The three MH-53J Pavelow-III Air Force helicopters flew east in a staggered formation over Jersey City, en route to Manhattan. Large and unwieldy, the “Jolly Green Giants” specialized in rescuing downed pilots and providing support to Special Operations troops. Their selection for this morning's mission was based on their ability to operate in bad weather — along with the airship's rear ramp, a deployment feature that allowed for the dispersal of a special payload.
First developed in 1958, the neutron bomb was opposed by President Kennedy and later postponed by Jimmy Carter, only to be jump-started again in 1981 under Ronald Reagan. Designed as a tactical weapon, the bomb’s purpose was to eradicate troops while maintaining the targeted area’s infrastructure. Unlike standard enhanced radiation weapons, the three ERWs loaded aboard the Pavelows were chemical incineration bombs designed for underground bunkers. Formulated to combust on contact with oxygen molecules, the conflagration would burn out every square inch of airspace before suffocating itself.
At precisely 8:03 A.M., the three helicopters would drop their payloads at their designated locations above the carbon-dioxide cloud hovering over Manhattan. Passing through the man-made insulating ceiling, the neutron bombs would detonate—
— incinerating every biological — dead or alive — in New York City.
A frigid wind whipped across New York Harbor, driving the dark surface into froth. Liberty Island was visible in the distance. The statue beckoned.
They had gathered by a concrete boat ramp close to the water’s edge. The Patels and the Minoses. David Kantor and his daughter. The frail Tibetan monk who seemed bothered by nothing, and the female assassin who was angry at the world. The students and freed sex slaves stayed warm in the school bus. A Scythe incubator rendered moot by the arrival of dawn.
Francesca Minos clutched her swaddled newborn inside her coat, using her body heat to warm her son. “What are we supposed to do now?”
Paolo shielded his wife and child from the wind. “We’ll just have to find another boat.”
“There are no other boats,” yelled David. “There’s no way off the island short of swimming, and you wouldn’t last two minutes without a wet suit.”
Dawn Patel was seated on a park bench next to her mother, the girl examining Patrick Shepherd’s detached prosthetic arm. “Mother, this is so strange. Look at how these Hebrew letters are grouped together in threes.”
“May I?” The Tibetan monk offered a disarming smile. Pankaj joined him, looking over the Elder’s shoulder at the engraved letters. “This is most amazing. The letters are not written in Hebrew, this is Aramaic.”
“Who cares?” Manisha retorted. “Pankaj, come and be with your family.”
“In a moment. Elder?”
“Pankaj, Aramaic is a metaphysical tool used by the Creator. It is the only language that cannot be understood by Satan.”
“These letters… they were not there earlier.”
“You are certain of this?”
“I helped carry Patrick from Belvedere Castle after he saved my family. The engraving was not there, I am quite sure. Can you read the message?”
“It is not a message, Pankaj, nor are these translatable words. What has been inscribed upon the steel are the 72 names of God.”
“What did you say? Let me see!” Paolo left his wife and newborn son to join them. “How do you know they’re the 72 names?”
“I scan these words every day. Each of the letters comes from three encrypted verses in Exodus 14, lines 19 through 21. The Torah portion describes Moses’s parting of the Red Sea.”
Paolo took the steel limb from the Tibetan. Stared at the pattern of letters. “It wasn’t Moses. Virgil said it was actually a man of deep faith who parted the Red Sea.”
“You are correct. The true story of the Israelites escaping bondage had nothing to do with slavery, it was all about escaping chaos and pain and suffering. The parting of the Red Sea was not a miracle, it was a manifestation, an effect caused by the ability to use the 72 names engraved on Moses’s staff as a supernal tool to control mind over matter.”
“Elder, do you think Patrick was the righteous one chosen by God to offer mankind salvation?”
David approached with Gavi. “What are you two talking about?”
“Your friend’s involvement with the End of Days may serve a higher calling,” Pankaj explained.
“Look, fellas, I don’t know anything about this End of Days stuff, but I knew Patrick Shepherd, and trust me, he was far from a righteous man.”
Paolo stared at the steel limb. His body trembled. His mind raced… deliberating.
Francesca approached with the baby. “Paolo, what is it?”
“Wait here.” Gripping the prosthetic device, he headed for the water.
“Paolo, what are you doing? Paolo, are you crazy?”
The survivors gathered around Paolo, who held the prosthetic steel arm to the heavens. He hesitated. Then walked resolutely down the concrete boat ramp and into the harbor.
The near-freezing water hit him like a jolt of electricity, driving the air from his lungs, turning his blood and limbs to lead. He floundered in waist-deep water, then abruptly stepped off an unseen ledge and plunged underwater.
Francesca screamed.
Her husband’s head reappeared seconds later. Paralyzed by the cold, he gasped for air as he struggled to swim back to the ramp. David and Pankaj reached out for him, dragging the devout man to safety.
Gavi ran back to the bus to fetch blankets.
Sheridan Ernstmeyer laughed. “So much for divine intervention.”
The Tibetan monk approached Paolo, who was kneeling by the water’s edge, struggling to catch his breath. “Mr. Minos, why did you attempt to part the harbor’s waters? What made you believe yourself worthy of such a task?”
“The 72 names… I believed the story to be true.” The Italian was shaking uncontrollably, his face deathly pale, his lips purple. He looked up at Gelut Panim, completely lost. “I did as Virgil said. It didn’t work.”
“The crossing was a test of certainty, not faith.”
“I don’t understand?”
“You have faith, my friend, but your moment of hesitance revealed that you expected to fail. Certainty is more than prayer, it is knowing. There is a story of a man of faith who was climbing down from the face of a mountain at night when his strength gave out. Hanging by his two hands, freezing to death as you are now, he called out to God to save him. God answered by instructing him to let go. The man released one hand, but he was too afraid to obey. Instead, he called out into the night for help from another. The villagers found him the next morning, frozen to death, hanging five feet off the ground.”
Gavi handed a wool blanket to the shivering man. “Who are you to judge the depths of my faith? I walked straight into the water. I let go with both hands!”
“I meant no insult. When God asked Abraham to sacrifice his son, Isaac… that was a test of certainty. You merely went for a foolhardy swim.”
“Dad, look!” Gavi pointed to the southwest over Liberty Island, where three military helicopters had appeared on the horizon. “Are they coming to rescue us?
David swallowed hard. “No honey. Not this time.”
Leigh Nelson was yanked from her sleep, the physician violently dragging her off the Army cot and onto her feet, where she was confronted by Captains Jay and Jesse Zwawa.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You lied to us, lady.”
Leigh felt her blood pressure drop. “Lied about what?”
“The Scythe vaccine. We analyzed it.” Jay Zwawa thrust a half-empty vial into her hand. “It’s nothing but water.”
“What? That’s impossible—”
Jesse Zwawa signaled to the guard. “Take this traitor outside and shoot her.”
Marquis Jackson-Horne had shed his gang colors but not his gun. The eighteen-year-old cornrowed Latino gang member and his seven-year-old sister joined the survivors of Scythe, everyone watching the western horizon as three dark gunships began a long circle, following the New Jersey coastline to the north.
Marquis nodded to Pankaj. “Ya’ll here to get rescued?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” He glanced at the shivering Italian wrapped in a blanket. Saw the prosthetic arm lying in the snow by his side. “Yo, what happened? Where’s the one-armed man?”
“You knew Patrick?”
“He gave me the vaccine. Cured me and my little sis. Where he at?”
Pankaj looked the gang leader in the eyes. “He’s with his family.”
Paolo was with his family, but his thoughts were occupied by the sting of the Asian man’s words. All his life he had lived by the laws of the Catholic Church. Attended Mass. Taken communion and tithed when he could barely afford it. He had fed the homeless and confessed even his most minor transgressions. Now, in the last moments of his life, to be told he was not worthy… to be told he harbored doubts!
Leaving Francesca and his infant son, he stalked after the Tibetan monk. “I don’t know who you are, but I know you possess knowledge of the 72 names. Use them to save us!”
“Sadly, I cannot. Long ago, I made the decision to abuse the knowledge for my own selfish needs. As such, I am far from righteous.”
“Then teach me! Tell me what to do!”
“I already have.” The Elder’s opaque eyes glistened. He placed a reassuring hand on Paolo’s shoulder. “Think of it as a baptism.”
Paolo was shaking uncontrollably. His eyes darted from the three military choppers to the Asian man to the frail infant swaddled in his wife’s arm.
Defying his greatest fear, he shed the blanket, returning to his loved ones. “Francesca, give me our son.”
She saw the look in his eyes. The steel arm in his hand. “No!”
“Francesca… please.”
The others gathered around in silence.
The Elder watched, fascinated and humbled by the unfolding events.
“Francesca, it is a miracle that brought us here, now we must trust the cause of that miracle.”
Her eyes swelled with tears.
“My love, God has given us the tools, now it is up to us to act.”
She hesitated, then handed the blanketed newborn to her husband. “Go on. Sacrifice your son. Sacrifice yourself, too. I can’t handle this anymore.”
Gripping the steel limb in his right hand, his infant son cradled in his left, Paolo strode down the concrete boat ramp and into the harbor…
The brown maelstrom swirled overhead, blotting out the dawn. A cold December wind whipped up construction garbage and dirt into miniature tornadoes, then died.
Patrick Shepherd sat by the edge of the construction pit, alone, frightened, and lost.
The wind picked up again, howling through rivet holes in the bare steel girders.
Patrick…
The whispered voice was male and strangely familiar. Shep looked up, unsure.
You’ve endured a helluva journey, son. Now we need to start working on your mental game.
“Coach? Coach Segal? Is it really… what am I saying?” He gripped a handful of his long brown hair and pulled, doubling over in agony. “Get out of my head, get out of my head! I can’t take it anymore!”
I’m no hallucination, Patrick. You knew that the first time I communicated with you. On the roof of the VA hospital.
Shep’s skin tingled. He stood, facing into the wind. “You’re the one who stopped me from jumping?”
You trusted me then, son, trust me now. Everything you’ve experienced was real, except for the demon’s deception using my daughter. But you knew better. By trusting your instincts, you saw through the ruse.
“It’s true. I knew it wasn’t Trish, I knew it couldn’t have been her. When I’m with her, I feel… I feel—”
”Fulfilled.”
Shep spun around, his eyes searching for the owner of the new voice. He heard the sound of boots approaching on gravel and turned.
Virgil Shechinah stepped out from behind an earthmover and into a beacon of sunlight coming from a small break in the clouds. “And they said, come, let us build us a city and a tower, whose top may reach to heaven, and let us make ourselves a name. So Master Dante, did you enjoy your excursion through Hell, looking for your beloved Beatrice?”
The mention of Dante’s deceased lover angered Shep even more. “You know, you’re a liar, old man. You told me you spoke with my soul mate. She’s dead. She died with my daughter in this very spot, eleven years ago.”
“Yes she did. And she’s very worried about you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you some kind of medium, channeling her spirit? Or maybe you’re an angel? Is that what you are, Virgil? An angel, hired by Bertrand DeBorn to drive me crazy?”
“Not an angel. And I never claimed to be a psychiatrist, nor was I referred to you by the late Mr. DeBorn. That was your assumption.”
“Okay, so you’re not a shrink. Then who are you? Why did you come see me in the VA hospital? Wait, I forgot… my dead soul mate was worried about me, so she sent you.”
Virgil smiled. “The eyes are the windows of the soul. Look into mine. Tell me what you see.” He removed his rose-colored glasses. “Go on, I won’t bite.”
Shep moved closer, gazing into the old man’s blue eyes—
— his consciousness suddenly overwhelmed by a squall of ethereal white light, its warmth seeping through his brain, bathing every cell in his body with a healing energy that was so soothing, so loving, that it caused him to giggle.
He awakened, disoriented and lying on the ground, smiling as he opened his eyes. “God, what a rush.”
“Let’s just keep it to Virgil for now, shall we?”
Shep sat up. Incredibly, the fatigue from his long night was gone, the cold no longer affecting him. “I don’t know what you just did, but if we could bottle it, we’d make a fortunate.”
“What you experienced was Keter, the Light from the uppermost Sefirot… the highest of the ten dimensions of existence. The energy is only accessible to man once a year, on the dawn following forty-nine days of internal cleansing after Passover. The date commemorates a connection to the immortality that existed on Mt. Sinai thirty-four hundred years ago.”
“Great, more riddles.” Shep stood, shaking his head. “Look, whoever you are, you’ve been a friend these last twenty-four hours, but maybe just once you could give me a straight answer, seeing as how we’re probably only a few minutes away from being incinerated by the Defense Department.”
“Time has no place in the supernal realm, Patrick. Look around you. Time has ceased to exist.”
Patrick looked up. For some strange reason, the brown clouds were no longer moving, as if frozen in place. “What the hell? Okay, wait, I get it. This is another hallucination brought on by that damn vaccine.”
“Everything was real. As for the vaccine, it was water.”
“Water? Come on.”
“Water is the essential component to existence in the physical world. Long ago, water was imbued with the essence of the Light, giving it the power to heal and restore, protecting man at the cellular level. Life spans were far greater. It was humanity's overwhelming negative consciousness that tainted water’s nature after the flood. The process is reversible through certain blessings and meditations, which return the water to its primordial state. The vaccine was a highly concentrated form of this cleansing water, called Pinchas Water. The Defense Department confiscated a supply that had been used by those possessing the knowledge to help clean up parts of Chernobyl. A noble effort, silenced once again by man’s ego. The Klipot woman gained access to the water while at Fort Detrick.”
“And that’s what kept us safe from the plague?”
“What kept you safe was your belief. The water was simply the medium used to mobilize your thoughts. To coin a phrase, it was mind over matter.”
“This is insane… or maybe I’m insane.” Shep paced back and forth, unable to process everything at once. “Maybe I’m not insane, maybe I’m just delusional. Wait… that’s it! It all makes perfect sense now. This whole little Wizard of Oz adventure… it all began when the chopper crashed in the forest. Everything I experienced from that moment on… you, miraculously showing up in Inwood Park, me, living out Dante’s Nine Circles of Hell while I attempted to get back home to my family, the ‘helper characters’ we conveniently managed to pick up along the way… even that wicked Grim Reaper witch waiting for me down in Hades… it was all just a dream, none of it actually happened. In reality, I’m still unconscious in the chopper, or better yet, I’m lying in a drug-induced coma in some hospital bed in the Bronx. And that rush I felt when I looked into your eyes… that was probably a B-12 shot the nurse just injected into my IV.” Shep beamed a smile. “That’s it, isn’t it? God, I’m good. I didn’t mean you, Virgil, that was just an expression, you know, like I was talking to the man upstairs. The real dude.”
“The guy asleep at the wheel?”
“Exactly.”
“Tell you what, let’s do a test.” Virgil reached for Patrick’s face and pinched his cheek.
“Ow! That’s your test?”
“You seem wide-awake to me. Still, it pays to be sure.”
Shep jumped as a phantom sensation suddenly oozed a healing warmth from his butchered left deltoid muscle. As he watched in stunned amazement, the protrusion formed a humerus, the bone miraculously extending down from his shoulder, followed by a progressive web of nerves and blood vessels, tendons and muscles, the growing appendage extending into a forearm, wrist, hand, and fingers, the newborn limb atomizing flesh before his spellbound eyes into a fully formed and functional left arm.
Shep fell to his knees, flexing his fingers… giddy. Unlike the experience in the Ninth Circle of Hell, he could instinctively tell that this limb was real. “How?”
“Stem cells. Amazing things. It’s a shame mankind waited so long to begin using them. Imagine the boundless joy that could have been spread across the world by harvesting new limbs for amputees, spinal cords for the paralyzed, organs for the decrepit, or cures for diseases — all of which were intended to challenge man’s ability to better himself. Unfortunately, the Adversary bound you to organized religion. That was Satan’s trump card, and man’s ego embraced it like opium.”
Shep stared at Virgil, as if seeing the old man for the first time. “You really are God, aren’t you?”
“God is a concept of man, a digestible image of a ruler on a throne, a divine entity one petitions when one wants to hit the lottery or is faced with death. I am the Creator’s desire to reveal Himself to you within the Light of Wisdom, appearing to you in a reflected finite image your mind can accept and absorb.”
“The Light of Wisdom?”
“The essence of existence.” Virgil’s blue eyes danced behind his rose-colored spectacles. “You wish to know how all this came to be.”
“Please.”
“Very well. But what I explain now are supernal matters — matters that occupy neither space or time, nor material manifestations — the very elements that dominate your senses and surroundings. There are things you may not be able to accept or grasp, yet instinctively your soul will know them to be true. Try not to fight your gut reaction by using finite logic.”
“You’re telling me my brain’s too small to handle this.”
“I am saying your senses are hardwired into the Malchut, the physical world. The Upper Realm is a completely different reality. It’s like you, a three-dimensional being, having to explain existence to a two-dimensional cartoon character. You’d have to limit yourself to two-dimensional vernacular in order to describe three-dimensional concepts.”
“This is algebra, and I’m only in first grade, got it. Anything else I should know?”
“As I said, time and space do not exist in the spiritual realm. Therefore, if I use the word ‘before,’ it refers to cause. If I say ‘after,’ it is the effect.”
“Understood. Now tell me… what’s really out there? How did this all come to be?”
“In the reality of the infinite, there is the Creator, there is the unknowable Essence of the Creator, and there is the Light that comes from the Creator. The Light exists in the Endless. The Light is perfection. And though you can never know the Creator, at His essence is the nature of sharing. But because there was nothing upon which to share, a reciprocal energy was necessary to complete the circuitry, in this case a Vessel to receive the Creator’s infinite Light.
“And so the Vessel was created, and its entire purpose was to receive. And the Vessel was the unified soul. And now there were two types of Light in the Endless: The Light of Wisdom, which was the essence of existence that simply gives, and the Light of Mercy, or the Vessel, which desired only to receive. Remember the example I gave earlier? If the Light of Wisdom was the electricity circulating throughout your home, the Light of Mercy, the Vessel, would be a lamp that plugged into a wall socket to receive the energy. Without the lamp, you have no illumination, without the Light of Mercy the Light of Wisdom cannot reveal itself.”
“Like you said earlier with Dawn, it’s like the sun. The sun radiates energy, and yet its radiance can only be seen when it reflects off a body in space… like the Earth.” Shep paused, his mind racing. “Virgil, you said you were the Creator’s desire to reveal Himself to me within the Light of Wisdom. Does that mean you are reflecting… off my Light of Mercy?”
Virgil smiled. “Let’s return to the story of creation. In the infinite Endless that filled the entirety of existence, there was the Creator’s Light that gave unconditionally and now, through cause and effect, there was the Vessel, a repository of the unified soul and the only true creation that has ever occurred. The Torah encodes the Vessel with a name: Adam. But the Vessel Adam, like a battery, was composed of two aspects, or energies. Its male energy, positively charged protons, and its negatively charged female aspect — the electron, so named Eve in the encoded Creation story. And the Vessel had only the desire to receive, and the Light only gave, and so there was boundless fulfillment. Still, Adam lacked an awareness of its own fulfillment, for how does one appreciate a sunny day if every day is sunny? More important, how does one come to know and appreciate God if one never experiences the absence of God?”
“So what happened?”
“Cause and effect. As the Light continued to fill the Vessel, it passed along the Essence of the Creator, His desire to share. The Vessel, created only to receive, now desired to share, to be the cause of its own fulfillment… in essence, to be like the Creator. But the Vessel had no way of sharing; furthermore, it felt shame because it had not earned the endless Light and fulfillment it was receiving. And so, in order to be like the Creator, the Vessel shunned the Creator’s Light.
“This act of resistance caused the Tzimtzum, the contraction. Without the Light, the Vessel contracted into a singular point of darkness within the endless World — the infinite giving birth to the finite. Suddenly without the Creator, the Vessel expanded to allow the Light back in. This sudden contraction and expansion, what you refer to as the Big Bang, was the cause that led to the physical universe, giving Einstein his time-space continuum. And yet this bubble of existence is not true reality. The true reality of existence is in the 99 percent… the Endless. What’s wrong?”
“It feels right, it’s just hard to get my mind around this. But go on… please.”
“When the Tzimtzum occurred, the constriction formed ten dimensions, or Sefirot. Six of these ten Sefirot compacted, enfolding into one super-dimension, the Ze’ir Anpin.”
“Why ten dimensions? What is their purpose?”
“The Sefirot filter the Creator’s Light. The upper three realms, known as Keter, Chochmah, and Binah, are closest to the Creator and do not exert direct influence in man’s physical realm. The bundle of six that remain just beyond man’s limited perception is the source of all knowledge and fulfillment available to mankind in this physical world. The physical world, the lowest of the ten Sefirot, is called Malchut. As immense as the universe appears, it represents a mere 1 percent of total existence, and it is a reality based upon deception, reinforced by the limitations of man’s five senses.”
“Incredible. What about the soul?”
“Every soul is a spark from the shattered Vessel, Adam. When the Vessel shattered, it separated the male principle, Adam, from the female principle, Eve. Just as conception in the womb is followed by the division of the cell, so too did the shattered Vessel divide, its sparks becoming male and female souls. Lesser sparks filtered down into the animal kingdom, trees, vegetation, and so forth, all the way down to every aspect of matter and energy that makes up the cosmos.”
“But my soul is not whole, is it, Virgil? It remains divided. You promised me—”
The Light appeared before him as a luminescent blue apparition — the same apparition he had witnessed communicating with Dawn Patel. As he watched, it constricted into the human form of a woman. She was wearing the same outfit she had worn in the scorched Polaroid, her wavy blond hair falling past her shoulders down to the small of her back.
Patricia Ann Segal smiled at her long-lost soul mate. “Hey, baby.”
“Oh God…” Patrick collapsed to his knees, tears flowing from his eyes as he hugged her about the waist, the emptiness in his heart instantly replaced by boundless joy.
Virgil beamed a cherubic smile. “The reunification of soul mates is a force of Light that cannot be denied, greater even than the parting of the Red Sea.”
Trish drew Shep to his feet. He kissed her face. He inhaled her pheromones, the flesh of his whiskered cheeks warmed by her touch.
The old man watched the couple like a proud parent. “Women tend to complete their spiritual correction sooner than their male counterparts. A woman’s soul may reside in the Upper Realm while she attempts to assist her soul mate in his own correction.”
Shep pulled back from his embrace. “What about our little girl?”
“She has already returned.” Trish gazed into his eyes. “What does your heart tell you?”
“Oh gosh… it’s Dawn! The Patels’ daughter… she harbors our little girl’s soul.”
“I’ve kept a watchful eye on her… and you.”
“Trish… I’ve done such terrible things. I joined the military to avenge your death. I committed murder. I brought darkness into the lives of others.” His body trembling, Shep turned to Virgil and prostrated himself, hugging the old man’s boots to his chest. “I’m sorry, God, please forgive me!”
“Your repentance has been accepted, my son.”
Shep wiped back tears. Regaining his feet, he took his soul mate’s hand. “Will we be together?”
“Soon. Your soul must be cleansed before it reenters the Upper Realm, but the burden has been lessened by your selfless actions over the last twenty-four hours. The more Light a soul desires and receives, the higher it ascends. Everything you see around you, all that exists and that evolved to exist in the physical world of time and mortality was created so that the soul could spiritually transform itself from a receiver to a giver and earn its immortality and fulfillment in the Endless. This is the reality you requested as the Vessel, Adam, the request granted by the Creator because He loves His children unconditionally.”
“If He loves us so much, why is there so much hatred in the world? So much violence? So much pain and suffering.”
“As we discussed earlier, in order to earn the endless fulfillment, there must be free will. To challenge free will, there must be an Adversary. An opposing team. And the game cannot be fixed, or the prize has no meaning. The Adversary is the human ego at the genetic level, referred to in the Creation story as the consumption of the forbidden fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. Lust, gluttony, avarice, wrath, violence, fraud, greed, and treachery… all are symptoms of the ego, every selfish act diverting the Creator’s Light to Satan. Sin is man’s refusal to become what man was destined to be. If man would simply expand his own vessel by using the tools he was given, there would never be suffering in this world again.”
“And how do we do that?”
“By expanding your vessel to allow more Light in. By loving thy neighbor as thy self in the same way the Creator loves each of His children — unconditionally. Love is a weapon of the Light, it has the power to eradicate all forms of darkness. Spirituality isn't about just being nice, Patrick, it's about transforming one’s not-so-nice qualities. When you offer love even to your enemies, you destroy their darkness and hatred. What's more, you cast out the darkness inside yourself. What is left in the aftermath are two souls who now recognize the spark of divinity they both share. Think about that. It is not the positive trait that flips on the Light switch; the Light goes on when one identifies, uproots, and transforms their own reactive negative characteristics. When a mass majority of people reach this magnitude of understanding, then endless fulfillment and immortality shall be had for all. Conversely, when collective negative actions rise to a critical juncture, the Angel of Death is granted free rein, and even the righteous shall suffer.”
“Is that what’s happening here, Virgil? Has evil run so amok that humanity needs another do-over?”
The old man turned somber. “The generation of Noah was stubborn and bold enough to sin openly. The generation of the flood has returned.”
“Then… I really was Noah?”
“The soul that inhabits your existence as Patrick Shepherd also shared the physical being that was Noah, a righteous man born in a time of greed and corruption. You and your soul mate, Naamah, have returned to witness the end of another generation.”
Shep squeezed Trish’s hand, his face flushing red. “You’re not really going to wipe out 6 billion people?”
“Six million or 6 billion, in either case the Creator does not destroy. Man has become his own instrument of destruction. His desire to feed from the Tree of Knowledge without restriction, his insistence on receiving for the self alone… it is these acts that have summoned the Angel of Death to stalk the Earth, just as it did 666 years ago during the last pandemic.”
“But you could stop it, you could end the insanity. You talk about mankind being proactive, what about you? What about that Holocaust story you told me!”
“The story was yours.”
Patrick’s face paled. His body trembled. “The boy you spoke of?”
“It was your life, Patrick, your second deployment, as you call it. What you experienced was the severity of Noah’s tikkun. You lost your entire family at Auschwitz. Your soul mate perished there as well.”
“And you did nothing? While innocent children were being tossed into ovens. While planes were being flown into buildings—”
“—and innocent families were being slaughtered by American soldiers? As I said, God is not a verb, Patrick. The Light flows, regardless of intent. It’s all about free will. Those who live their lives by the Creator’s laws remain protected. A miracle of salvation at this juncture would be interpreted as a religious happening. In the end, it would lead to the very war you seek to avert, serving Satan, who continues to grow stronger through these acts of darkness.”
“I don’t care! Noah may have stood idly by while you drowned the world, but I won’t. You and I… we had a covenant after the flood. The ark was our covenant. You promised never to destroy humanity again!”
“It is not the Creator that will destroy humanity, Patrick. Behold.”
The brown swirl of clouds parted to the west, revealing three dark helicopters frozen in time over the Hudson River. “Man is responsible for this flood. And through his actions, Satan’s power grows.”
Virgil pointed to the edge of the construction pit, where the Angel of Death had materialized. The male Grim Reaper had been impaled by his female counterpart’s scythe, the blade buried in the base of the being’s barren skull.
“What happened to him? How can you slay… an angel?”
“Every element of creation maintains a male and female aspect. So it is with the Angel of Death. Each Reaper, both male and female, was born human into the physical world. When it is time for a Reaper to move on, they select their replacement from among the living. The female aspect of death, strengthened by the corruption of man, no longer remains held in check. Unless humanity is terminated, she shall walk the Earth unabated and poison the Malchut so that no Light can ever be again revealed in this dimension.”
Shep stared at the male Reaper. The supernal creature was vibrating, its eye sockets fluttering, its life force diminishing rapidly.
“I never completed my tikkun, did I, Virgil? Not as Noah or in Auschwitz. Not now, as Patrick Shepherd. You said each soul has four deployments.”
“This was your last.”
“Who else was I? A mass murderer? An alcoholic, like my father?”
“Actually, you were a poet, a man inspired by the Light, yet lacking the discipline to keep from getting perpetually drunk on the forbidden fruit. James Douglas Morrison. His friends called him Jim.”
“Wait… Jim Morrison of The Doors?” Patrick turned to Trish. “I was Jim Morrison?”
The former Pamela Courson squeezed the deceased rocker’s hand.
The old man placed his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “Are you ready to continue your journey, son?”
“No… just wait, wait one second. You said every soul must complete its tikkun before moving on to the Upper Realm. How can I be reunited with my soul mate in the Upper Realm if I haven’t completed my tikkun? And how can I complete my tikkun if you’re allowing this pandemic to wipe out humanity?”
“Mankind has chosen to move away from the Light. The generation of the plague shall have no share in the World to come.”
“So you’re simply going to allow Scythe to wipe out everyone? Just like that?”
“God is not mankind’s servant. God just is. It’s man who needs to take action, not the Creator. This was the test of existence.”
Shep balled his fists in frustration. “You know what, God? You really suck as a parent!”
“Shep—”
“No, Trish, He needs to hear it. You say we’re moving away from the Light? Maybe that’s your fault. Maybe we could have used some more spiritual guidance? Or how about a sign every once in a while that you’re not asleep at the wheel? Hell, it’d be nice to see a little justice in this world, too.”
“Every soul is judged at the appropriate time. The Creator no longer micromanages, Patrick. That just leads to more religious dogma, more false prophets… more chaos.”
“Then appoint someone who will micromanage. Give me one last deployment. Let me fulfill my tikkun… as him!” Shep pointed to the Grim Reaper.
“Baby, no. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“He’s been following me throughout Manhattan, Trish. I think he chose me. Humanity needs someone to keep the Grim Reaper’s old lady in check… the Upper Realm needs balance to be restored in the Malchut—well, I’m volunteering. What I’m not going to do is stand by and allow all those people to die. Not this time around… no way.”
“Know the ground rules, Patrick, before you volunteer for yet another war. The Angel of Death is a supernal being, able to access both the higher and lower worlds. There are demons out there… entities of existence that even Dante dared not imagine. Unless you remain vigilant, the forces of darkness will easily corrupt your soul.”
“My soul mate will protect me; she’ll keep me anchored to the Light.” Shep squeezed Trish’s hand. “It’s the only way we can be together again. It’s the only way I can protect our daughter.”
“You request this of your own free will?”
“I do.”
Virgil looked at Patricia, who nodded.
“Then the covenant is made. All those you choose to save shall be fruitful and multiply, all those you choose to condemn shall perish. And when the world regains its balance, your tikkun shall be completed, and you shall be reunited in the Upper Realm with your soul mate.”
Shep hugged Trish, holding her tight. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
Virgil waited patiently until they separated.
“One last question… why me? I’m about the farthest thing from a righteous man.”
“As were all the great sages. The greatest Light, Patrick, comes from the greatest transformation.”
Shep maintained his grip on his soul mate’s hand. “There are no accidents, are there, Virgil. You set this whole thing up.”
“No, son. You did.” He took their entwined hands in his. “Just remember, free will works both ways. Noah failed to restrict himself in the Malchut and was castrated. Should you fail to restrict yourself in the supernal realm, the forces of darkness will corrupt you so that even the Light and love of your soul mate will not be enough to rescue you from this self-induced purgatory.”
Patricia squeezed his hand… then let go, her aura fading into the light.
“Are you ready?”
“Yes.” Shep swallowed hard. “Any last spiritual advice you want to impart, Virge?”
The old man took him by the hand and led him toward the Reaper, the being’s body now bathed in the light of a rainbow. “Always remember, your soul is forever connected to the Light of the Creator. At times, your actions can veil this connection, but it can never be severed. Never.”
“Thanks. Hey, about that lousy parent remark—”
“Unconditional love is unconditional, Patrick. Embrace the chaos. Use it to eradicate the negative traits within you, and you will hasten your transformation into a true tzadik… a holy man.”
Shep took a deep breath. Then, reaching out, he touched the Grim Reaper’s bony hand…
Armed with his newborn son, his certainty, and a mangled steel prosthetic limb, Paolo Salvatore Minos reentered the frigid waters of New York Harbor. So focused was his mind that he no longer registered the cold. The water rose past his knees… still nothing happened.
Think of it as a baptism. He continued on up to his chest, the thirty-seven-degree surface mere inches from the baby’s blanket—
— sound and sky were suddenly blotted out as he stepped off the unseen concrete ledge and plunged underwater!
His heart pounded in terror as his left hand felt for the baby’s nose, his fingers pinching his son’s nostrils. He forced a panicked stride—
— his left foot relocating the perch. Using the steel arm as a crutch, he regained his balance and headed back up the ramp to save his child. But as his head cleared the surface, and he released the infant’s nose, he saw that he was not standing on the concrete boat ramp; he was standing on a hunk of ice!
The harbor had not parted; instead, it was progressively freezing all around him, at least some of it is — a ten-to-fifteen-foot-wide swath that appeared to be stretching southwest across New York Harbor.
He exhaled a frozen breath, his body trembling, tears pouring from his swollen red eyes. Turning back to shore, he was met by his teary-eyed wife, who gathered the crying infant in her arms, wrapping him in a dry blanket. “Paolo… how?”
“Certainty.”
David and Pankaj looked at one another, unsure of what to do.
The Tibetan monk gripped them both by the elbow, jerking them back into the moment. “Do not analyze the manifestation; use it to get everyone off the island!”
“Take Gavi, I’ll get the others!” David sprinted back to the school bus to awaken the children while Pankaj and Manisha helped Dawn and Gavi climb onto the edge of the ice floe, which bobbed yet managed to maintain its buoyancy.
The children hurried off the school bus, racing to the water’s edge, as the three helicopters crossed the Hudson a mile to the north.
“Let’s go, let’s go, everyone move! We have to hurry!”
David and Marquis Jackson-Horne passed the children to Pankaj and Manisha, everyone holding hands, forming a line behind Paolo and Francesca, who quickly led the exodus across the harbor. The middle schoolers and former sex slaves helped the younger children, hustling them across the slippery surface. David climbed onto the floe, rejoining his daughter.
The Elder stopped Marquis. “Choose the course for the rest of your days now.”
His little sister nodded.
Reaching into his waistband, the gang leader removed the 9mm and tossed the gun into the harbor. He followed his sister onto the ice.
The Elder climbed after him, bringing up the rear.
Sheridan Ernstmeyer waited until the thirty-six men, women, infant, and children were a good thirty yards offshore before she convinced herself to follow, gingerly stepping onto the frozen surface. “This is crazy.”
Ahead, Paolo and Francesca slid their feet along the slippery opaque surface as if skating. Liberty Island was less than a quarter mile ahead, the Statue momentarily disappearing from view behind a white mist that formed around the frozen path, concealing the exodus from Manhattan — the frigid fog serving to obliterate their heat signatures from the Reaper drones’ thermal sensors. Paolo focused on the advancing ice floe as it continued to form and harden several yards ahead of him, even as he registered a sudden bone-deep chill that raced down his spine, causing him to shiver.
Glancing to his right, he saw the dark form appear out of the haze, standing along the path like a sentry.
The hooded figure was cloaked in black, the scythe held within the bony grip of the being’s left hand. The Angel of Death was standing on the edge of the newly formed ice, signaling for them to advance.
Averting his gaze, Paolo led his procession past Death, gripping the prosthetic arm even tighter. “Keep moving, keep your eyes on the path! Look at nothing else.”
Ignoring the warning, Dawn looked up at the Grim Reaper and smiled. “Thank you, Patrick.”
David Kantor’s eyes widened. The Elder swept the former Army medic and his teenage daughter along, restricting his own gaze, though he sensed the supernal being’s weighty presence.
Sheridan Ernstmeyer did not see the Grim Reaper until she was almost upon it. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”
The Angel of Death grinned—
— as the ice beneath the female assassin’s feet cracked open, and she plunged feet first into the unforgiving depths of the Hudson River.
Her legs were moving, but she could not feel them, the numbness of fear making her trek across the compound feel like an out-of-body experience. The two guards half carried, half dragged her past the courtyard and out a small gate in the fortress wall.
Leigh Nelson stared at the fog-enshrouded harbor, her limbs trembling uncontrollably. She thought of her husband and children. She prayed they would remain safe from the pandemic.
The guard on her left placed the gun to the back of her skull—
— and collapsed… dead. The second man’s eyes bulged out of their sockets in terror, then he, too, joined his comrade in death.
Leigh looked around, giddy with relief—
— her legs buckling, her mind taken aback by the tall figure in the hooded cloak, his eye sockets aflutter with three pairs of seeing eyes. Floundering on all fours along the frozen ground, she looked up, terrified. “Please… don’t… hurt… me.”
The Reaper spoke, his voice a familiar rasp. “I have a basic rule: I never take a good soul after Wednesday.”
“Shep?” Leigh Nelson’s eyes rolled up into her head as she fainted.
High over Manhattan, the three military helicopters reached their designated drop zones. Praying for forgiveness, the distraught pilots released their payloads…
The corridors, rendered powerless, were vacated and dark. The interior was autumn cold, disrupted by an occasional chorus of coughs and moans coming from wards harboring the forgotten. Shown respect in words but never compensated for their sacrifice, the veterans of foreign wars remained yesterday’s problem — a burden to society, like the crazy uncle who never received an invitation to the wedding or mourners at his funeral. Dealing with amputees and cancer-ridden returning soldiers was a depressing reality to the “patriotic masses” and remained a very low priority for the members of Congress, who receive greater “fulfillment” by funding a new weapon of mass destruction than by cleaning up the “mess” left over from their two ongoing wars.
Of course, those who made it their life’s work to bring light into a wounded veteran’s life know different. And yet Scythe had chased even these stalwarts of spirituality away.
Having emptied the hospital of its staff, the plague had stalked the antiseptic halls like a hungry wolf. Desperate to feed, it had acquired new life when a fleeing member of the maintenance crew had failed to secure the vacuum seal on the doors leading into the VA’s wards, summoning the beast to the banquet.
Open wounds and immobilized victims. Fresh meat lined up like sausages.
Twelve hours later, there was nothing left but incubators of death.
The life sign resonated like a flower blooming on a desert pampa, its isolated bubble energized by a self-contained battery pack. The newborn, an auburn-haired girl less than twenty-four hours old, slept peacefully under the watchful eye of her mother.
Mary Louise Klipot stared at her daughter, yearning to hold her… to give her the love and affection that she was denied by her own parent. She looked up as a dark silhouette reflected off the neonatal intensive care unit’s Plexiglas incubator. “Go away, Death. You’re not stealing my baby. Santa Muerte protects her.”
The Grim Reaper slammed the wooden handle of his scythe upon the tile floor, the sledgehammer-like impact opening an eight-inch fissure that divided the room in half.
“What is it you want? Not my child!”
“You must answer for the ten thousand infants your actions stole this day. You shall reap the pain you’ve sown through all eternity, and your child shall be part of the harvest.”
“No!” She threw herself over the incubator, begging for mercy. “Please don’t compound my sins by stealing another innocent life! God, I know you are out there… please forgive me… have mercy on my daughter’s soul.”
The Reaper stared at the innocent newborn. “Renounce Santa Muerte, and I shall spare your child.”
Mary looked up as a brilliant white light filled the city outside her room—
“I renounce her!”
— the intense heat melting the scream from her larynx, liquefying the flesh from her bones.
Paolo and Francesca gingerly stepped off the ice and onto the pier at Liberty Island. The teens and children ran past them, everyone hurrying up a paved sidewalk leading to the Statue of Liberty.
David Kantor kicked open the sealed doors at the base of the monolith, and they entered the pedestal’s observation level—
— as a brilliant white burst of heat ignited to the northeast like an expanding bolt of lightning.
President Eric Kogelo opened his eyes. The pain that had wracked his head and internal organs over the last six hours had ceased, the fever gone.
He stole a prolonged moment in bed, enjoying the sheer joy of simply feeling well again, until an overwhelming sense of dread forced him into action. He sat up, disoriented and still a bit weak, surprised to find himself alone in the isolation room, the door bolted from the inside.
A sudden jolt of icy fear sent the president scrambling over the side of the bed.
The gaunt figure in the ragged hooded robe was standing in the corner of the room, watching him through eye sockets flitting with hundreds of tiny pupils. The being’s scythe, held upright, dripped blood from the curvature of its olive green blade.
The skeleton animated, approaching the foot of his bed.
“Help! Somebody get in here!”
A burst of frigid air emanated from the Reaper’s mouth as the ancient skull spoke. “There is no one here to help you. The ark your people built to isolate your failed leaders has been breached. Plague has taken every living soul on this island, save one.”
“Oh… God.” The president gasped to catch his breath, then gathered himself and stood in defiance of his impending death. “Just tell me one thing before you take me… will humanity perish as a result of our stupidity?”
“That remains to be seen.”
“Will my death serve a greater purpose?”
“No. But your life can still bring Light to the world.”
Kogelo’s skin tingled with adrenaline. “You’re sparing me?”
“You are a righteous man born in a time of greed and corruption, tasked by the will of the masses to bring peace. You have not gone far enough. You have struck deals with the dark forces and been manipulated in the process. To unveil the Light, you must end war. To end hatred, you must make peace with your enemies.”
“It’s not that easy. Ending two wars… there were loose ends in Iraq. Afghanistan is complex, we’re dealing with Pakistan. There are issues… we’re making progress. I could set a new timetable—”
“Should ten more innocents perish in Iraq, the eleventh shall be your wife.”
“What?”
“Should ten more innocents perish in Afghanistan, the eleventh shall be your child. This is my timetable.”
Kogelo collapsed to his knees. His throat constricted. “Please don’t do this. Take my life, I don’t care. Not my wife and daughter. I beg of you.”
“Cause and effect. You hold the power over life and death. Reap what you sow.”
Fueled by desperation, the president stole courage. “I will end the war. But there are enemies about… entities who prefer the darkness. How do I bring peace when all they want is war?”
“For those who seek to harm others, Judgment Day has arrived. This is my covenant to you.”
The Grim Reaper extended its skeletal right hand—
— the bony appendage instantaneously wrapping with blood vessels and nerves, tendons and muscles, all sealed within a layer of warm Caucasian flesh.
For a brief second, Eric Kogelo swooned, then he willed himself to shake the offered hand, gazing up into the face of its owner.
The man who looked back at him was in his thirties, bearing Jim Morrison features, his long brown hair matching his eyes. The dog tags around his neck identified him as a US soldier. Kogelo squinted to read the inscription. Sgt. Patrick Ryan Shepherd…
Shep pulled back, releasing the president’s hand… and his own humanity—
— casting his soul to the underworld.
"Greatness is not what you have achieved
but what you have overcome.”
“Are you going to get any better or is this it?”
The following entry has been excerpted from a recently discovered unpublished memoir, written by surgeon Guy de Chauliac during the Great Plague: 1346–1348.(translated from its original French)
Time has passed. So much has happened, and yet I am at a loss to account for everything. Perhaps that is best.
When last I recorded an entry, I was worse than dead… a hapless soul, drifting in and out of torturous pain. In my delirium, I prayed to my Maker to take me.
Death finally paid its visit one wretched night in May.
My confines were stifling, my fever refusing me a moment’s respite. Perhaps it was an incessant blood-soaked cough, perhaps divine intervention, but at some juncture I opened my eyes to the night. At that moment, the cloaked figure emerged from the shadows of my bedroom, his ragged garb blending with the darkness. The candlelight flickered in his presence, its orange glow revealing a scarred skull tinged brown with age, as if the bone had been left to rot in a pond. Or, by its overwhelming stench, perhaps a cesspool.
The room cooled noticeably as he spoke, his French twisting in an Asian accent. “I was once like you, a slave of the flesh, born in a time of greed and corruption. In my early years I bore witness to unaccountable bloodshed delivered by my own father’s blade, and many a man suffered by my family’s rule. But I turned away from the violence following my first battle as Emperor in order to pursue the mysticism of the spiritual realm. Instead of war, I waged peace, and in doing so, I changed our sworn enemies into allies, bringing prosperity to our entire region. But the knowledge I sought eluded me. And in my final hour, I was visited by Death, and he, too, offered me what I now offer you — the secrets of creation… the path to immortality. Agree to my terms by your own free will, and I shall extend your days in this world, and the knowledge of the ages that abandoned me shall be yours, bringing joy to the rest of your days… and beyond.”
I sat up in my deathbed, my mind waging a war with my own sanity. “And if I accept your offer… what then? What is to be my end of this covenant?”
“When the natural end of your days transpires, and you have taken your final breath, you shall relieve me of my burden as the Reaper of Souls. Complete this spiritual task, and you shall be forgiven all your earthly sins and be guaranteed a place in Heaven’s endless fulfillment.”
“And how many days,” I asked, “must I wander the Earth as Death?”
“Time is not measured in the spiritual realm, monsieur. But fear not, for a worthy soul, tarnished by his own past deeds, even now awaits his next rebirth. Together with his soul mate, they shall relieve you of your future burden as you shall relieve me of mine.”
He left me then, this Angel of Death, to ponder whether his visit was real or a delusion brought on by the fever. But soon after, my symptoms improved, and by summer’s end, I was my old self.
But while I was gone, how the world had changed.
More than half the European population that existed a mere two years earlier were dead, entire villages wiped out by the plague. Religion was brought to its knees by its own corruption. Papal rule was forced from its partnership with the Royals, who gradually lost their own coercive hold on the masses when food and land proved plentiful in the sudden absence of more than 45 million people.
I, too, have changed. Titles no longer have any meaning to me. I wish now only to serve mankind, sharing my acquired knowledge of the human condition with others.
Then this!
No sooner had I begun penning a manuscript that would become The Inventory of Medicine than I was visited by a peculiar fellow of Asian descent. That he knew of my encounter with death was outweighed by his most unusual gift — a journal accumulating the greatest medical wisdom of the ages, authored by Aristotle and Plato and Pythagoras, as well as some of the most renowned sages in history.
The bounty of knowledge this strange-looking Tibetan monk offered was as mind-boggling as his opaque eyes and the asking price: “Accept our Society’s invitation, and the knowledge is yours to preside over as caretaker.”
From darkness the Light, from sickness and death… a level of joy and accomplishment I could never have imagined. I no longer fear death, knowing that the promise of immortality awaits.
And so, I live out my days to help others, each act of kindness seeding an everlasting fulfillment…
Let the Reaper come indeed!
— Guigo
LAMERICA
Clothed in sunlight
Restled in waiting
Dying of fever
Changed shapes of an empire
Starling invaders
Vast promissory notes of joy
Wanton, willful & passive
Married to doubt
Clothed in great warring monuments
of glory
How it has changed you
How slowly estranged you
Solely arranged you
Beg you for mercy.