In the darkness her thoughts were on Brian Mulrooney. What happened to Tom wasn’t his fault. All he did was give what he believed to be the right answer to her question. How could she fault him for that? I never even said goodbye. How rude of me!

  The wounded woman now had another reason to be mortified. She pulled her phone from her pocketbook and saw there was a new voice message from Brian.

  Jacquelyn listened. “I should be the one apologizing to you,” she mumbled to herself, calling his number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi Brian. Thanks for the message.” Brian heard sniffling. “I also wanted to apologi…”

  Brian cut her off, “There’s no need to apologize, Jacquelyn. I had no right to say that to you. I can’t tell you how messed up I am right now...” His voice trailed off.

  “I accept your apology, Brian. Now I’m asking you to accept mine. You didn’t mean to hurt me. You only told me what you thought was the Truth. I left without even saying bye to you. It was wrong. Please forgive me for that.”

  “Apology accepted.” There was an awkward silence. Out of nowhere, Brian closed his eyes and started praying aloud, “Heavenly Father, I’m eternally grateful to You for saving my soul in New York City. Though weakened by last week’s tragic events, I feel so strengthened by Your Holy Spirit.”

  After a quick pause, Mulrooney went on, “Lord, as Jacquelyn mourns her many losses, grant her the strength she’ll need to endure these very trying times. Heal her mind, body, soul and spirit. My ultimate prayer is that she’ll come to know You like I do. Only then, will she find peace in this turbulent world. Draw her close to You, Lord, as only You can, in Jesus’ name, Amen.”

  “Thanks, Brian. It’s just what I needed.” Jacquelyn couldn’t deny she felt comforted by Brian’s words. She felt this certain peace washing over her. Would it last? Wiping her nose with a tissue, she could only wonder...

  “My pleasure, Jacquelyn. Hope you can rest tonight. Feel free to call me anytime.”

  “Thanks for being a true friend.”

  “I’m only a phone call away if you need me.”

  “Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome, Jacquelyn.”

  The call ended. Brian looked at the clock. It was 1:30 in the morning. Convinced that Charles Calloway would still be awake—probably reading the Word of God—Mulrooney called him.

  It was late, and Brian was dreadfully tired, but he was eager to share what just happened with his brother in Christ.

  As expected, Charles was happy to hear from his new brother in Christ again. Just hearing his voice reinvigorated his weary soul.

  When Brian explained what happened with Jacquelyn Swindell, Charles said, “I’m proud of you, Brian, for giving it to her straight. Many would have dodged the question. Just more proof of the Holy Spirit at work in you.”

  Out of nowhere, Brian blurted out, “I’m starting to have strong feelings for Jacquelyn that go beyond friendship. Especially after our brief encounter tonight. You’re the only one I plan on telling for now. Don’t think my mother can handle any more sudden changes.”

  “What about your girlfriend?”

  “What can I say? My feelings for Renate are diminishing. We’re going in different directions, spiritually speaking.”

  Calloway sighed, “Remember what we talked about in Luke twelve, where Jesus said a son would be set against his father, a daughter against her mother, and so on...?”

  “Already thought about that.”

  “Whenever someone crosses over from death to life, like you did yesterday, God tends to shake the old foundations so new construction can begin. Oftentimes when this happens, people we thought were meant to be in our lives get removed. This includes girlfriends.”

  “That’s exactly how it feels.”

  “That’s a good sign, my brother. It proves you’re under God’s conviction. He’s the potter. You are the clay. Let Him keep molding you as He sees fit. You must remain totally dependent on God in all things.”

  “I will.”

  “You know I’ll be praying for you. Keep praying for me, too.”

  “Already doing that, Charles. I haven’t forgotten the five reasons you gave me for why we should pray.”

  “Good, because I’m flying back to Florida tomorrow. I need all the prayer I can get. I’m not afraid of the plane ride, but I’m terrified to go back to an empty home.”

  “I’ll surely keep you lifted up, my brother.” Nine years Calloway’s junior, Brian felt Charles was the older brother he never had.

  Before calling it a night, Mulrooney prayed for Charles Calloway. After that, he spent an hour on his knees, praying that God would open the eyes and hearts of not only his parents and kid sister, Chelsea, but also Renate and her family, Jacquelyn Swindell, Tamika Moseley, and Craig Rubin.

  After 33 years of never praying for anyone—nothing serious anyway—it suddenly seemed natural to Brian. Even if they didn’t know it, he would keep praying for each of them on a daily basis, until God finally rescued them.

  “Thy will be done, Father,” Mulrooney said, falling sleep.

  33

  IT WAS A WEEK and a half since the Rapture of Christ’s Church, and Charles Calloway was back in Florida. Instead of landing at Sarasota-Bradenton International, his original destination, his plane touched down in Tampa.

  Both airports suffered considerable damage last week. But with Tampa being the larger and busier of the two, it was a much higher priority on the list of airports to be reconstructed.

  Just ten days ago, the thought of flying first-class had all but consumed him. But no longer. He felt foolish flying first-class earlier. The flight went rather smoothly, but Charles was fidgety the entire time and couldn’t wait to land.

  On one hand, Calloway was happy to be back in the Sunshine State. On the other hand, part of him wanted to remain in the sky forever. Not because of the first-class experience, but to avoid going back to an empty home. He now understood what a sustained panic attack felt like. He could hardly catch his breath at times.

  The closer he inched toward home in the backseat of an airport shuttle, the more anxious he felt. Staring outside the window, Charles thought back to his last night spent with his family ten long horrific days ago. He promised that night that he would spend more quality time with them after this trip. It was a promise he had every intention of fulfilling but would never get the chance to now.

  The grieving man was sickened to think that his dream-house reminded him more of his business than his family. There were the occasional picnics on the beach and late-night swims in the Gulf of Mexico, followed by a dip in the pool. They also took their share of walks on Siesta Key Beach together.

  But even then, his mind was usually elsewhere. Or he was on his cell phone talking business or doing another conference call with his constantly growing sales force.

  Regardless of the occasion, Calloway’s mind was always focused on his Cell-U-Loss business. Had it not been for his newly found faith in Jesus, he would be fit for a strait jacket by now.

  In his defense, their extravagant lifestyle had put great pressure on him to keep producing at a high level. With so much overhead, Calloway had this fear in the back of his mind that if he slowed down even just to catch his breath, they’d be renting again in no time. That mindset motivated him to work extremely hard, placing a premium on his time.

  As the sole breadwinner, the responsibility fell squarely on his shoulders to make sure their futures were well provided for.

  Charles did an excellent job building the family nest egg. His success was commendable. But what a terrible price he paid for it all.

  Calloway thought about his future with Cell-U-Loss International. He decided on the plane that he would stay on as a representative for the time being. Though his heart was no longer in it, with everything else taken away from him in a split second’s time, it would give him some sense of normalcy.

  Calloway had just over $57,000 in the bank, plus some investments. He wondered if they were even safe. If not, he’d just have to accept it for what it was and do his best to move on.

  With his monthly expenses totaling $7,500 per month—$4,000 for the mortgage payment alone—if he quit his business now, he’d be destitute in no time.

  With millions of people suddenly gone, the real estate market was sure to keep plummeting with no end in sight. He wondered if his house would be worth what he’d paid for it? He seriously doubted it.

  “Oh well,” was all he could think to say. It was what it was...

  The shuttle driver drove across the causeway leading to Siesta Key Beach. Calloway’s heart nearly pounded through his shirt.

  Pulling into his driveway, an eerie feeling overcame him. The moment he’d been dreading for ten days was upon him.

  “That’ll be two-hundred and sixty dollars please.”

  Calloway gasped, “How much?”

  The driver pointed to the fare screen.

  “Gee, does that include a tip?”

  The driver all but rolled his eyes.

  A lump formed in his throat. The pocket money he brought to New York was just about gone. Charles handed the man three crisp hundred dollar-bills. “Give me twenty back.”

  The driver complied. “Thanks, pal,” he said, putting the car in drive and speeding off. Cheapskate!

  Under normal circumstances, Calloway would have tried recruiting him into his business, by promising to work with him one-on-one so that he, too, could have a beautiful home like this someday. Normally, Charles was a recruiting machine! But not now, he thought, fishing inside his pants pocket for his keys.

  Calloway stood at the front door. His legs turned into jelly. He opened the door and was greeted by a nasty stench. Probably trash in the kitchen, he thought.

  If anything, it further confirmed what he already knew. Had Monique been here, the smell attacking his nostrils wouldn’t be. His shoulders slumped, and his knees weakened all the more.

  Closing the door behind him, he heard music playing. Must be Frances’ radio. She always forgot to turn it off.

  Charles went into his eldest daughter’s bedroom. Sure enough, the noise was coming from her radio. Charles turned it off, then searched for clothing on the floor that would confirm his daughter’s whereabouts ten days ago. He found none.

  Was she even at home at the time? He wondered.

  Calloway started his dreadful search for his family’s remains. Entering the kitchen, his heart nearly stopped beating.

  Monique’s clothing, wedding ring and a few other pieces of jewelry—items he’d purchased over the years—littered the floor.

  A tear escaped his eye. It was official. Monique was gone and there was nothing he could do to bring her back.

  Charles dropped to his knees and sobbed uncontrollably. It was an awful, guttural sob that forced its way up from the deepest bowels of his being.

  He fell prostate on the kitchen floor. “Please God, take the pain away. I’m begging You!”

  He lay still for the longest time, before finally regaining the strength to continue his search.

  Charles counted five Styrofoam plates on the counter with moldy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and potato chips on them. Apparently, Monique was preparing lunch for the children when the Rapture took place. At least the ants were enjoying them.

  A lump formed in his throat. Why weren’t there six plates? Perhaps Monique wasn’t making a sandwich for herself? After all, she was on a diet.

  Her laptop computer was on the kitchen table, which explained her Facebook post two minutes before the disappearances.

  Entering the family room, children’s clothing was scattered everywhere. The heartbroken man collapsed to the floor again. His sobs were even louder this time.

  Through tear-blurred vision, Calloway counted five areas of body-less clothing. His oldest son, CJ’s, clothing littered the couch. Baby Terrell’s remains were also there, including a soiled diaper.

  Apparently, he was cuddling with his big brother at the time.

  He saw the twins’ clothing on the floor in front of the television. It figured. Sharneece and Veronica did everything together.

  Finally, he saw Frances’ clothing littering the love seat. So, she was home! They were probably watching TV at the time.

  Charles thought it ironic that, despite the agony, he was comforted knowing everyone was home when it happened. It gave him a small, yet eerie, sense of closure. Thankfully, God had spared him this additional pain and suffering.

  Gathering his wife’s and kids’ remains, his heart ached for Tamika Moseley. She never found her loved ones’ remains. But certainly not for a lack of effort on her part. She searched everywhere, to no avail.

  Calloway feared she would never know where her family was on that fateful day. She desperately needed Jesus.

  Charles went back to the kitchen. Had Monique been cooking a hot meal instead of making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, the house probably would have burnt to the ground.

  So many appliances could have been turned on at the time of the Rapture that easily could have ended in disaster. Frances could have been blow-drying her hair, Monique could have been vacuuming the carpeted areas of the house, or a myriad of other things could have been running at the time.

  Bottom line: when appliances were running, it was always best to have someone using them.

  Charles placed the soiled diaper and moldy, ant-covered PB&J sandwiches in a plastic bag and tossed them into a large trash can out back. He noticed the pool water was filthy.

  Upon taking a closer look, everything seemed to be in running order. The self-cleaning vacuum raced off in all directions as it always did, looking for dirt to consume like a stingray looking for food in the ocean. Power must have been out for several days for the pool to be this dirty.

  Calloway craned his neck back to survey the exterior of the house. Everything appeared to be okay. He went back inside and reached for his phone. When Brian Mulrooney answered, Charles was sobbing.

  “Are you okay, Charles?”

  “They’re gone. This is even harder than I thought it would be. I feel so numb.” There was silence. Then soft sniffling.

  “What can I do for you?” Brian could feel his friend’s pain.

  “Just pray.”

  “Let’s pray now.”

  Calloway closed his eyes and Brian prayed until he was convinced his spiritual mentor was okay. “Let’s do this every day.”

  “I would like that, Brian. Thanks for being a good friend.”

  When the call ended, Charles took both his and Richard Figueroa’s luggage upstairs and changed into something more comfortable.

  Pulling a University of Georgia T-shirt over his head, he looked in the mirror. Memories of Monique flooded his mind again.

  Once again, tears streamed down his cheeks one after another. He sat on the bed. It took losing his wife to realize she was the best thing to ever happen to him. He felt so unworthy of the love she’d always showered upon him, despite his many now-glaring shortcomings in life.

  “I’m so sorry, Monique,” he said, through his tears. “Please forgive me.”

  34

  TWO WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS

  SALVADOR ROMANERO WAS IN Washington, D.C. After a full morning of surveying some of the damage that had besieged the capital city last month, he was taken to the White House to meet with President Danforth.

  This was Romanero’s first trip to America since the disappearances, and only his third ever visit to the United States. His first trip was 22 years ago, at the ripe young age of eight, when he competed in an international soccer tournament.

  Not surprisingly, his team came away as the victors.

  His last trip to America was four years back, when he attended a secret society meeting in a clandestine location in central Oregon. Only a handful of people knew who he was at that time or that he was even in the United States.

  It was there that the wheels of progress started turning for Salvador Romanero, even if slowly at first.

  More than two million people lined the national mall this day, to catch a glimpse of the young phenom. The crowd was so massive that it looked like a Presidential Inauguration Day. It stretched far beyond the National Monument. This had become Salvador Romanero’s new normal.

  Large projection screens lined the national mall for the benefit of his adoring public. Much like the twelve other countries he’d visited the past two weeks, Romanero pledged his undying support to American leaders to do anything he could to help their nation back to her feet as quickly as possible.

  His address was constantly interrupted with chants of, “Salvador! Salvador! Salvador!”

  With the Christmas season fast approaching, Romanero ended his speech by focusing on the still out-of-control suicide problem, especially among the youth.

  President Danforth knew it was no coincidence that Romanero chose to dwell on this topic in America. He also knew the press would have a field day with it, comparing Romanero’s approach to his, which, ultimately would lead back to the First Lady’s suicide attempt on Thanksgiving Day.

  Just perfect!

  After his speech, as Romanero dined with President Danforth, city workers began removing the large projection screens from the national mall. Instead of dispersing, the crowd raged on all the more, “Salvador! Salvador! Salvador!”

  The noise practically shook the White House foundations, rattling President Danforth’s nerves all the more. He grimaced, and his lips pressed together. And if that wasn’t enough, well-known celebrities, star athletes, business moguls and religious leaders—desperate to partner with Romanero in any capacity—dominated the airwaves and internet, pleading with all who were feeling suicidal to hang in there, that the best was yet to come.

 

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