The Second Coming (17 page)

“Call 911,” the voice echoed frantically in his head.

Mike heard the wailing siren of an ambulance followed by the sound of voices and commotion. He could tell by the urgency in the voices that he was in trouble and he suddenly realized that he might die. His head felt as though his brain was oozing out of his skull like an egg dropped on the floor. Not only was he going to die, but he allowed the Sterling Killer to take Denise after he promised to protect her. Now she was going to die as well and it was his fault. How could he have been such a God damned fool?

He felt the sensation of his body being carefully rolled over as two voices spoke urgently with each other in a language that he could no longer comprehend. It was as if this wasn’t happening to him; like it was happening to someone else and he was a bystander eavesdropping on it.

They strapped something around his head and then he felt himself being levitated. He realized he was being loaded into the back of the ambulance. Would he make it to the hospital or would he be dead on arrival. What a stupid fool he was. How did he fail to realize that the Sterling Killer was watching him?

He involuntarily opened his eyes a crack as the ambulance rattled down the road. It was too bright and his vision was blurry. He could hear the beep of an EKG monitor over the droning sound of the siren as he faded in and out of consciousness.

More sound of commotion as he was wheeled down a softly lit hall on a wobbly gurney. He was surprised that he didn’t die in the ambulance. Maybe there was a chance that he wouldn’t die. Maybe they would be able to save him.

He made a promise to himself to fight with all of his will to survive. If they could somehow save him, he swore on his father’s grave that he would capture and kill the Sterling Killer. All he needed was one more chance. He would make the Sterling Killer pay for all of the lives he took and destroyed. He was not about to let the Sterling Killer get away with this.

And then he was surrounded by a hazy light that filled him with euphoria. Was this what it was like to die? Was there really an afterlife? Was he in Heaven? It felt like Heaven and suddenly he was at peace as he slipped into a coma and drifted off to a warm, peaceful place. He was at ease and he settled in for a deep, long state of oblivion.

chapter
31

A
S THE BLUE
and white taxi pulled up in front of his father’s home, the same home he grew up in, Father John peered out the back window at the Colonial-style, brick mansion with its columns, white trimmed windows and black shutters. Things appeared the same, but as he was about to find out, they were not.

Father John paid the cab driver and thanked him for the ride. As he got out of the cab and slung his knapsack over his shoulder, he stopped and gazed admiringly at the house. He had a lot of good memories from his childhood at this house and in the neighborhood; riding bikes, playing capture the flag, kick the can and football with his brothers. It didn’t seem like seventeen years had gone by since he graduated from Baylor University and left to travel the Himalayans in search of enlightenment. His belly welled with sentimental nostalgia.

As he walked up the brick steps to the front door, he realized he was anxious. He had not seen or talked to his father or brothers during his seventeen year pilgrimage. How could it have been so long? At first he wrote his father letters to keep everyone up to date on his travels and his search for understanding, but he would not allow anyone to visit him while he was living at the monasteries. He did not want his learning to be influenced by the outside world. His brothers thought he was crazy, but his father wrote back telling him how much he respected his commitment and determination. His dad encouraged him to continue down his path to enlightenment.

When he left the monastic life to live with Arianna, he wrote to his father to tell him that he found true love and that
love
was the closest feeling to enlightenment that man could experience. He was expecting his father to
write a letter congratulating him, but instead he received a scathing response. His father did not understand how he could just abandon his life’s devotion to God and the search for enlightenment for the love of some woman whom he just met. His father told him how disappointed he was in his decision to leave the abbey and that he did not approve of Father John living with Arianna or their relationship at all for that matter. In the letter he stated that unless he went back to the church and his search for enlightenment, his dad was disavowing him and cutting him out of his will.

Father John couldn’t believe that his father would write such a chastising letter. Didn’t his dad know him better than to threaten to cut him off? He was a monk and was used to living off of the bare essentials. He didn’t need his father’s money. Didn’t his dad understand that he didn’t care about wealth or material items? If he wanted material wealth he could go out and earn it on his own and so that is what he did while he lived with Arianna, as much to show himself and Arianna that he could provide for them, but also to prove to his dad that he could gain wealth on his own and didn’t need or want his inheritance. He felt betrayed by his dad’s letter and after that, did not write him again.

Now, as he stood at his dad’s front door, he wasn’t sure whether to ring the door bell or try the handle and walk right in. What was his dad’s reaction going to be when he saw him? Would he be excited to see his youngest son after seventeen long years or would he stay true to his words and disavow him?

Father John hesitantly pushed on the doorbell and then shuffled around on the porch looking at the neighbors homes wondering who still lived in the neighborhood. After a minute he rang the doorbell again, wondering if his father was home. Maybe he went to the store? Could his dad still drive?

Maybe he was taking a nap and sleeping through the chime of the doorbell. He decided to check if the door was unlocked and reached for the handle and pushed tentatively on the lever. The handle clicked and to Father John’s surprise, the door slowly creaked open and he poked his head inside.

“Hello?” he called out. “Is there anyone home?”

He listened for a response and when there was none forthcoming, he stepped into the front hallway leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

The interior was decorated with the same English Country décor as when he was growing up. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling like a
relic from the Titanic and the walls were painted a rose yellow. Ascending up the wall of the staircase were a series of black framed, antique paintings of English aristocrats in red coats and domed black riding helmets on horseback giving chase to a fox with their hounds.

As he wondered into the living room to the right, his eyes were immediately drawn to the brick fireplace and the family portrait above the mantle. He smiled as he remembered Christmas’s from years past. In front of the fireplace, a floral couch and two floral chairs faced each other with a mahogany coffee table separating them. A black Steinway piano jutted from the corner of the room and as he set his knapsack down on one of the chairs, he sauntered over and reminisced about standing around it singing as his father played Christmas classics. He gently caressed a few keys and quiet notes tickled his ears.

“What are you doing here?” an irritated voice asked startling him. Father John looked up and saw his brother James who had put on a few pounds, but still had the same dark hair, only now with sprinkles of grey in it.

Father John froze and stared at him. “I came home to see father,” he responded hesitantly.

“After seventeen years you think you can just show up and everything will be alright?”

“Is everything not alright?” Father John replied with a furrow of concern.

“Dad said you were coming home,” James said as he shook his head. “I didn’t believe him, but he told me that he wrote you a letter a few months back and received a response from Arianna stating that you left her to continue your search for enlightenment,” he paused looking at Father John with contempt. “I told him that didn’t mean you were coming home, but he was convinced.”

Father John smiled with appreciation. His father did know him. “Where is he now?” he asked calmly.

“He’s upstairs in bed,” James replied solemnly. “He’s dying you know.”

Father John’s heart filled with sinking sadness. Why did he wait so long to come home? “What’s the matter with him?”

“He has Cancer.”

Father John’s shoulders slumped as he cringed. “Where is everyone else?” he asked referring to his brothers. “Why aren’t they all here?”

James let out a sigh as he rubbed his hand down his face with anguish. “We all take turns coming over and helping the nurse except for Peter who lives in Oregon.”

“How is he?” Father John asked. “Is he conscious? Is he coherent?”

“He’s on life support. He’s waiting for you.”

All the blood drained from Father John’s head and his face tingled like it was covered with ants. After all this time, he finally came home and now he felt like a stranger in a strange place. He could feel the tension from his brother burning holes in him.

“Can I see him?” he asked politely.

James shrugged his shoulders. “He’s waiting for you.”

chapter
32

M
IKE’S MOM WAS
pacing the sterile hospital lobby in a daze, not knowing if her son would live or die. She was awoken in the middle of the night by the startling ring of her telephone and she knew immediately, with a dread she had been living with all of her life, that something was wrong with her son. Mrs. McCormick hesitated before answering the phone. In the back of her head she reasoned that if she did not pick it up and just went back to sleep, she would not have to face the bad news that was on the other side of the line. After several rings, she could no longer avoid her reality and hesitantly raised the receiver to her ear.

Big Pete tried to assure her that everything was going to be alright, but she could tell by the uncertain urgency in his voice that he didn’t really believe what he was saying.

She dressed in a panic and raced over to the hospital, alternately crying, cursing and praying for her son’s life.

When she arrived at the hospital lobby, Mike was already in surgery. Big Pete calmly explained, with wide eyes, that they were performing brain surgery for trauma caused from Mike being struck in the head with a blunt object. That was all they knew, so she paced the lobby helplessly waiting for the news of her son’s condition, praying for the best, but readying herself for the worst.

At around 4:30 am, the neurosurgeon dressed in his scrubs came out to the lobby with a look of concern.

Big Pete rose to his feet with his arm around Mrs. McCormick. Upon recognizing Big Pete, the doctor approached them slowly as he removed his cap and mask. He was a tan, young man with cropped, dark hair and black intense eyes who looked like the bearer of bad news.

“How is he doctor?” Big Pete asked softly.

“I wish we could tell with all certainty, but we just don’t know,” the doctor replied. “He is in critical condition and the next 48 hours are crucial for his survival.”

Mike’s mom’s legs went weak and as big Pete held her up, she fought back tears that were welling deep inside like a rising tide.

“You must be his mother.” The doctor acknowledged remorsefully.

Mrs. McCormick nodded her head slowly as her ashen face strained with sorrow and tears ran down her pale cheeks.

“I truly am sorry.” The doctor continued patiently. “The blows to his head caused bruising and swelling and tearing of the brain tissue, which can lead to secondary damage if the brain doesn’t get enough blood and oxygen. We’re draining the fluid from his head to relieve the pressure, but we won’t know anything for a couple of days,” the doctor paused and looked Mrs. McCormick in the eyes. “I’ll be straight with you. His eyes are still dilated and his respiration is labored due to his elevated blood pressure, coupled with a slowing pulse, which is why we have him hooked up to life support. These are not positive signs. We’re doing all we can to get him stabilized, but the longer he is in a coma, the worse his prognosis becomes.”