Last Light Falling (11 page)

Gabe and I glance at each other and feel the back of our necks as if this is new information to us, even though we are fully aware of our markings.

“You both have been special to me from the moment you were born, and I have focused and devoted my life to protect you and make sure you would never be separated,” he says.

“It was you,” I say, “you were at the Foster Care Center that day, arguing with the director.”

“Since you had not been adopted in over a year, the foster-care coordinators were about to make a very hasty decision in separating you two because there was a couple who eagerly wanted to adopt Gabe. They had no intentions of adopting two children, and I wasn’t going to allow that to happen,” he says.

Father Joseph leans against the table. “I fervently prayed all day for that paperwork to fall through, but even still, I knew I had to convince them to terminate the adoption at all costs,” he says.

“I’m indebted to you for your gracious determination. I wouldn’t have been able to survive without Gabe in my life,” I say with a hint of sadness to my voice. I stare at the ground, then look over at Gabe. I can’t even begin to think that we could have been separated. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Father, but why were you sent to keep us together?”

“Because God had other plans for you, and that is why I’m here with both of you today,” he says.

Now I find myself sitting attentively upright, curious behind the real reason why we are here. I can barely control my nerves.

“After the revelation your mother had shared, it was clear to me at that moment that I was chosen by God to guide and protect the two of you,” Father Joseph says.

“So why didn’t we ever see you during our childhood?” I ask.

“As you know already, religion has been in a constant state of flux in this Godless nation since the regulation of the church tax that was created ten years ago by the federal government. Those tax burdens caused an uprising from the church and believers began to rebel against the government,” says Father Joseph.

“How?” asks Gabe.

“A percentage of the money that was given to the church by the people was transferred to the government as a subsidized payment. In return, the government would only allow those churches that contributed to assemble in a place of believers. People stopped giving and boycotted federally owned companies. Church assemblies were banned, leaving vacant buildings to wither. Those who directly rebelled
were convicted of sedition because of their disloyalty and hatred for the government, and for that, they were sentenced to labor farms to rehabilitate, or in this case, brainwashed,” he says.

“Being of the clergy, we were no longer of value unless we were directly appointed by the federal government, and our presence among the youth was forbidden. The government was afraid that we might be persuasive enough to change your ideology, causing a new rebellion. I had to stay hidden, yet close enough to protect you.

“This is no longer a free America; it has become a restricted nation that will soon plummet to its demise. Freedom of religion died the day most of this country put their trust in the government and its economical endeavors. No longer can people go to church to worship, so as our Father has taught us many times, I take the church to the people,” says Father Joseph.

“So, you have been watching over us all these years like … some bird of prey, and we’ve been clueless of your existence? So why come to us now and reveal yourself?” I ask. I feel a slight sense of rejection in my heart toward Father Joseph, yet I feel compelled to restrain my emotions because he kept Gabe and me together. I know it sounds absolutely absurd to think he could have somehow changed the fate of my parents’ death if he was there, the day of the crash. Maybe it could have altered the unfortunate event, but it really doesn’t matter anymore, and I can blame no one for their death. I can’t justify my hasty reaction. My heart slowly succumbs to God’s grace and this ridiculous notion that I feel resentful disappears.

“On the very day of the car crash, God had spoken to me. I felt so numb after what had happened, especially knowing what your mother had predicted. I could barely hold myself together to believe it, much less understand it. The only thing I remember clinging to that day was the taste of whiskey … and then it happened.”

“What?” I dare to ask.

“That very evening, an angel came to me in my dreams and revealed the very purpose of your existence in this world. I was chosen to help fulfill that existence. I was given complete and clear instructions to make sure that you two were not to be separated at any time at all costs, and that on your fifteenth birthday, I would come and deliver the message that God had shared with me to give to you. This vision was meant for your eyes to see,” Father Joseph says with conviction.

At this point, my anticipation is wearing thin, and patience has become my enemy, and it’s all I can do to keep from screaming.

Father Joseph looks directly into our eyes with authoritative intentions, and says to us slowly and clearly, “You two were chosen by God.”

Gabe has lifted his hands from his face and looks across the room at me. “Chosen to do what?” I attentively ask.

“Chosen to do His will, to expose the wickedness of this nation and of this world by exterminating the very evil that tempts your heart. You will seek out the one who starves His children from Him and lead those who accept His name as their Father. You were born into this world to help lead the children of God away from evil. Many will follow, but most will deny His existence and die unmercifully.

“They will be free to make their own choices, but it’s up to you to lead them when they do. He has extended His grace far more than we deserve … and now we must answer. May God have mercy on us all,” Father Joseph mightily states.

With my back to the wall, I slowly slide down to my bottom and grab my knees tightly. I just stare at Gabe with disbelief. I’ve become numb and speechless to the idea that I’m supposed to do what Father Joseph asks. How can I be chosen for something so inherently pure when I battle my sins on a daily basis? I feel sick to my stomach, and I want to just crawl in a hole and die. After a few minutes of being disconnected to the world, I slowly get up and try to contemplate this lunacy. I’m not sure what’s real anymore, and I’m growing ever-more eager to dismiss this madness. I’ve become less reticent and slightly pissed.

“I’m not saying I don’t believe you or that my mother had these visions, but listen to what you’re saying. This is absolutely ridiculous. We’re fifteen years old. I know nothing about killing a man, much less thousands. What the hell do we have to offer?” I ask.

“We’re all born into this world with uncertainty, but each one of us has a fate, and it’s up to you to blindly accept it or not. You two were chosen to do His will, and I have been chosen to make sure you carry out His wrath,” he asserts.

There is nothing but silence in the air as his words hang heavy. My body is numb, and all I can feel are the little hairs on my arms standing up. I just stand there and wait until my mind stops racing and slows
down enough to comprehend what just happened. Just when I think everything in my life begins to settle, I’m pulled into another season of uncertainty. I suddenly feel so void of anything that’s real that I start to subconsciously giggle inside.

Gabe speaks up. “Assuming you are correct and this vision was purely from God and not your subconscious, why, of all the people in the world, would He choose two ordinary people who can barely get through a day of school without being pushed, punched, ridiculed, snickered at, or made to feel totally invisible?”

“Why indeed would God choose to do His bidding by empowering common, ordinary, everyday people with supernatural gifts and abilities? Because He is God and everyone has value to Him. It’s what people least expect.”

“You’re clearly insane, you know,” I simply say, frustrated with this ridiculous conversation.

“If your mother was here today, would you question her sanity?”

Now I’m irritated. “My mother is not the issue here.”

“From what I know of her, I believe she’s more than that.”

“Then you’ve clearly misinterpreted the message.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this any more than you did, but I hold true to your mother’s faith. She’s the true reason why you’re here … and deep inside I believe you know that.”

I move away from his cold stare and briefly disengage from the conversation. I stand there wondering what my mother would say to me right now, as I painfully search for a moment of clarity.

The truth is, I only came here because of his ties with Finnegan. Anything else is a departure of my better judgment to come here whether or not I dismiss his prophetic claims.

“I’m only fifteen years old,” I whisper.

“And David was just a boy, but his courage did not go unnoticed when he challenged Goliath. Why should you be any different?”

“Maybe because this senseless debate is absolute madness, and you’ve subjected yourself to believe it. The only thing I can take from this conversation is that your sanity is now in question.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to just simply accept this without a hint of incredulity, but I know your mother taught you better than that.”

“Has she? And what would you know of that? Were you ever around to see it?” I ask, aggravated now.

“I didn’t have to, but I knew your mother well enough to know that she stood by her convictions without a hint of hostility. I see so
much of her in you, and in that respect, I at least deserve a civil tone from you.”

I feel dejected. “I, didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he says softly. “Arena, I’m not here to hinder you.”

“Then don’t.”

“Look, I understand the burdens that you and your brother have had to carry all these years, but eventually you’re going to have to let faith decide your choice to believe or not … your mother had to.”

“And if I choose not to?”

“Then humility will decide for you.”

I suddenly feel a slight sense of guilt shower over me while I muse over the selfless nature of my mother’s faith. I may have been out of line with Father Joseph, but I just can’t entertain the idea of this conversation … not right now, anyway. “Suppose what you are saying is all true, in a relative sense. How are we to know who is evil, who to forgive, who to lead?” I ask.

“Call on Him and He will guide you. Listen to Him and He will show you. You will know your enemy, and the time will come when you will have to slaughter him. Those who listen will follow, and God will forgive all who ask.”

“Did the sixth commandment suddenly divorce your moral conscience? You know, Thou Shalt Not Kill?”

“There’s no escaping death.”

“So what the hell are you suggesting—that Gabe and I just pick up a gun and go on some killing spree? Have we not been taught to love one another?” I ask.

“Indeed. But you two are extraordinary children in extraordinary times, and God Himself has called you to do both,” he says as he clings to his rosary.

“Children, in the past two years, I’ve seen things so wickedly frightening—the kind of things you only read about in books—that would make your skin crawl from your bones. Believe me, this is very real, and you will soon know it. The world is a wicked place now, and the enemy is out there waiting to devour you like a lion ready to pounce on his prey,” he says.

“And just how in the hell are we supposed to survive this?” I ask, still unconvinced of this insanity.

“No man shall kill but by the hand of God, and He has His hand wrapped around yours. Keep your mind clear, meditate on Him, and you shall see for yourself,” he proclaims. His face softens as I stand there and wonder how much validity there is in his words, or if he’s
truly crazy. Whether or not I’m privy to his thoughts, my mind struggles to believe any of what he’s saying.

“If you’re so assured of our safety, then why were you sent here to protect us?” I ask.

“My part in this is not finished.”

“So, are we here to save the world or something?” I say with a hint of sarcasm.

“No, you are here to prepare it for its end.” He carefully places a tattered scroll onto the table.

Okay, at this point I’m no longer bitter or angry, but simply frightened. The idea of some strange priest, determined to plan out my future that will supposedly end sooner than I would like, isn’t comforting at all. I’m very aware of the words in the book of Revelation and the Hell of which it speaks, but I damn well know I don’t want to be on this earth when it’s actually unleashed. I walk over to examine the parchment with Gabe and notice that the words around the top portion are in Hebrew. I can only translate some of the words but can’t completely understand what it says. “What does it mean?” I ask.

Father Joseph speaks in Hebrew, “The prince who is to come will enter into the temple and declare Himself God, and on the dawn of the third day, blood will spill.” He looks straight into our eyes, as if to possess us with his thoughts, and repeats the words in English.

“For the last four years I’ve been in contact with two of the world’s most exceptional archeologists who have been searching for some of the last remains of the Dead Sea Scrolls. They have had a daunting task retrieving the artifacts, especially with the insurgence of extremists fighting over the territory where the first scrolls were found. No one has seen this particular scroll, except for the archeologists who discovered it a month ago near the West Bank on the Jordanian border, and us three. These two men sacrificed to get this to me, and if the Israeli government knew I had this, I would be dead.”