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ he told himself, but then she leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder. The smell of her hair instantly brought back memories of their times together, times when he had held her close and drank in her scent. It tore at his heart to think he would not have those times again.

  “I’m so tired,” she said, snuggling in closer, despite the plastic arm-rest.

  “It’s been a big day.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She didn’t protest.

  The arm-rest dug into his ribs and the sounds of the emergency room jostled about on the edge of his consciousness, occasionally intruding and demanding his attention, but soon, he found his eyelids growing heavy. The regularity of Angela’s breathing told him that she was sleeping, so he resigned himself to being there for some time. He closed his eyes and soon, he also fell into a drowsy half-sleep.

  *

  “I know you.” John recognised the familiar woman in yellow as she appeared before him. He felt no fear, no hostility towards her, only a calm acceptance.

  “I want to know you,” she replied.

  “You don’t already know me?” John felt it mildly satisfying that this god-like creature had her limitations. “I thought you knew
everything.”

  “I know your actions, but I need to know your heart.”

  “As I’ve told you before, I have nothing to hide.” Although he was talking to the woman in yellow, he knew at another level he was talking to Angela.

  “So you say…” She glided towards him, her arms outstretched to embrace him. “But am I ready for you to see my heart?”

  “What have you to hide?” John asked.

  “Only all my fears, self-doubts and insecurities.” Her words were mirrored in her face before she lowered her eyes. The possibility that such a radiant being might have things she would rather keep hidden intrigued him.

  “Trust me.” He felt his mind reaching out to her as if to reinforce his words.

  She came closer and looked into his eyes. He felt himself falling into her soul, like a small boat dragged underwater by a whirlpool. His heart quickened, but his rational mind told himself not to fear.

  She wrapped her golden glowing arms around him and pressed her body tightly against his. Her legs insinuated themselves about him like jungle vines as did her head and neck. He let himself go and despite the feeling that he was being devoured, his very soul was being consumed in the fiery golden glow that was her being, he surrendered to the experience.

  Before him he saw, or felt - he couldn’t be sure, the information was suddenly there for him to access – all her anguish and disappointment, from how she had built her dreams and hopes on finding a good man, despite how she felt about herself, to have the good marriage and a good life, through to how that had all been dashed by everything that had happened.

  He also saw, like a golden sunrise veiled by many layers of worries and fears, her radiant, yet yearning desire to be with him. From the moment she had first laid eyes on him, back in his apartment the morning after she had been drugged, she had known that he could be the one for her.

  Although her rational mind had denied it and thrown up all sorts of reasons for them not to be together, she had known all along, at a level she hadn’t wanted to admit, it was almost inevitable they should be together.

  He also saw her fears that he wouldn’t want her - he was too good looking for her and how it made her own bodily insecurities worse. From her too fat thighs, not flat enough stomach, too hairy arms to a nose that was too long and constantly peeled skin all conspired to make her feel unworthy.