Chapter 1
St. Augustine, Florida. Three- and one-half years into the Tribulation
Thomas Benton poured himself a healthy shot of his favorite Glenfiddich single malt and plopped onto his sofa with a sigh. “Play Daniel,” he said, and instantly a hologram appeared before him, a scene as clear as the day he’d witnessed it and one he’d seen countless times since.
He took a sip of his drink, but as Daniel was led into the execution room, Thomas tossed the entire shot to the back of his throat. The pungent liquid seared a path to his belly, where it fanned out to numb his senses. Apparently not numb enough as words were exchanged between Daniel and his executioner—words Thomas had long since memorized—and a bundle of emotions spun a wicked web around his heart. A restricting, choking web.
The executioner had tried one last time to save Daniel’s life, to get him to denounce Jesus, the fake Son of God so many fools had lost their lives over. But the stubborn idiot refused. Yet it wasn’t so much Daniel’s words, but the look on his face that confused Thomas. It was a look of complete and utter peace—something that had eluded Thomas his entire life.
Then, with a smile on his face, Daniel willingly put his neck onto the guillotine block and said, “Jesus, please receive me. I’m coming home.”
And down went the blade.
Thomas looked away. Gripping the whiskey bottle, he poured another shot, but before he lifted it to his lips, he pitched it into the hologram and uttered a foul curse.
The scene disappeared. The glass struck the wall and shattered. Whiskey puddled on the floor.
Rising, he grabbed another glass, poured another drink, and made his way out the back sliding doors onto his immaculate lawn, complete with pool, hot tub, waterfall and so many lush tropical flowers, it smelled like a perfume factory. Tonight, it might as well smell like sewage for all he cared. Shoving past it all, he dropped onto the sand of his private beach and stared at a hazy moon rising over a dark sea.
Daniel had been dead for six months, so why couldn’t Thomas get the man out of his head? Sure, they’d been friends, best friends since high school. They’d gone to seminary together. In fact, Thomas had been the one who got Danielintoseminary in the first place. Not only that, he’d risked everything to help Daniel succeed, and together they’d started one of the largest and most successful churches in South Florida. Daniel had been well on his way to becoming the spiritual adviser to the US President, and Thomas would have been right there beside him.
Until Angelica Smoke came back into Daniel’s life.
The fool! Giving all that up for a silly woman.
A humid breeze sifted through the hair at Thomas's collar, bringing with it the barest hint of the salty sea, rare these days when so much of it was polluted.
He sipped his drink. Thomas had given up everything for Daniel—time, money, his own preferences. He’d lied and cheated and even been willing to kill for him. But Daniel betrayed him in the end. Just like everyone else.
And for what? Some lie from the Bible? Some fictitiousmessiah. Or worse, a God who was evil, who punished, who ruled like a tyrant.
Daniel had chosen the wrong side.
Then why had he looked so peaceful, so happy at the end?
???
Arithem stood, feet spread, arms crossed over his mighty chest, shifting his gaze over the surroundings, alert to any incoming danger. His eyes landed back on Thomas, and he groaned at the sight.
“What ails you, my friend?” Zarall appeared beside him, following his gaze to the forlorn human.
“I have followed this son of Adam for three and thirty earth years, and he seems farther from the light than he’s ever been.”
“Ah, ’tis often darkest before the dawn, Arithem.” Zarall, much shorter than Arithem, stared up at his friend.
Arithem snorted. “If that were the case, I should have seen many dawns before now.”
Zarall chuckled. “Have faith, my friend. The Commander would not keep you with this son of Adam were there no hope.”
Wind tossed Arithem’s long black hair, stirring the sand at his feet. “I fear my hope has much diminished. Yet I still find myself determined to do all I can for him. See how he drinks that foul liquid? It robs him of his wits. He thinks it dulls his pain, but only our Lord can give such comfort.”
“True. ’Tis unfortunate we cannot simply appear to these humans and tell them the truth, prove to them the Father is real and good.”
“He wishes them to make up their own minds. But alas, their minds are so corrupted! So susceptible to deception. I could not bear it should this man end up in eternal fire.”
Zarall laid a hand on Arithem’s arm. “Never fear. ’Tis why I have come. The Commander has informed me our assignments have intertwined. We shall be working together.”
“I don’t understand. Your ward is a believer, a child of the Most High. Fortunate for you.” He grumbled.
