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Ian dashed from the convenience store faster than he’d run
in. He was worried that the Kenworth would no longer be running when he returned
since it was most likely running on fumes. The gas gauge had dipped below
‘E’ nearly fifteen minutes ago. But to his relief plumes of exhaust still
rolled out of its smoke stacks, and its faint bass rumble could still be heard
over the pattering rain and thunder. It was a miracle that the big rig still
clung to life as it did. And though it wasn’t much in the way of miracles,
considering the omnipotence of the One dispensing it, he took it gratefully and
obligingly along with another small miracle; the road he needed to find was the
road he was now on. All he had to do was follow it through the south-side of
town, past the three-block business district, a residential stretch and a
community college and when the road veered sharply left, it turned into Deep
Hollow Road.
As he climbed back in the truck, something he saw through the
filmy sheets of rain caught his eye like a penitent man to an opening
confessional. Two blocks up the street a lengthy bridge spanned the two halves
of town. He had an idea. There something needing purged before finding the
Walkers.
At the intersection to the bridge, he pulled over to the side
of the road, dismounted the Kenworth and ran a quarter of the way across the
span to make sure he was over water. He stopped and looked out into the dark
currents of rain-swollen water rushing underneath him.
The heavens were surrounding him with a current of their own as
the cold shower baptized his body. Around him, an obscuring fog was trying to
anchor itself in the river-valley. It began fitting lampposts and headlights
with a gauzy halo.
He pulled from his coat the satchel containing the sacred key
to Heaven he had coveted and held it tightly in his sodden hand. He didn’t
want to let it go, wanted to again see the golden rays of the promised land,
hear the blissful singing that soothed his soul, touch Heaven one more time in
his earthly body, but he knew he must relinquish it. If he, as a priest, was not
prepared to deal with such an overwhelming reality, how much less prepared would
the general masses be to such a revelation. Faith and hope would be exchanged
for dull, textbook fact. Eventually, as the human condition dictates, that
supreme knowledge would deteriorate into a quiet apathy, taken for granted,
forgotten, as much as the air we breath or the days given us in our life time
until those precious things are taken away. No, the fact of Heaven--or
Hell--would only present to people the opportunity to package it and market it,
using infomercials with the latest Hollywood stars as spokespersons to relate
its awesome power for only three payments of $29.95. Even in its inherent
goodness, the world was not yet--and maybe never--ready for either the key he
now held or the key he searched for. Sadly, it was better this way. And just
like those before him who had guarded the secrets to the Hereafter, he would go
to his grave knowing that the secret died with him, though this time he’d make
sure of it.
Ian stretched his hand out over the railing and let the satchel
fall from his grip. He watched as the key disappeared into the shadows below
him, only briefly giving hint as to where it was when he heard a quick splunk as
the key hit the water’s surface. The relic was now lost forever, hidden under
a roof of muddy water and sediment.
Then he took out the manila envelope that contained the ancient
documents from his inside coat pocket, and this he ripped up and scattered into
the bloated river.
For a moment, Ian stared dolefully into the murky
depths. A sigh escaped him in a plume of vaporized air, a lament of
heavy-heartedness for the ones who would never get to see the world beyond that
special, little key. Afterwards, he turned and quickly ran back to the Kenworth.
There was still something out there that needed stopped.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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