Anno Domini

By Robert DeAngelis

A series of diabolical occurrences culminates in the appearance of the Fallen One, Ia. In a small Wisconsin church, Ia enters the modern world ascribing himself to be the True God of the coming Age.

Ia's intention is to be recognized not as the Satan of world beliefs, but rather to be accepted and loved as mankinds one God.He warns that there must be an end to the practice of world religions and worship of false gods.

He will establish himself as the one true omnipotent and supreme being. Only those that avow themselves to his rule shall flourish under his reign.Those that continue to deny him shall perish!

This is the command of the Lord, Ia.

A local parishoner Madeline McCoy and Racine Post reporter, Kal Sorensen find themselves thrust into an evangelical maelstrom and a battle that will test their faltering faith and belief that only the intervention of the true God can save mankind from an impending age of evil and chaos.

Anno Domini is an engaging story of the eternal clash of good and evil. It will hold you in escalating suspense through the final chapter. You will find the story to be compelling and relevant.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert DeAngelis
• Release date: Jun 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781542593960

Robert DeAngelis

Robert DeAngelis has worked in the "helping professions" his entire professional career. He served in the USAF during the Vietnam era..He is married and has two children. His inspiration to author Anno Domini was to write a story that would be both highly intriguing and personally relevant to his readers..

Book preview

CHAPTER I Enter the Beast 

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The heat of the burning desert sun could almost be seen descending downward, scorching the weather worn rooftops of a remote Middle Eastern village. The oppressive desert climate was in evidence everywhere striking structures, plants, and beasts. Throughout the primitive buildings and unpaved roads of the faraway outpost, nature relentlessly negated the efforts of man. The sand, wind, and heat prevented any sense of permanence amidst the few abodes and shops. 

Bisecting the small hamlet was a sand covered worn main byway. A sole shepherd, casually herding several goats travelled this lone dirt road. The slow pace of the nomadic herdsman underscored the illusion of the dusty road. The narrow artery stretched beyond the village limit toward a seemingly infinite desert horizon. It was a road one could imagine as coming from no place and leading nowhere. 

The isolated sounds of the aged man trudging atop the hardened sand combined with the occasional baying of his livestock, seemed to expound for miles and miles against the backdrop of the endless desert. The old Muslim herdsman showed no expression as he slowly shepherded his livestock past the worn stucco buildings of the obscure hamlet. He simply stared wisely understanding that in any direction all that could be seen would be miles of light sienna sand. Like all natives of this area, the nomad knew adjusting one's view was senseless here, as all activity was minimal and the unexpected would rarely occur. 

Only when he passed the most ornate of the simple buildings did the shepherd finally show some reaction to his environment. Lumbering past the large oval portal entrance of a simple mosque, he silently petitioned Allah. Stopping briefly, the desert tribesman deferred to the holy building before resuming his outward trek. The power of the mosque was such that it commanded an appropriate reaction from all Muslims, regardless of setting or time. 

Inside the portal of this spiritual sanctuary, the baying of the goats receded so that the only sound to be heard was a chanting emanating from a room deeper within the mosque. The architectural design of the mosque prevented the muezzin's cries from evacuating outside while it enriched the mellowed song from within. The inner sector of the holy building immediately revealed the religious nature of the primitive structure. The singular open chamber, dark and musky, was heavily decorated with Muslim mosaics. Distinct from all other buildings in the village, the interior of the building was well maintained. Art depicting Islamic history decorated the walls amongst shadows providing for an aura of ancient heritage and sanctity. 

Deeper into the domed area, eight clerics trudged in and about, each with specific tasks. The men were deliberate as they silently moved through the hot and ancient chamber room. Two of the holy men knelt in prayer, solemnly chanting cherished and ancient sacred petitions to Muhammad. The audible praying appeared to set a cadence for the movements of the others. 

Clearly the aged wise men were performing time honored rituals in preparation for a religious function. For that day, as with every other day before and as would be for every other day to come, priests offered five daily prayers in accordance with the pillars of Islam. 

As the priests progressed further with their profession of faith, a sudden pallor of coldness and darkness interrupted. Aware of an uninvited intrusion, their expressions became guarded and intense. Each man's demeanor was transformed from a state of worship and commitment to one of sudden apprehension. 

The two chanters cautiously rose, slowly moving toward the altar. Inwardly they hoped that somehow the solemnity of the mosque would reassert itself against the macabre disruption.  The ceremonial mid-day prayer would not resume. 

At once a lone wild jackal intruded into the sacred chamber deliberately stopping right by the portal entrance. Anxiety of the unknown yielded to unbridled fear of a now clear threat. In unison, the clerics stopped all action, as if hypnotically compelled to remain motionless struck by absolute terror. Looking toward the still jackal, each Muslim was mesmerized by the heavy growl underlying the deep breathing of the menacing beast. Thick saliva oozed along the piercing canine fangs, highlighting an immediate danger. Seconds of frozen silence magnified all fear and any prior unclarity within each priest's awareness transformed to a paralysis of horror. Still, the jackal stood firm, his beastly stare piercing and reducing any slight remaining courage within each cleric's heart. It was mysteriously obvious to these men of religion that this intruding creature before them was much more than an ordinary Middle Eastern jackal. Time seemed to cease. 

Suddenly the stoic yet threatening animal's face erupted into a grotesque snarl further exposing huge exaggerated fangs. His eyes became burning red slits projecting a turmoil that swarmed beyond the portal threshold where he stood. Excretion flung from his nostrils and mouth. A stench consumed the chamber. All within the angered animal’s presence felt his hatred. His roaring growl echoed with such demonic intensity that several of the Muslims were brought to their knees. The predator's howl of anger exuded an immeasurable malevolent force shaking the foundation of the clay building and the spirit of the men within. 

Then without warning, eight jackals seemingly summoned by the howling command of their pack leader stormed the spiritual sanctuary.

Chaotically, yet methodically, each beast attacked a defenseless cleric. The helpless clergymen were viciously and savagely mauled. Jugulars were pierced and organs were torn and ravaged from their bodies. The instant massacre of human life was savage and complete. Through the devastation, the dominant jackal oversaw the carnage but did not participate in the slaughter. He held his position overseeing the killing efficiency of his kindred predators. The holy building stained red with blood, had become an instant explosion of massacre. 

The beastly murders were brutal and merciless. Upon the final whimper of the last breath of human life, all angry growling stopped and the marauding jackals left in a fashion strangely orderly and precise. The room, now lifeless except for the lone lead jackal, was silent and cold. The eerie beast presided over the devastation peering this way and that as if assuring himself of the completeness of the rampage. 

Eventually the fire in the jackal's eyes subsided. His heavy breathing diminished as he sat in the middle of the bloodbath. A strange contentment became somehow recognizable on the beast's face, then slowly evaporated. Almost now innocently the animal showed little interest in the lifeless victims. 

Outside there was only stillness and silence. With the disappearance of the animal pack, the village had been returned to its original state. Nothing gave evidence to the cause of the brutality that occurred- no movement, no sound, only the overbearing heat of the burning desert sun. 

––––––––

It was the same sun that days later, lit and warmed a paradise-like South Pacific island beachhead. It was an idyllic afternoon and the crystal blue waves hit the clear white sand with an enchanting melodic rhythm.  All about, natives were joyfully dancing along the shoreline. They were outfitted in festive white traditional garb, and white orchids were strewn everywhere. Beyond the beach, before the jungle line, there were the huts of an obviously peaceful but remote island habitat. 

All the children, men, and women of the small tranquil village were preparing for a wedding celebration. Colorful and luscious tropical fruits were arranged on lavish platters placed upon the beachside hardwood plank tables. Exotic morsels from the bounty of the sea were wrapped in broad palm tree leaves and slowly steamed over hot coals. From deeply dug roasting pits, the aroma of luau pork filled the air with a pungent sweetness. The appealing smoked smell combined with the joyful music of handmade ukuleles and drums to stimulate the senses of all celebrants. 

Out in the sea there were four native crew boats riding the waves rushing to a designated point on the beach. Two of the boats were filled with musicians and crew, serving to provide musical enhancement to the festivity of the day. In the third boat, there was a beautiful young island woman dressed in white. By her adornment and manner, it was obvious she was the bride-to-be. The final boat was carrying the groom accompanied by the necessary oarsmen. In their respective boats, the bride and groom were seated looking forward with no navigational chores to perform. 

The boats were headed toward the middle of the beach where a ceremonial contingent had gathered. A large native tribal leader slowly walked to the edge of the beach. His particular painted face markings and glorious head garb of wonderful island plume identified him as the island chieftain. A spiritual shaman and several family members of the two lovers accompanied him. All around them there was ongoing dancing and merriment. Closer to the huts, the huge feast seemed finally prepared with the long narrow tables completely set with foods and florals. It was evident that the entire village would be feasting during the wedding celebration. The pervading ambience was of love and good feeling, a paradise on Earth. 

As the obese tribal chieftain drew to the ocean's edge, the priest handed him a holy book. Music and activity ceased in deference to the solemnity of the moment. The chief, in ancient native language, read a time honored short phrase from the book, smiling toward the sun as he raised the holy words skyward thus re-enacting a Malay-Archipelago matrimonial custom held from centuries past. 

The canoe with the groom, whose deep tan was enhanced by the pure whiteness of his native traditional matrimonial robe, grounded to shore allowing the groom to step out. He was first greeted by two young women, one placing a floret around his ankle, the other a lei around his neck. They each gently kissed him on his cheek. Smiling broadly, he then walked to the tribal leader and knelt before him, closing his eyes and opening his mouth. The priest handed a beautiful elaborate sea conch to the proud chief. Slowly, the lordly Polynesian spilled a drop of ambrosia-like nectar onto the groom's tongue, while wording a prayer for blessing to the supreme deity, Lo. The groom's eyes opened with the satisfying taste of the flavorful passion juice and he bowed his head in thanksgiving. The blessing complete, a short outburst of joy erupted from the people in the immediate group as the groom rose to stand alongside the priest, awaiting the blessed unity of matrimony. 

Expectantly everyone looked toward the bride who at this time was emerging from her craft. She was stunning, a tropical beauty sensuous and innocent at once. Her long black hair and deep tan provided a striking contrast to her sleek white wrap and tiara of white orchids and gentle green flora. She, like her groom, was given a white orchid lei and anklet by the two hand maidens and was gently kissed on her cheek. The island virgin slowly walked toward her waiting husband-to-be and her tribal king. As the bride gently flowed toward the ceremonial spot, the love and joy of the moment was clearly expressed through her beautiful face. Her ecstasy was profound as she anticipated marriage to her beloved. However, even the physical beauty of the couple was obscured by the preponderant spiritual elegance of their true love for each other. The true dignity of a commitment to a life-long union was clear and acknowledged between the two young lovers. 

Without warning, there came a harsh intrusion piercing the island euphoria, serving as an unwelcome counterpoint to the complete joy and beauty of the day. A shrieking murderous howl emitted from the jungle's edge. All activity stopped as eyes strained to focus on the cause of this threatening beastly rage. 

Outside the jungle wall there was a sole source of movement and sound. It was a large orangutan clearly outlined against the forest backdrop of palm and bamboo, behaving ferociously to a degree beyond the limits of known animal aggression. The enraged primate ranted barbarously, snarling furiously, pounding everything around him at the jungle's edge as he commanded complete attention to his lunacy. His howling pierced and permeated the beachhead. All celebration ceased. Human joy succumbed to apprehension as everyone was turned to look upward toward the jungle. Never before had an orangutan been witnessed as behaving so outrageously violent.  The island dwellers were awed and frightened by the aberration they now witnessed. 

Yet even further strangeness would ensue. With the villagers' backs toward the sea, an undetected devastating tidal wave swelled with no warning as if it came from nowhere. A distortion of meteorology, the deadly wave silently built to an unimaginable crest developing a fury and energy exceeding known points of destructive nature. Within seconds, the wrath of the sea was unleashed as the huge ocean tidal wave hit the shore. The force of flood immediately destroyed the village, but unlike any known tsunami strangely ebbed out right at the jungle line and indeed barely touched the feet of the now calm and quiet ape. The potency of this tidal wave was precisely measured, destroying all human life but nothing else. The entire tribe had been drowned in moments, their bodies effortlessly washed out to sea. The only remaining evidence of them was their scattered white orchids floating on the now calm surf and some remnants of destroyed thatched huts and furniture along the washed beach. There was silence as the sea and island returned to their idyllic calm. The deadly wave, having achieved its destructive mission, disappeared as though it had never occurred. Triumphantly and deliberately the orangutan made his way from the jungle to the washed over beach. 

The brooding animal appeared to be scanning the results of the devastation. He snarled but in a muffled almost relaxed pitch. Now calmed and quite removed from his prior lunacy he came to a standstill upon reaching the shoreline. From this vantage point, the creature stared seaward, almost as if in introspective contemplation. Indeed, there was unquestionably something sinister about this beast, something beyond his violent behavior preceding the devastation. Something within the soul of this primate was manifested through his face. He had the same contented expression of the jackal as flames receded within his eyes indicative of a satisfaction with the completed human loss and destruction. 

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Days later in another part of the world, an early Sunday morning congregation was gathering for a Catholic mass. This particular Roman

Catholic Church, St. Paul's, was located in a suburb of Racine, Wisconsin. 

St. Paul's was a typical contemporary suburban church, not overly ornate, rather simple in decor. It was a church in the round with the altar in the center. 

Father Tom Slouti would conduct the opening rituals of mass, recite the Gospel, and then begin his scheduled sermon. It was not a particularly interesting sermon and there were those in the congregation that occasionally drifted their attention from the Father's words. An elder mildly dozed off, a child was intent on harassing his sibling, and two teenagers seemed more interested in getting acquainted with one another than in the wisdom of Father Tom. Still, the majority of parishioners dutifully remained respectful of their priest's station, yielding their full attention. 

This was particularly evident with the family of Madeline and Ralph McCoy. Mrs. McCoy intently digested each word of Father Tom. Should her two young boys or husband give evidence of daydreaming, they would be immediately admonished. Even though her boys, at ages nine and six, were clearly too young for the didactics of the sermon, they were unquestionably old enough to understand the importance of providing respectful attention while in church. Madeline would have nothing less from her husband Ralph or her children. 

Still, the monotony of the sermon extended time torturously. The mundane nature of the subject matter, coupled with the dryness of Father Tom's delivery, did seem to administer an almost induced trance on the gathering. As a result of this sedate atmosphere, the shout that emerged from somewhere within the church was obtrusive and startling. 

You are fraudulent, was what seemed to come from some unidentified and detached voice. 

Father Tom looked up and the parishioners nervously peered about, but no one could tell where the voice had come from. Hesitantly, the priest resumed his sermon. As he did so, Madeline McCoy thought she saw a hooded shadow's silhouette on a wall. A form of a cloaked arm raised and pointed toward the altar. She strained to identify the source of the shadow, but was unable to do so. 

Heretic!  I will expose you, were the next words uttered by the unidentified speaker. 

Again interrupted, the priest removed his glasses and aimlessly admonished, Who is doing this? 

There was no response. Who does this disgrace? 

An even longer pause still did not generate any clarification. Father Tom implored, Please!  Identify yourself. Still there was no response whatsoever. 

Then, a medieval-like cloaked and hooded figure emerged from the back shadows of the church and slowly walked down the aisle toward the altar. The priest, upon seeing the figure, addressed him, though now less sternly. Father Tom was uncomfortably aware that the visual emergence of the trespasser brought no relief to the tension of the moment. Indeed, alarm was exasperated. Why do you interrupt this mass? What troubles you, sir? 

The unidentified intruder responded in a voice that was something of a whisper, but in an eerie way could be heard by all within the church. You are my pain, clergyman.  You grieve me that you would turn my children away from me. 

With a now identifiable protagonist to detain, a burly usher took it upon himself to provide a degree of security. The usher rushed toward the unwelcomed intruder. Enough of this, mister! 

He attempted to grab the cloaked figure, but with a commanding quick motion of his arm, the figure thrust the usher all the way up the aisle, where he banged forcefully into a wall.  The church audience was astonished, uncertain how the usher was so unrecognizably disabled. When yet another usher rushed the figure only to receive a similar fate, the church became abuzz. The figure turned toward a group of three remaining ushers commanding them, Hold! 

Mysteriously, they did indeed discontinue their initial forward movement, oddly obeying the command directed toward them. Also, the church crowd became silent, fixed on the interaction between the intruder and the priest, but yet somehow frozen from acting. Feeling in command, the figure returned his attention to the priest. In a menacing tone, he questioned Father Tom. Why do you preach these untruths? 

Father Tom indignantly retorted in a shout feigning a veil of bravado. How dare you! You will repent this! Are you mad? 

The response of the mysterious figure would forebode Father Tom's retreat. Silence, false priest!  See the truth!  See your Lord! 

With this, the unidentified figure began to grow, startlingly reaching a height of almost thirteen feet! The unnaturalness of the intruder was confirmed.  He menaced over the priest, and began to open his hood, intentionally revealing his face to the now cowering cleric. Father Tom, though trying to avoid eye contact, in an unwilling way was compelled to look up into the face of his antagonist. What Father Tom saw induced a bloodcurdling scream, Arggh...!  Arggh! 

The Catholic clergyman looked upon the face of who he immediately understood to be the Satan. 

The congregation, who up to this time had been mesmerized, now had its collective group trance broken by the priest's primordial howl. Some fled, some fainted, some cowered and tried to hide, but most continued to involuntarily witness the confrontation between the priest and Satanic demon. In some compelling way, the confrontation developing before them was proving commanding and fascinating. 

Ralph, frozen with fear, immediately shielded his two young boys. Madeline, like most in the church, appeared entranced by the intensifying blue aura of the Satan figure. The McCoy’s intellectually wanted to flee, but instead like the majority of the congregation remained to bear witness on the confrontation between priest and beast. 

Father Tom, fallen to the floor, was immeasurably shaken. He tried to shield his vision of Satan while praying compulsively. The priest’s senses began to shrivel. The air smelled foul and seemed suddenly caustic. His body became very cold.  His instinct to avoid eye contact with his tormentor was testimony to the great power the priest intuitively believed this creature possessed.  Satan, now with his head totally uncloaked, towered over the fallen priest. He extended his right hand out to his cowering victim. Kiss my hand, and be forgiven for your sins. 

Father Tom, almost reflexively accelerated his obsessive prayer.

Dear Lord, deliver me from evil... 

In a louder and sterner tone Satan commanded,

Profess your love for me, or be doomed from this moment! The increased emphasis of Satan had some effect. The fear in Father Tom immediately swelled and it was with great effort and faith that he rejected the request from Satan. He cried out a defiant response. No, no, never. 

Now enraged by the mortal's defiance, Satan physically lifted the priest upward and kinetically suspended him some fifteen feet high so the priest could be seen by all within the church. As he helplessly free floated in the air, Father Tom cried out, No! No! 

Satan calmly spoke, his tone someway extending the paralysis of all onlookers. You are of sin. You have misled my children. You have strayed. You will pay for your distortions! 

Now Satan supernaturally began to disrobe the imprisoned priest. During the disrobing, Satan spoke outwardly. Be revealed for what you are, a concealer of truths! 

As the priest was undressed, he was revealed to be wearing female underwear. Satan's laughter was pervasive, growing ever louder and louder, knowing full well that the evidence of this priest's fetish would be applied to accusations long previously rumored about Father

Tom. His mocking laugh belied the parishioners’ shock from the perverse revelation of their pious priest in female undergarments. For the briefest of moments, the Catholics found their horror replaced by a judgmental indignation directed toward their sermonizer. 

Father Tom was now uncontrollably crying and flailing his arms as he remained suspended and helpless. He sobbed submissively.  Please, I beg of you, whoever you are, please spare me.

Satan, further angered, responded for the entire congregation to clearly hear. You are a fraud!  You present yourself as a spokesman of God, when in truth you are an aberration to God. 

There was an extended silence before Satan resumed. "Tell them

now! Tell them I am the power!" 

Now Satan calmed, and softly yet authoritatively spoke whisperingly to Father Slouti. He lowered the priest and cupping his head whispered into Father Tom’s ear. And now...speak truth, priest. 

Spiritually defeated, the clergyman could no longer fight the will of Satan. He looked directly into the face of his accuser. The eyes of Satan drew Father Tom to deep despair and defeat. He turned to the congregation. Submission replaced fear in the parish leader's voice. He spoke coherently, to be understood by all. Yes! Yes! He is right! I am nothing more than a deceiver. I am not as I have presented myself! 

All color of Father Tom seemed to fade. He became pale, and the glint in his eyes disappeared becoming blank and unresponsive. His body shriveled toward limpness. 

Here the clergyman and community role model was now overcome by his shame and resumed sense of fear. Sobbing, he turned from the crowd and looked imploringly to Satan, meekly pleading, "Please...please spare me. I am as you have revealed. A falsehood... 

I am a coward.  Don't harm me." 

The revered Catholic had been completely defeated. He surrendered to the fundamental flaws of his nature. Overcome with total fear and shame he struggled to complete his plea. I will serve you! 

Tom's surrender, though little more than a whimper was audible throughout the church. With the now full abandonment of spirit and faith the inadequacy of the body was unarguable. An attitude of triumph egotistically manifested from the Great Beast. Raising his arms skyward he boasted. Thus you have served me! 

Satan again kinetically raised the priest higher and upward toward the domed ceiling. The priest, perhaps already lifeless showed no resistance. He was mystically rotated faster and faster until he burst into flames and disintegrated with an explosion that echoed a hundred times throughout the church. Everywhere stained glass shattered, religious statues crumbled, and the Stations of the Cross became inflamed. The crucifix suspended from the ceiling crashed downward to the altar floor, disintegrating upon impact.  The crowd was overwhelmed, its collective reaction to the witnessed events a mixture of immeasurable fear, anger, and astonishment. Their church was being leveled. 

Satan was now himself kinetically hovering in the middle of the rocked church. He remained garbed in his cloak, but all could see the deep penetrating flaming eyes glaring from the black shadow of his hood. He addressed the congregation and as he spoke, he notably maintained eye contact with Madeline. Though the tone of his words was nurturing, they ignited a scorching fear within the heart of the Wisconsin farmwoman. Behold my presence. Love me as your Lord and feel the blessing of my spirit. 

Sensing that Madeline was not responsive, Satan resorted to his more usual threatening manner. Deny me further and my wrath shall be your curse!

The explicit threat immobilized Madeline with fright. She experienced the Devil's last words as a personal challenge. Madeline brought her hand to her heart, desperate to assure it would keep beating, hoping to somehow warm the iciness she felt inside. Madeline fought to not pass out from fright.

With his ultimatum expressed, the Devil further expanded and then disappeared. The churchgoers were stunned. Ralph, rallying to stay rational, was overwhelmed as he saw the fear frozen indelibly on his wife's face. 

While everyone in the church had been affected by the horror of Father Tom's brutalization, the impact on Madeline McCoy would prove to be immeasurable. She had no doubt that she had witnessed Lucifer, and this total recognition and acceptance was a disarming circumstance. But Madeline acknowledged an even deeper terror, an inner fright that she could not diffuse with self-denial or intellectualization. Within her essence, Madeline knew she had been recognized and addressed by the Devil. His words, while universal, had specific implications for her. The Devil would intrude again, with a personal and threatening advance. It was this knowledge of certainty that charted itself on Madeline's face.

She screamed in recognition of the horrors to come. Her expression told everyone she had been affected by a most potent awareness of dread. Madeline did not consciously choose her self-defense. It simply occurred. She began to lose her mind. 

I WOULD FAR RATHER BE IGNORANT THAN WISE IN THE FOREBODING OF EVIL.

Aeschylus

Suppliants. 453

CHAPTER II

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Normally, early Sunday afternoon would be a relatively down time at the Central Racine Police Headquarters. Sundays were a day when on-duty officers could relax, engage in small talk, catch up on paperwork, or simply attempt the Sunday crossword puzzles. 

But on this Sunday afternoon, less than an hour after the St. Paul's incident the station house was far from relaxed. All available phones were ringing off the hooks as attending personnel strove to respond to the avalanche of in-coming calls. The usually ordinary police sub-station was frenzied. The nature of the calls was constant as repeatedly the police were questioned, What happened at St. Paul's? 

One caller asked, What do you know about a devil appearing in St. Paul's? Concurrently, another caller lectured an officer, "You listen to me! You damn authorities can try to cover this up, but I was there!

That was the devil that appeared!" 

On another line, Hey, c’mon, give us a break. Tell us what the hell's going on. My wife heard the rumors. This character could come back! 

Elsewhere an opinionated caller lectured another police operator.

Father Tom was a fag pervert and now everyone knows that! He got what he deserved. What's this shit about the devil? Endlessly, the calls continued. 

Located several miles from the Central Racine Police Headquarters was the downtown Racine Post news building. The building was a ten-story high-rise constructed in the mid nineteen thirties. Its art deco architecture served as a landmark for downtown Racine. The building housed the editorial, production, distribution, and sales services segments of the newspaper. 

The fifth floor of the building was the reporters' pool. Similar to the police station, the skeletal crew working on this Sunday afternoon would not have been expecting any news-breaking activity.  However, as was the case elsewhere, this was not to be a typical Sunday afternoon. 

Six on-duty Post reporters strained to decipher the commotion at the station house as they tightly huddled around a direct frequency police scanner. Through this monitoring means, the reporters had become aware that something atypical had occurred in Racine. The hyperactivity generated toward the police infected and excited the investigative instincts within the newsroom. 

Most focal in the group of six reporters was a forty-year-old senior reporter named Kal Sorensen and Polly Bruton, an extremely attractive woman journalist. The reporters remained silent and intent as they tried to infer meaning from what they were hearing. Only Kal seemed to have his attention distracted as he regularly checked out the hemline of Polly's short skirt. 

It was Jonathan Hackett, the elderly senior editor, who broke the concentration of the group. Mr. Hackett had just listened enough to realize that there was something newsworthy amidst the police confusion. With the instinct of a veteran newsman anxious to get a jump on a story he queried his reporters for clarification.  What in blazes...!  Has all hell broke loose?  Precisely, Kal creatively responded. 

Sensing that Hackett was in no mood for Kal's lightheartedness, Polly tried to more effectively clarify the situation. Sir, the police are getting flooded with emergency calls about...about some strange event at St. Paul's. 

She non-verbally redirected attention to the police scanner allowing Mr. Hackett to hear more of the irrational barrage directed toward the police. As he heard more of the hysterical testimony pertaining to a devil at St. Paul's, Hackett initiated action. Kal, get over to St. Paul's and see what's going on. 

Kal did not conceal his dismay at being selected for this assignment. Sir, a devil sighting, you can’t be serious?

Hackett's response was unsympathetic. Go! Find out what's happened. 

Grabbing his coat, Kal hid a look of disbelief while reluctantly leaving the newsroom. Hackett and the remaining reporters continued their vigilance of the police communications. 

As events were not what they normally would be at specific local locations throughout Racine, there was also deviation regionally on this particular Sunday afternoon. 

At Rockefeller Center in Manhattan, a production aide was frantically rewriting the news. Lester Holt was at the anchor desk doing an NBC afternoon news update. At the urging of his stage manager, Holt coolly adjusted the priority sequence of his on-camera delivery. 

This network has just received reports of a bizarre murder in Racine, Wisconsin. He alluded to the supernatural allegations of the

event and correlated the story to what had previously occurred outside Mecca, the South Pacific Island, and other worldwide incidents. The veteran newscaster stressed, There is now, for the first time, an observed American occurrence of a supernatural event perhaps related to the international events we are also covering. 

From the instruction of the production director, Holt adeptly executed an impromptu transition. For further information, we switch you to our NBC affiliate in Racine. 

Network broadcast was immediately replaced by the local feed of the Racine NBC affiliate. It was obvious that the local reporter was not as adept as Mr. Holt in dealing with the fluidity of this particular emerging story. As the young woman broadcaster attempted to find her cue, background video was overlaid showing the current scene at St. Paul's. 

The unnarrated video was almost surreal to viewers of the broadcast. Churchgoers wandered aimlessly on the grounds of the wasted church. Some trembled in fear while others appeared to be in shock. Almost all were to varying degrees, disoriented and troubled. To all observers of the video-feed it appeared St. Paul's must have been victimized by some insane terrorist action. 

Eventually the quite anxious reporting of the local broadcaster was voiced over the live video. 

This story just into the WRAC newsroom; hundreds of people in Racine are claiming to have witnessed a macabre murder of local catholic priest, Father Tom Siouti, during the 11 a.m. mass at St. Paul's Roman Catholic Church in the Belshire section of Racine. In front of the entire congregation, an individual claiming to be Satan allegedly attacked Father Slouti. Many witnesses are claiming that the murderer was truly demonic and that Father Slouti was killed with supernatural force. Church officials and the Racine authorities are proposing that mass shock may have overcome the congregation as it witnessed the violent attack in the church sanctuary. The authorities are not revealing how the perpetrator was able to escape along with Father Slouti's body despite the fact that there were several hundred parishioners in the church at the time. Nor is there any explanation for the near total destruction of St. Paul’s. This event in Racine is now the latest in the recent series of scattered worldwide reporting of occult occurrences. This morning's event along with yesterday's incident in rural southwest China, are the first episodes where witnesses survived. NBC and WRAC will provide further coverage of this story as details emerge. This is... 

As Kal pulled into the St. Paul's parking lot, he turned off the TV audio/video receiver in his car. He was left with the words, ...Vivian Lance reporting for WRAC as he made the transition from what he was listening to on his portable TV band frequency to what he was now actually viewing. The reality of the church scene was far more unsettling than what he imagined it would be. The bombarded church looked as though it had been under siege. Kal breathed deeply as he turned off the ignition. 

Getting out of the car, Kal visually monitored the situation. The scene was reminiscent of earthquake damage or terrorist bombing, but exclusively limited to the church property. People were being triaged and treated for shock and injuries. Everywhere Kal looked there was disorientation and fright. Moaning and crying pervaded the background interrupted by the piercing sirens of arriving ambulances and police cars. Kal realized now that there clearly was a story here and he wondered how he could have so misjudged the sobriety of the situation. The Post reporter began to walk into the crowd looking for someone to interview. His first few attempts were rebuked as no one was coherent enough to respond to his questions. As he continued his search, Kal saw a family he vaguely recognized that looked as though they might be stable enough to interview. The family was huddled under a wide trunked Elm tree. The husband was trying to tend to his two children and wife. It was perhaps more than coincidence that Madeline and Ralph McCoy was the couple Kal seemed drawn to. Their kids, Seth and Paul, who had effectively been shielded by their father, seemed to be the least shaken. Madeline was clearly the most distressed and though she had no physical injury she was not responding to her husband’s nurturing. 

Sensing that Ralph needed help in managing the situation, Kal offered assistance. Cautiously approaching the Midwest farm family, he retrieved three cups of water from a Red Cross volunteer worker. He offered the cups to Ralph and together they tried to get the children and Madeline to drink. As they did Kal introduced himself to the Wisconsin farmer. Ralph responded, thanking Kal for his aid. Madeline remained oblivious to everyone. As Ralph got the kids to drink, Kal continued to offer water to Madeline. Please, drink this. It may help you feel better.  Unexpectedly, Madeline reacted by swatting the cup out of Kal's hand. Kal pulled back stunned by the woman's peculiar action. Startled, he was aware of an urge to leave this unstable woman, but instead continued to try to establish a connection. Kal was in some way drawn to this woman and he was sure that he recognized her as being a friend of his boss, Mr. Hackett. Despite his better sense, Kal persevered with his attempt to interview Madeline. 

The journalist positioned himself next to the incoherent woman continuing to give her complete attention. "I'm sorry. Let me know what

I can do to help you. I want to help you." 

Ever so slightly Madeline's emotional withdrawal lessened. 

A Red Cross aide had been dispensing emergency blankets and Kalvin covered Madeline as she appeared to be cold despite the fact that the early afternoon sun was rendering a warm late summer day. The heavy wool blanket offered no immediate relief for the women's shaking. Again, Kal offered her water but this time Madeline accepted. Ralph, seeing Kalvin being attentive to Madeline, now focused his full attention on his children. Kalvin looked deeply into Madeline's face and was struck with the severity of the blank look in her eyes and the obvious fear remaining in her demeanor. Realizing the importance of his being gentle, Kal passively addressed Madeline. What can you tell me? 

Madeline slowly looked up at Kal, her eyes now tearing.  Within her consciousness, she rallied to force renewed self-control of her mind. She lowered her head into her hands and softly muttered, It was the Devil. I have witnessed the Devil. 

At once Kal became disheartened, his hope for a productive interview vanished.  He concluded this woman was still delirious. However, his journalistic obligation fostered a clear responsibility to push further. Plus, he could not deny the sheer terror imprinted upon this woman. Ma'am, maybe...maybe you think you saw the devil. And that's got you very upset and frightened.  But, please... calm yourself. Do you really think the devil...I mean if there really is a devil...would he come to Racine? 

Madeline slowly raised her head to look at Kal. She had a deep pained look in her eyes. For her, Kal's inability to accept the plausibility of her story further increased the enormity of her inner turmoil. Sensing this, Kal mentally admonished himself for being so unable to take her story seriously. As if she realized the inherent skepticism within Kal, Madeline said nothing, but took Kal's wrist in her hands and squeezed. Her grip was complete and cold...like ice. Shocked by how inexplicably cold her touch was, Kal reacted to the pain inflicted by the woman's chilling clutch. With great effort, he broke loose from her iron grasp. He was confused by the disproportionate strength of the woman's hold and the coldness of her touch. 

The irrationality of her claim coupled with the unnaturalness of her touch caused Kal to lose command of his questioning. Kal backed away from Madeline. He attempted to regain his thoughts reflexively turning away while looking for a new interviewee so he would have a reason to leave Madeline. Yet the coldness in Madeline's eyes and hands dominated his awareness and would not recede. He could not escape the haunting impression Madeline McCoy had rendered on him. Withdrawing from the haunting woman, Kal staggered somewhat aimlessly and could only focus on the fact that he now recognized that almost all of the St. Paul's witnesses had that cold disoriented aura about them. The prevailing strangeness became incomprehensible. 

Using a huge oak tree as a barrier between himself and the absurdity of the current situation, Kal composed himself deciding that it would be impossible to get any coherent interviews today. The idea of a devil causing this damage and chaos felt far too ludicrous for the pragmatic reporter. Yet that’s what the witnesses were reporting. Convincing himself to be satisfied with his decision to withdraw, Kal turned to leave the grounds. As he did so he was startled to once again be face to face with Madeline! She had a look of unbridled horror in her eyes, shouting at Kal hysterically. I will see him again! I will! We will both see him! 

Truly startled by the intensity of the dementia before him, Kal nearly fell backward as he tried to gracefully escape from Mrs. McCoy's hysteria. Ralph ran to his wife and tried to wrestle her from the disheveled reporter. Kal's concern now was more for his own welfare than Madeline's or anyone else's. He was convinced of the mental imbalance of the distraught woman and knew it was beyond his expertise to be of any use. The reluctant scribe was greatly relieved when Ralph, doing his best to control his own emotions while shielding his boys and watching over his wife, was finally able to subdue Madeline and pull his gushing wife away. 

Kal was sympathetic to Ralph's plight and truly did want to be helpful but he could think of nothing to offer and could only withdraw from Ralph and Madeline. He trusted that a passage of time was what was most needed by the impaired parishioners of St. Paul's. With time, surely they would return to their senses and then be able to elaborate on what actually had occurred. 

Returning to his car, obsessed with haunting thoughts of Madeline, Kal continued the process of rationalizing Madeline's behavior. This was the means that allowed the restoration for his piece of mind. As he drove away, Kal viewed the receding horror of St. Paul's through his rearview mirror. Soon the details of the church were no longer visible to the eye. But in his mind, impressions of the past moments remained vivid and bothersome. The recalled image that was most disturbing was the genuine terror so deeply rooted in Madeline's eyes. 

––––––––

Generally, there was a prevailing sterility within the more secured sectors of the Pentagon despite the fact that the highest of military personnel used this area to consider the highest of national security issues. It was nevertheless true, that a dryness or complete lack of emotion usually prevailed within this military confine. 

Today, however, a strange though subdued tension pervaded the atmosphere of the secured information control chamber, A001. Three high-ranking military officers had assembled in A001. Though they had previously sat many times before in this chamber discussing the most delicate of national security matters, each was aware that there was in some way an increased burden attached to their current agenda. 

Seated centrally along the oval conference table was Admiral I. Bailey, a veteran naval officer of 26 years. The admiral aged in his late forties, presented that rare combination of worldly sophistication combined with an element of genuine common man. Indeed, this was the composite of Admiral Bailey who progressed through the ranks and achieved all that he has earned and accomplished through effort and merit. This military leader would never be accused of a silver-lined progression through the naval echelon. Anyone familiar with Bailey's career would be impressed. So as Bailey silently fiddled with an unlit cigar, one could easily recognize this man as a well-respected veteran. 

To Bailey's right sat Army General Ajay, a gruff Midwesterner. Ajay was a combat veteran of the Gulf wars. He currently served with

Bailey and General Pearle as one of the top three security officers to the President of the United States. As Bailey exuded complete confidence and control, in comparison Ajay projected an element of inadequacy and defensiveness, traits that were often discreetly ascribed to him by his colleagues. 

Pearle was the final individual impatiently waiting in chamber A001. He frequently looked to the overhead clock making little attempt to conceal his anxiety. While General Pearle enjoyed prestigious rank, and standing in the chain of command he was generally considered the intellectual inferior of the three. It was well recognized that his career progression had more to do with political expediencies than with any actual inherent abilities or accomplishments. 

Precisely as the clock struck the top of the hour a civilian intelligence officer was escorted into the room. Without introduction, he sat at the conference table and removed files from a locked attaché case.

The secured file was labeled A.D. While Bailey showed no response to Lorton's entrance, both Pearle and Ajay were visibly relieved. 

Officer Lorton was in his late forties. He projected the demeanor of an efficient corporate executive. Without fan-fare he addressed the triad frequently referring to his A.D. file. Gentleman, I have more data to add to the equation. As of 1400 hours there have now occurred a total of five additional domestic incidents. Concurrently we can now acknowledge three more substantiated foreign episodes. 

Lorton's words fueled the unexpressed anxiety within the room.

Ajay spoke, What are the stateside locations, and order of sequence?

Lorton checked his notes prior to responding. First, Santa Monica, then Reno, Little Rock...Racine, and within the half-hour, Wheeling, West Virginia. We have successfully contained the western incidents, however there were too many witnesses at Racine and Wheeling. The media is aware, though only speculatively as to what is occurring. 

Ajay seemed perplexed. A west to east pattern. This is counter to our probables. 

For Bailey, the attention of the media caused him the most alarm.

In previous concerns Admiral Bailey, would usually be content to allow Ajay and Pearle to take the lead in directing security briefings. This strategy allowed him to sit back and process the data as it was presented. Though the three intelligence leaders were peers on the line chain of command, Bailey knew the actual personal trust of the presidency was extended to his ears only. It was Bailey that sat closest to the President. With this condition, Bailey was often comfortable to feign a position of deference to his two colleagues. 

Today, however, was different. The A.D. matter was somehow novel.  Bailey was gravely concerned and his questions had to be asked.

To the surprise of Ajay and Pearle, Bailey disrupted the pro-forma to address Lorton, Mr. Lorton, what has been developed on probable originator theories? 

Concealing his surprise with Bailey's initiative, Lorton coolly responded, though he too was keenly aware that the admiral had deviated from the norm. This deviation caused a noticeably uneasy reaction from the less astute Pearle and Ajay. Admiral, the technology necessary to achieve what witnesses are describing... would be...incredible, clearly beyond the scope of radicals, counter-revolutionaries, or splinter organizations No, we are definitely dealing with a major primary government, a power with abundant resources. 

General Ajay, as were all the participants in this special briefing, was internally aware of the strange discomfort associated with A.D. Though he had been involved with the most covert and secretive American intelligence operations of the last twenty years, never had he experienced the personal uneasiness of this session. Bailey's departure from unwritten protocol only elevated the general's stress. Being the least sophisticated of the three Ajay was unable to suppress his impulse. To Bailey's displeasure Ajay intervened to resume control of the questioning, Potentials, sir? 

As Bailey was dismayed, Lorton seemed relieved that the questioning had been redirected. He quickly shifted from notes that he was reviewing in anticipation of further questions from Bailey hoping to minimize any delay in his response. Lorton took comfort in that Bailey allowed this interruption. 

Hmm, at this point we can provide speculations only, General. The Unified Baltic States, perhaps, but in the context of today's political environment, we don't know. China? Possibly, but China has been the strategic site of two of the more brutal and devastating episodes. Still, is it beyond the Chairman to be willing to sacrifice his own people? Russia is perhaps capable, but their motivation is unclear. Japan is doubtful. An Arab World or Middle East nation is a priority candidate, but operatives so far have been negated and there have been Muslim casualties. 

General Pearle sensed the on-going intensity of Bailey's concern. He also was disheartened by the lack of substantiation within Lorton's response. Hoping to anticipate and thus please the admiral. Pearle interrupted in his earthy fashion, At this juncture, we're pissing in the wind. Precisely, sir, was Lorton's curt reply. 

Undaunted, Pearle was determined to glean some positive and constructive information, Motivations? Where are we?

Lorton replied with business like promptness. Well general, all occasions have occurred within formal religious activity. However, victims have been heterogeneous: Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Pagan, Buddhist, etc. The target was apparently defined as religion, any and all organized religion. 

There was a silence and a mood of exasperation pervaded the room. It was becoming clear that the briefing had raised more questions than it had answered. Bailey was