Behind The Horned Mask: Book 2, Page 2

  Chapter Thirty

  The pie that had been warm when we began eating was now cold and unappealing. Neither Norrah or I had said a word during Aaron’s incredible story. A story that began in the seven o’clock hour and ended in the nine o’clock hour. Sitting across the table from us, Aaron’s gaze was vacant, reflective.

  “Then”—I coughed, as the prolonged silence had put a frog in my throat—“then what happened?”

  Aaron focused on me. “I wish I could remember what God said to that abomination. At least I believe it was God. I guess it could have been my imagination. I was bleeding to death. Maybe I not only hallucinated the voice but Maggie in the corner of the room.”

  “But Maggie said you’d see Brooke in a week,” Norrah reminded.

  Aaron nodded, his expression said she had a valid point. “You’re right. It’s remarkable, to have heard the voice of God, not as a projection of my own. I hope God punished that demon or Devil or whatever he was. Is.”

  “Buddy,” I said to him, “would you let me hook you up to a polygraph machine, then retell that story?”

  “Jay!” Norrah scorned. “How could you say that!”

  I put my hand on hers to silence her. “Would you, bud?”

  “I suppose,” Aaron said. “But not if anyone will hear what I say, other than you two.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” I said, “of polygraphing you. I just wondered if you’d submit to it if it came down to it. I do believe you are telling the truth, as incredible a story as it is. It’s the only theory I’ve heard that seems plausible, that makes sense—assuming one believes in God, of course.”

  Aaron looked vacuously at the plate before him, sections and crumbles of pie.

  “Where were you for a week?” I asked him.

  “Yes,” Norrah urged, “please tell us.”

  “The question the world wants answered,” Aaron said. “It’s a question I can answer. You are expecting a remarkable story, so be prepared for disappointment.”

  Norrah and I sat at the edge of our seats in eager anticipation.

  “We never left. We didn’t go anywhere for a week.”

  “I beg to differ,” Norrah said. “You most certainly were gone for a week.”

  “To you we were gone. To everyone we were gone, except us. Time is a hard concept to grasp. Think of a time-line, a vertical one. On top is the present, and down is the past. At the top we came back after seven days of being gone.” He pointed to an invisible spot below the upper spot that is present.” Now think of that time-line differently, as lateral instead of vertical. Here is now”—he pointed to a spot on the table—“and here is seven days ago.” He pointed to his left on the table. “Here we both are,” he said and fingered a spot above the table. “This is the present in perpetuity, just above this time-line. The moment we went away and the moment we returned was the same moment, only farther down the lateral time-line. There was no time lapsed for us, only to you all. It’s perception. I know, it’s a hard concept to grasp. There is no time to God. In Heaven there is no time. A man who died a thousand years ago enters Heaven just as we enter Heaven. You might wonder where he has been during all those years. The answer is nowhere, he ascends to heaven the moment he dies, just as we do, and we all arrive there at the same moment. Time is lateral, not vertical. When your loved-one dies, they don’t wait in Heaven for you, because you enter at the same moment. Am I confusing you two?”

  “No-no,” I said. “I think I get it.”

  Norrah said she understood, but her screwed-up face suggested she didn’t. “So there’s no time,” she said.

  “There is,” Aaron said, “but it’s an earthen thing. Not Heavenly. We didn’t go anywhere for a week, we just recommenced living at a point farther down the time-line than everyone else. But there was no lapse in time. I can’t say when precisely we returned to the present, when—”

  “9:04,” I said. “That’s when you returned.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t recall the exact moment, is what I mean. It was a seamless transition.”

  “Yeah,” I mused, “but… but if it was seamless, how’d you—”

  “Yes, how do I remember the other stuff that happened? I believe I’m the only one who recalls what else happened. And it wasn’t profound, the memory, it was vague, like trying to remember a dream. But the memory crept back, until it was crystal clear. At first I had to really think about it, but when I asked you”—he directed at me—“the date and you gave me that look, I knew I was right. It wasn’t a dream, but the reality. What had happened with us being murdered, that really happened. And for some reason nobody remembers it happening but me.”

  “God brought you all back to life,” Norrah said. “Didn’t He?”

  “He did.”

  “Oh my,” she said and shivered. “It gives me the chills.”

  “The thing is, every one of us down there deserved what we got from Devil. As bad as that sounds, we deserved it. Including myself. I’m a sinner like the others, wayward no less than the rest. Well, maybe a little less. I wish I knew why God would grant us such a monumental miracle, but He did. And why I was supposed to be there… here. I didn’t prevent anything from happening, so what was the point? I have a lot of unanswered questions. I understand there is evil in the world, but I wouldn’t have thought some demon had the power to take us in the flesh like that. And that Paul is connected to him is horrifying. I have to imagine something like this could happen again. Paul is arrogant, he’ll do this again if he can. Maybe not, since he’s obtained some fame, has a name people recognize. I don’t know. Paul has formed some alliance with him, one that began when he was young. It makes no sense to me. It isn’t supposed to happen, you know? Unless… unless it is supposed to happen.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked Aaron.

  “I mean, unless he is fulfilling a prophecy. The scriptures. Maybe he is Satan’s chosen one.”

  “Like you said earlier, about him being the Antichrist?” Norrah said.

  Aaron nodded. “That is the only thing that makes sense to me, how it could be that he has the knowledge that he does; it’s from the devil. On the other hand, I think it’s highly improbable that he is the Antichrist, because mankind won’t know who he is before it’s time to know; God sees to it that the secret of that monster will remain undiscovered. That I suspect Paul is the Antichrist is the closest thing to proof that he isn’t. That’s why I’m so puzzled at everything.”

  “Do you fully comprehend and appreciate how special you and the other twenty-two are?” Norrah asked. “To have been brought back to life by God? In history, how many people can say that?”

  “Lazarus,” I said. “For one.”

  “Yes,” Aaron said. “It’s really something. I wish Magdalena would pay me a visit. I have a lot of questions for her.”

  “An angel,” Norrah said, shaking her head in awe. “You’ve met an angel. So incredible.”

  “As has Tinkerbelle.”

  “Speaking of Tinkerbelle,” I said, “what’s up with her? Is she okay? Head all right?”

  “She’s fine. She’s a little upset with me because I won’t tell her what happened. I suppose I should, but I can’t get myself to. I don’t know why.”

  “Yet you told us,” Norrah said.

  Aaron nodded, then shrugged with a grin. “Just you two. God guides me, always, and it’s okay that I told you. I sense that. I haven’t felt that way with Tinkerbelle. I did talk to her a little. We agreed to get together in Fresno when I return, hang out. We’ll see what happens. I don’t plan on telling her much about anything. Anything related to this miracle, that is.”

  “Will you not tell anyone else?” I asked. “Ever?”

  “If it is God’s will.”

  “You should, Aaron,” Norrah coaxed. “Really, you should. Your calling is sermonizing, and what better material for reaching people than to tell them your story?”

  “Do you honestly think people would believe me? Because I don’
t.”

  “They wouldn’t,” I said. “Maybe some would, but it’s a crazy story.”

  “A writer,” Aaron said, “G.K. Chesterton, has a quote: Anything over-simplified sounds fantastic. Or something like that. My story would need to be written at length so it doesn’t sound like a piece of science-fiction. Maybe a novel or something.”

  “Maybe that’s your calling,” Norrah said.

  “Maybe.”

  “So what are you going to do here,” I asked, “from now till you head back up to Fresno?”

  “Nothing, I guess. I’m a little perplexed at why I’m to stay here for two weeks and not just one. No good has come from my extra week here so far. Well, I got to meet you two, and that is something.”

  “Why thank you,” Norrah said. “It was a pleasure for us, too.”

  “Eh,” I said, “my company isn’t that great. I agree with Aaron. If your fate was to spend an extra week here, I doubt it was intended to be spent getting to know me better.”

  “If you two give your lives over to God, it was well worth it,” Aaron said. “What more could I ask for?”

  I looked over at Norrah, who matched my optical intensity. Together we made a decision silently with our eyes.

  “After what you shared with me,” I said, “I’d be a fool not to believe in God. I mean, I have always believed in Him, but I’d fall under the category of ‘attend church twice a year,’ because it’s the right thing to do. I don’t pray. I know in my heart that God is real, and feel His presence through all that has happened.”

  “As well as I do,” Norrah said. “I’d be honored to be baptized by you, Aaron.”

  “Yes, me too,” I said.

  Aaron was misty-eyed, flashing between our gazes. He bowed his head and said a prayer, thanked God for this blessing. After his prayer, I asked if he wanted to baptize us right now. He said Sunday would be best. He’d do it before driving back up to Fresno that afternoon. We could do it at the lake. I knew just the spot, a few miles down the road, a place where we’d have privacy. It was near a boat-ramp, but not too near. There was a sandy beach, one that would be vacant this time of year. We all agreed to it, Sunday morning at eight o’clock. Aaron would meet us at Norrah’s house at seven for a nice breakfast, then we’d get baptized.