A Jeweler’s Eye View: Volume One: Diamond in the Rough

By J. D. Riley

It is 1979 in Macon, Georgia, when Jake Goodson embarks on a quest to rescue his children from the clutches of a religious cult that has already charmed his ex-wife, Madeline, into its snares. But when the Vietnam War veteran begins receiving unwarranted attacks on his character and threats to stop his quest from Madeline’s attorneys, Jake must act fast or lose his children forever. Unfortunately after he decides to take matters into his own hands, he must deal with the consequences.

Now as he faces several criminal charges, Jake begins seeing a psychologist. During their intense sessions that resurrect the past trauma of the war as well as his memories of his one true love, Jake relives his time while stationed in Southeast Asia. As Jake is drawn back into his recollections of the beauty of his romance and the searing pain of its end, he notices an awakening within beyond his obsessive visions of the end of the world. But as he valiantly battles his internal demons, Jake soon realizes he has a formidable enemy with an uncanny ability to foresee his intentions and outmaneuver him at every turn.

Volume One of A Jeweler’s Eye View begins a fierce battle between two adversaries that will ultimately bring the forces of good versus evil to collide with heroic implications.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Jul 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781480891210

J. D. Riley

J. D. Riley is a licensed therapist who has worked in addiction treatment since 1982. He earned a bachelor’s degree in philosophy and religion from Berry College in Rome, Georgia, and a master’s degree in counseling from the University of Georgia. He is a US Army veteran who has a special interest in victims of PTSD, and cults and the psychology behind them. Riley currently lives with his family in Atlanta, Georgia.

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Prologue

                          Now that he holds It

                          He knows this treasure

                          Above all others

                          Faith so certain

                          Shall never be shaken

                          By heaviest sorrow

Bhagavad Gita

The wind blew through the vast sea of yellowed grass, effecting the illusion of a billion reedy acolytes bowing and rising—always bowing and rising—as in endless litany to an unseen purpose.

Eternity resided here it seemed.

The wind soughed softly across the expanse, and undulating swells of amber rolled tranquilly as far as the eye could see. The mid-afternoon sun of early autumn stood timelessly still in the unblemished sky.

Space…

—Silent, enigmatic, and forbidding—and filled with mystery.

Hidden within its dark folds, protoplanetary remnants of the solar system’s violent birth—the asteroids—circumvallate the sun in Amyclaean silence. For millennia, these lumbering leviathans have tumbled and rolled through the heavens, tethered by forces beyond reckoning.

Until now…

A rock suddenly breaks free, throwing off the gravitational shackles of its orbital decrees and moves with reckless abandon through the heavens.

A solitary figure appeared on the eastern horizon, moving to the west with purpose. Haggard and worn, the man pushed headlong through the grass, heedless of the wake he left on the seamless twill of yellow.

Fatigued, he paused and adjusted the threadbare knapsack across his back while catching his breath. He looked ahead, studying the western horizon; then glanced back to the east before pressing on.

A sudden shift in the wind caused him to again whip around and look behind. The gusts smelled wet with foreboding, and he again scanned the skyline to the east, watching for any shift as if he were being pursued. As the breeze resumed its gentle course through the grass, he turned back and with determination, moved on.

Hidden in the inky blackness of space, and cloaked in the rays of the sun, the trillion-ton rock caromed through the firmament, gaining momentum as it tumbled towards the earth, plummeting ever faster. As it drew closer to the planet, it took on an anticipatory glow. The thin veil of earth’s outer atmosphere was no match for the six-mile-wide stone plunging through it at 50,000 miles per hour—seventy times faster than the speed of sound. The ionospheric sentries that normally incinerated meteoric marauders were no match for the enormous rock and were instantly stripped of the very electrons that held them together. It blasted through with detonative ferocity. In a flash, the entire upper atmosphere ignited into a 50,000-degree incandescence that blazed around the entire planet.

A searing bolt of light flashed across the heavens and was gone. Alarmed, he stopped and looked up. Within seconds the sound of a faint, distant rumbling from the east grew louder and louder until it thundered directly overhead. He again glanced behind and studied the horizon. Though the blue sky remained unblemished, he knew the storm was coming. He turned back to the west and picked up his pace.

No… He whispered as he ran. Cacophonous gusts swirled around him, as dried yellow stalks whipped upward on the wind. He began to run.

The asteroid continued to barrel through the atmosphere, shredding it like confetti. From the time it entered the earth’s atmosphere to the moment it impacted the Atlantic Ocean was .78 seconds: approximately, the blink of an eye. The resulting explosion in the water was equal to 100,000 nuclear warheads going off at the same moment.

With the last of his strength, he pushed through the grass, determined to move on. Wheezing, he slowed and then stopped, studying the horizon ahead.

It had changed.

He again began to move, but at a slower pace, keeping his eyes ahead. The very berm of the world’s edge shifted at the skyline with every step he took, and though the shift was at first subtle, it was definite, and drew him on.

After one hundred paces, he knew the shift in the land had not been his imagination. He sprinted the last few paces, then slowed as he approached an enormous precipice. The hem of the sky dropped away before him, creating the effect that he approached the very edge of the earth. Within moments, he stood at the edge of an enormous cliff, and looked down. Another world stretched thousands of feet below him and he gasped with wonder. He brushed aside the last of the yellowed stalks in front of him and peered more closely at the land below. The contrast between the drier, high plains world in which he stood from the lush land below left him feeling that he was looking down at a world of an entirely different essence. Its beauty was beyond anything he had ever imagined. He pulled off his backpack to get a closer look and peered over the cliff. Again, he gasped with wonder.

Peering down, he looked through clouds and mists that quilted the landscape thousands of feet below him. The shifting colors, shades and shadows blanketing the land was nothing short of magical.

Vertigo suddenly gripped him, and he reeled backwards, stumbling to his knees. Struggling to regain his bearings, he reared back on his haunches, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. After a moment, he looked back over the cliff. The precipice stretched to either side of him endlessly in both directions. It appeared to create an impregnable barrier from the world below.

He sat back, looking around, he felt he was at the very edge of the world—at least where one ended. Swallowing back light-headedness from the dizzying drop before him, he placed his hands on the rock for balance and once again looked over the edge.

He breathed deeply and the downy, cool breeze rolling up the enormous rockface soothed his tired senses. The fine mist forming on the higher, dry air poured over him, carrying soft, piquant aromas from the world below. It was an intoxicating balm, and he breathed in deeply.

He looked to either side, cautiously pulling forward to peer over the rockface. It seemed to mark the misalignment of two enormous tectonic plates, creating an impassable shift in the earth. As he studied it, he realized the geologic barrier separating him from the world below could not have been more unassailable than if the Angel Gabriel had been positioned with a fiery sword at the gates of Eden. Yet, he remained drawn to looking at its beauty.

At such distance, everything at first appeared dreamlike and vaporous. He squinted and was able to make out more clearly the distant landscape. Hills and valleys rolling from the base of the cliff were swathed in lush coniferous forests and verdant meadows. As his gaze followed the contours of the terrain, he saw that it leveled into an emerald carpet of manzanita blanketing a coastal plain in the distance, bordering white sands that ended at an ocean glittering out to the horizon. The lapis-blue waters in the far distance rolled with mystery and allure, leaving him spellbound.

The roar of a waterfall drew his attention to the north. White water tumbled over the cliff miles away, cascading and bounding in rainbow-laden mists down the rock. He studied the churning waters of the lake below, then turned and panned the horizon to the south. A castle nestled on a promontory facing out to sea caught his eye. The sublime structure was simple, yet courtly. It too, had an allure that tugged at his heart.

Another low rumble in the distance behind him pulled him out of his reverie. He glanced back to the east, and saw nothing, yet began looking for a way down the cliff. He knew he needed to escape the world above.

He turned to his knapsack, rummaging through equipment and pulled a coiled length of rope from his pack. He studied its frayed ends and shook his head. He realized how pitifully inadequate he’d prepared for what he now faced as he studied the cliff’s face for a way down. In spite of his flimsy resources, he knew he had to find a way. He again looked to his right and left and saw no way down the seamless granite wall.

Suddenly a gust of cold air hit his back, and he squeezed his eyes closed, swallowing hard. With grim determination, he lowered down to his chest and crawling to the edge, peering over. He searched for a foothold in the rock. He desperately needed to find a way down.

He had to find a way.

He had to…

The seawater temperature hit 100,000 degrees Fahrenheit in a fraction of a second. Ten trillion tons of the Atlantic vaporized instantly into vast steamy jets in a circumference of two hundred miles of the asteroid’s impact. At 1.38 seconds it impacted ocean bedrock at 350 fathoms, instantly exploding 100 trillion tons of debris and vaporized ocean skyward at 25,000 miles per hour. The air around the blast rose 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit, generating hurricane-force winds that would encircle the globe within hours. Everything within a thousand-mile radius, including Bermuda and the Abacos, ceased to exist within the first three minutes of impact. The tremendous crater produced at the point of impact was sixteen miles deep and two hundred miles wide and provided the basis for a tsunami that would utterly destroy the eastern seaboard of the United States and the coast of Western Europe in a matter of hours. The ring of seismic sea waves had already begun their roll, forming crests as high as the Alps. The British Isles had already begun their descent into darkness.

He was studying the rock face when everything suddenly changed.

The entire dome of the sky ignited with sheet-lightning luminescence, momentarily leaving him blinded. For a full ten seconds, the lightning flashed and flared, seeming to burn the vault of the heavens all the way up into the mesosphere. Then, as quickly as it came, it was gone. Nothing remained but a momentary Borealis-like afterglow, which also quickly snuffed out. Then, the sky was once again as clear as it had been moments before.

"Oh God, no!" He groaned, as he looked around, beginning to panic. He reached over the edge, desperately feeling the rock for a way down.

How far are we now, daddy? The young girl asked from the back seat. How much longer ’til we get to Nanny’s?

We’re only in Ann Arbor, sweetheart, the man said, glancing over at his wife with a smirk. There she goes… He whispered, then turned back to look at her. We still have Grand Rapids to get through before we get to Nanny’s. Then once we get her, we still have to get to over Grand Haven.

Uh… The child muttered, not comprehending the explanation from her father.

We’re still at least three hours away, sweetheart, he said. Daddy will get you your favorite ice cream just ahead.

Yippee!!! She squealed with delight, clapping her hands.

I hope the weather holds up, his wife said conversationally as they drove on. It’s always so beautiful this time of year.

The reports are all good for the whole weekend, he said. Don’t worry…

He reached to the dashboard to adjust his radio as Ramblin’ Man by the Allman Brothers began to play. He turned up the volume and began singing, looking over at his wife and child. She smiled at him, and the child began discordantly singing along.

Lightning suddenly flashed across the sky, and his wife looked up at the soft cumulus clouds, and then across at him with a worried look.

I thought you said the weather reports are good for the weekend? She asked.

Ah, he said, looking up through the windshield. Not sure now. Never can depend on those weathermen. These don’t look like rain clouds though.

A faint, preternatural roll of thunder pulled him up from the rockface and he spun around. A shift in the wind carried the smell of a storm, though it had not yet become visible. Violent gusts mounted in the distant fields with a gale-force fierceness, violently whipping grass and debris high into the air. As he looked to the east, a sirocco-like wall of wind stretched across the entire eastern horizon and was moving with frightening speed directly towards him.

Then something even more frightening than the wind grabbed his attention. In the distance, the land beneath the grass began quaking and rumbling with earthquake ferocity, outdistancing the wind, and rolling towards him on a crumbling, rumbling wave of soil and rock. It barreled at him with alarming speed.

Within moments, it slammed into the granite beneath his feet with detonative force, throwing him in up the air and tossing him close to the cliff’s edge. He slid on the quaking rock, unable to regain a foothold. He dropped to his belly, beginning to slip over the edge. He frantically clawed the ground with his fingers trying to find a grip, and despite the gale-forced winds buffeting him, clasped the stone and held on.

He regained his footing as the quaking dissipated into a low rumble and dissolved back into stillness. He crawled back and away from the cliff’s edge on hands and knees, now fighting against the wind, which was gaining in strength. With topsoil and grass flying loose in the wind, he grabbed at the barren, gray rock, throwing up a hand against the blinding debris, frantically feeling around for a handhold. He was finally able to anchor himself to a nub of rock and squinted over the cliff. He caught a glimpse of the lush, green world 3,000 feet below just before it disappeared in the maelstrom. The gusts became ever fiercer, pummeling him against the rock, driving him to pull back from the edge. He desperately held on.

He closed his eyes and swallowed dryly. The task of descending the cliff was impossible, on a good day, and he knew it. Despite this, he managed to pull the knapsack from his back and unstrapped the small coil of rope he had attached to it. As soon as he released the pack, it whipped away on the wind over the cliff. Despite the sheer magnitude of the undertaking before him, he knew he must find his way down—or die trying. A deep, guttural rumble in the air caused him to turn back to the east.

He froze.

An obsidian wall of cloud rose from the horizon, stretching across the entire landscape. It moved frighteningly fast across the plain in his direction. The sheer enormity of it left him immobilized with fear. Within moments, the impenetrable blackness became a shroud covering the entire eastern half the sky.

The music on the car radio stopped, and static-filled reporting suddenly came on the airwaves.

What the hell? The man said, as he reached over and adjusted the dial.

John, his wife said, reaching over and putting a hand on his arm. Watch out. Slow down!

Powerline posts on either side of the highway were wobbling and falling over. Taillights flashed red in the endless row of vehicles ahead of him, bringing the traffic to a standstill.

What the hell’s going on? He asked, pressing his brakes.

I think…it’s an earthquake, John! His wife cried out, looking out at trees falling across the fields in the distance. Then she noticed side streets and the entrance ramp onto the interstate becoming jammed with reckless drivers. It seemed everyone was trying to get on the freeway heading west. She turned to look behind her and froze.

Wha…What in the world, John?!? She cried out, grabbing his arm and forcing him to turn and look behind him. An enormous grey-black wall of weather was rapidly rolling from the east towards them. It stretched impossibly high into the heavens and was moving with unnatural speed.

Oh my God... He sputtered and gasped, slamming on his brakes and turning to fully look.

This is a national emergency! A news commentator cried over the radio. I repeat: A national emergency! Reports of a huge meteor hitting the Atlantic Ocean are confirmed. A tidal wave heading for the eastern seaboard will hit shore within the hour. A storm is coming, and… The voice hesitated. Oh, my God! Oh, my… The station went silent, replaced by static.

After a moment, he turned back to his wife.

W…We’ve gotta get outta here!

He thrust the car into gear and pulled sharply to the right of the vehicle in front of him and onto the graveled side of the road, and was stopped by other cars trying the same maneuver. He was immediately slammed from behind by a fast-moving jeep attempting to do the same. The jeep didn’t slow down, but honked and attempted to push through, thrusting his car against the guardrail with his jeep. He reflexively rode his brake in reaction, and they stalled out. Men, women, and children were now running past them, having abandoned their vehicles. They were trying to escape the coming storm on foot.

Who is this jerk? John cried, turning to look. His wife screamed with terror at seeing the man approaching from the jeep. He was carrying a baseball bat. The child, Lisa, began wailing from the back seat. The look in the man’s eye caused her to panic.

Get out of the car and give me your keys! The driver of the jeep yelled into his window. John rolled up his window and yelled at the man through the glass.

Leave us alone!

Quit stalling and get out!!! The man yelled, shoving the head of his bat through the glass, shattering it. He had a twelve-year-old boy in tow who looked terrified and was crying. The man glanced up at the sky behind them, then back at John.

What-the-hell do you think you are doing? John yelled, looking at the man with disbelief.

I said, get…the…fuck… the man swung the baseball bat full force, shattering the front windshield. …OUT!!!

John stepped on the gas, grinding the front of his vehicle against the guardrail, and ponderously attempted to pull away. He managed to go only ten feet before another vehicle ahead of him forced him to stop. The man with the bat slammed it into the passenger windshield behind him and snatched the rear door opened. Gusting wind swirled into the open cab, and he yanked the child out of the car and tossed her across the asphalt and away from the vehicle.

"If you want your kid, you’ll get out of the car now!" The man yelled with force.

"Daddy…no! The boy cried out.

Shaddup, Eric!

Lisa!!! John’s wife screamed with terror, yanking pitifully at her door to get out to retrieve her daughter, but the door was wedged against the guardrail. John, he hurt Lisa!!! She cried out.

John shoved his door opened and leapt out onto the man, swinging his fists wildly, and fighting to get the bat from him. She shoved past them to get to her girl, and after being overpowered by the man and hit with the bat, John staggered to his feet, holding his head with a new wound, and joined his wife and daughter. The man threw his son in the back seat and jumped in the front and pushed the SUV hard against the guardrail, lumbering over it, and slid on the grassy bank and away. He inadvertently hit a young woman running across the grass but kept going.

John and his family watched with stunned terror. A blood-soaked man came running up from behind with two children in tow and jumped in the man’s jeep and attempted to follow the SUV.

If you want to get out of here, get in! he cried to John. He and his family jumped in with this other family. The man threw the car into gear, grinding it against the guardrail, but wedging the rear axle on top of a guardrail post.

Aaaiiieeeahhh! A woman screamed from outside, attempting to grab the door handle. The driver locked the doors, just as she fell under the stampede of people, and was tromped into the earth by others running to escape the storm. Please…Stop!!!

Oh, John… Sue cried out, horrified and holding onto her child tightly. What is going on?!?

The man driving gritted his teeth and shoved the gas pedal to the floor, breaking the guardrail post from its moorings. Pulling free he slammed into several people blindly running to escape the storm. Though they bellowed in agony, he didn’t stop or slow down. John turned to look back at the broken bodies on the ground, unmoving. The driver’s wife turned to look at him with horror, and the children began screaming and crying to stop, but he kept pressing forward. John grabbed his family and jumped out of the vehicle, rolling on the grass amidst the stampede of people. He stumbled and fought and weaved through the people, and within moments had pulled away from the stampede and was down a gulley and into a stand of trees. As he looked around, he saw several other families already huddled there, many on their knees praying, and others yelling with terror, hysterically trying to figure out what to do. A man crying hysterically ran directly at them, arms outstretched towards their child and not knowing his intentions, John reached down and picked up a stick and swung it threateningly at him, yelling for him to leave them alone. The man turned and ran on, continuing to yell nonsensical prayers and invectives.

The driver of the jeep made it twenty more feet before a mob of men who had been with the individuals he had hit managed to overwhelm him and throw him and his family out of the jeep. They began beating the man mercilessly, and when the man’s wife tried to intercede, she was also beaten. As John looked down the length of the highway, he saw that hysteria ruled the day, inspiring a kill-or-be-killed mentality. Looking around at the endless herd of people attacking each other, John grabbed his family and lowered to the ground in the trees, holding onto his wife and daughter, feeling utterly powerless, he sunk down to the ground in despair.

He turned to look at the advancing storm one more time. The black wall of weather churned with a force that would kill them as soon as it hit. He looked around one last time at the mass of desperate men, women, and children and whimpered a desperate plea to whatever god might listen.

A violent rupturing quake of the ground beneath their feet threw him and his family face down to the ground, and with an effort, he pulled himself up to look one last time. The colossal wall of weather was now barreling at them from less than one hundred yards away. The wind suddenly blew with tornadic force, and the cloud blocked out the last of the sun, leaving them in utter darkness.

Before everything went blank, John turned to his family and pulled them into a huddle on the ground, and wailed a final, desperate prayer.

Thunderous claps in the thickening air exploded in the distance. The thin, inky-black squall line on the eastern horizon grew frighteningly fast. It stretched to the north and to the south as far as he could see, and within moments, climbed higher and higher, becoming a black wall of destruction, churning and moving towards him. The sky quickly grew dark.

The storm was beyond belief. It stretched straight up to the ceiling of the mesosphere, and then curled over, cresting like a wave, some thirty miles high. A leading edge of incandescent particles swirled violently in the airless sky far above. The obsidian squall line was dizzying to behold, and within moments, blotted out the entire eastern hemisphere, continuing to grow.

Long strands of black soot cascaded down from the ceiling of the cloud, dropping serpentine-like as it spiraled and plummeted the long miles back to earth. He sat on the ground, frozen with terror.

The remaining broadcasts across the planet were now filled with panic, disbelief, and despair. Before these stations went out, many reporters around the world had shifted from describing the horrific events taking place, to praying over the airwaves. Within moments, these stations went silent, with haunting static all that remained.

Trillions of tons of microscopic debris from the exploded asteroid blanketed the planet, destroying all life in its wake. Within thirty minutes of impact, no one remained alive on the Eastern seaboard of the United States, and most of western Europe was gone. Before the Potomac River Basin was consumed by The Wall, the Pentagon issued an emergency attack, hoping against hope to stem the tide of the black monstrosity by desperately hitting it with nuclear warheads. Due to the meteorological force of the advancing wall, the explosions bounced back upon the attackers, creating instant nuclear destruction right before Virginia, Maryland, and Capitol Hill were swallowed up into the enormous blackness of the advancing wall. The efforts to halt the cloud were paltry and unremittingly mocked by the enormity of the storm.

Fear turned to despair as whole regions were slammed with a wave of ash that suffocated everyone before they could even run. The tsunami moved over the land at 450 miles per hour, and nothing and no one survived in its wake. Once it hit Manhattan, the wave did not begin to subside until it reached the Ohio Valley.

China, Japan, and Russia had already fallen into darkness. No one was able to escape. In spite of the outbreak of war by power-hungry opportunists, no one gained an advantage. All were consumed by the cloud. A corrosive, acidic rain followed the first wave of destruction, burning away and dissolving all carbonaceous organisms that survived the first impact.

He saw no escape. Despite this, he squinted through the flying debris for a handhold on the rock ledge. His only hope was to descend the cliff in order to get beneath the storm. The rock upon which he lay was now clear of all vegetation due to the gale-force wind. He saw an outcropping of stone twenty paces to his right on the very edge of the cliff. He crawled on hands and knees to get to it, fighting against the tempest. He pulled himself to the projection and secured his rope to it.

Holding onto the other end, he crawled on his belly to the cliff’s edge, and stretched out as far as he dared, peering over. The air around him to buffet him, yet he desperately searched over the edge, face-to-face with the gaping abyss, looking for a way down. Clouds of dust and debris were plummeting down the rock face all around him, making it more difficult to hold on. In spite of the waterfall-like current tugging at him, he kept searching.

He had to find a way, or all was lost.

He looked through the cascading debris, hoping against hope the land below would somehow be spared from the storm. The more he searched the cliff face, the more ludicrous the idea seemed that he would find a way down. Yet, he knew it was his only hope. He had to try.

He had to…

The geophysical evidence of the end was now everywhere. The eschatological predictions by the religions of the world had finally arrived.

Final judgement had come.

No one remained alive. Total annihilation was the last conscious awareness anyone had as they took their final, gasping breath.

Man’s reign on the planet was over.

The hideous, obsidian colossus was closing its final gap on the farthest corners of the planet, completely blotting out the sun, leaving nothing but darkness in its wake. Carbolic acid rains had already begun to fall in steady torrents, beginning a meteorological plague that would pour over the earth for months on end.

If there was a devil, he had won. Death was the only release from the hideous fate that had befallen the world. The river Styx had been bridged, and the armies of Hell stormed across the planet, victorious.

Satan had won.

No one survived.

No one.

Then he saw it: A ledge.

The arête was directly beneath him, twenty feet below the lip of the cliff. He knew his rope was not long enough for rappelling to it, yet he had to try. He prepared to descend.

Claps of deafening thunder roared overhead. The storm was now upon him and he was driven on. He began to move.

Suddenly, the precipice underneath his feet shook with renewed force, shuddering all the way down the cliff’s very foundations.

No, he whispered. "Please…No."

He grabbed the small length of rope and slid over the cliff’s edge. Wind and rain whipped him violently against the rock as he desperately held on to the twine. He could no longer see where he was going and flapped around wildly. He released a hand to feel for the arête, and swinging his arm wildly, finally grabbed at the rock and pulled himself in. The strong pull of the storm’s downdraft left him trembling with fatigue as he desperately gripped the rock.

Continuous lightning bolts flashed all around accompanied by a continuous, thundering boom that echoed with deafening force. Everything went completely dark, and he knew he was now in the belly of the storm.

He let go of the rock and lowered on the rope, dangling wildly in the wind, feeling nothing to grab. After a hesitation, he released and dropped. He landed on the ledge he’d seen earlier and grabbed a cornice of stone and hugged the rock. Miraculously, he held on.

The wind suddenly turned bitingly cold, taking on the odorous smell of sulfur. He desperately looked for another foothold but found none. Sweat poured profusely into his eyes and he attempted to blink it away. His fingers now gripped wet rock as rain and debris buffeted him on all sides. A deafening peal of thunder shook the earth, and he began to slide.

It was too much.

His left knee caught a small outcropping of rock as he slid down, and the pain knifing up his leg caused him to involuntarily contort back and away from his last grip on the rock. His hands frantically grabbed at empty air as he fell another fifteen feet, then hit an outcropping of stone, and something snapped in his spine as he bounced away from the cliff for the last time. His body spun as he fell through the darkness, arms thrashing wildly at the open air as he dropped faster and faster into the abyss. It was more than he could take, and he screamed one final unadulterated, guttural cry.

The force of his scream broke through his subconscious mind, and he bolted upright in bed, gasping for air.

He turned on the light and looked around. After a few moments, he sighed and fell back on the bed, realizing it was a nightmare, and that he was still alive in the early morning hours of another warm July day in Macon, Georgia, in 1979.

Chapter One

                Between the silence of the mountains

                And the crashing of the Sea

                There lies a Land I once lived in

                And she’s waiting there for me

                But in the grey of the morning

                My mind becomes confused

                Between the dead and the sleeping

                And the road that I must choose.

Justin Hayward, Moody Blues; Question

And you’ve had this dream before, Jake? Dr. John Shumaker asked, studying his patient.

Yes, Jake said, holding his head, rubbing his temples. I told you. About once a week anymore. And it’s always the same.

How do you mean?

"I mean it always ends the same, with the world coming to an end; with me falling, and…and dying."

And the storm—it always brings total destruction? The psychologist asked.

Yeah—always, Jake said.

So, everyone dies?

Yeah, Jake said, looking away. But that’s not the worst part—I mean—about everyone dying.

No? Shumaker asked, surprised.

"No. It’s what happens to them before they die."

I’m listening.

"Right before the end, everyone becomes…evil."

Evil? Shumaker asked, leaning forward.

"Yeah. And it’s not just some people; it’s everyone. They all go crazy… Jake paused, shaking his head, recalling the dream. I know it’s just a dream, but it seems so real, he said. The way people turn on one another is…is what haunts me the most about this dream."

He hesitated, swallowing back emotion.

You see, Doc, I can see it happening; I mean, if the world really came to an end, I could see people…going dark.

The theater’s ablaze, so-to-speak? The doctor queried. It’s every man for himself?

It’s more than that, Doc, Jake said, shaking his head. "It’s more than fear; though fear gets it started. It’s…It’s something that comes over people; something that makes them… malevolent. It’s hard to explain."

"So, the end of the world brings out the truth that people really are evil?" Shumaker asked, studying his patient.

Jake looked up to meet the doctor’s eyes.

"When hope is gone—I mean really gone, what’s the point of virtue and goodness? Jake asked, looking up at him. He then turned and stared distractedly out the window, haunted by memories. I’ve seen it before…"

In Vietnam?

Jake shot a look at the doctor, but softened, collecting himself before continuing.

All I’m saying is, under dire circumstances, something is awakened in people that has been lurking beneath the surface all along, Jake said. And this something…well, it may not be all there is to people, but it’s still the thing that consumes them…in the end.

"Something, Jake?" Shumaker asked, intrigued.

Evil is real, Doc, Jake said. "It’s not just a thing of nightmares or fairytales. It’s real."

Shumaker studied his patient. The haunted look in his eyes reminded him of his own brother, Pete. Pete had been a Korean War veteran who never recovered from his experience in Asia, and even though he’d made it back home, he committed suicide in the end. The way Jake looked at him was uncannily similar. Shumaker swallowed back his own memories and pushed on.

And goodness…is it real, too, Jake? Shumaker asked, clearing his throat. I mean, if there’s a devil, is there also a…?

I don’t know, Jake shot back, interrupting. "And I don’t care."

About God?

"I don’t care about religion or any of that nonsense about God and the devil. I don’t particularly buy into notions of redemption or salvation. Such talk doesn’t mean much in the face of what I’ve seen."

What about love? Shumaker asked. I mean, even under dire circumstances, including war, acts of heroism and self-sacrifice often accompany people who are…

"Love is a joke," Jake snapped, then turned away, sinking into his chair, regretting his impulsive remark.

A…A joke, Jake?

Don’t even go there, Doc; please. Love’s a nice idea for dime store novels; that’s it. It’s a lot of sentimental nonsense. Just ask my ex-wife if you don’t believe me…

And Vietnam…it was a loveless place for you?

Why do you go there, Doc? Jake asked with a flash of anger. "I’ve got enough loveless sonsofbitches around me right here and now without having to go back there."

But the war, Jake; it was a…

"You know nothing about Vietnam, Doc. Nothing! So, please just leave it alone, okay?"

Shumaker backed off, measuring the reaction of his patient. Jake sighed and turned away, distractedly looking back out the psychologist’s second floor window, observing the street below.

The afternoon traffic had already begun to swell and move slowly between stoplights. Faces of drivers reflected their growing frustration at the swelling, sluggish procession of cars. Indignation occasionally exploded with horns blaring, quickly followed by reciprocating blasts. Jake suddenly felt tired, and wished he was down in the congestion, fighting to get home himself.

The doctor shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.

We still have to complete this evaluation, Jake, and your wartime experiences are part of what I’ve been asked to evaluate.

Sure. That’s fine, Doc, Jake said, leaning back. "But I’m telling you right now, it has nothing to do with what’s got me here with you. That was then; this is now."

Perhaps, Jake, Shumaker said with a shrug. Nevertheless…

Jake turned to look directly at the doctor.

Let me ask you a question, Doc, Jake asked, leaning forward. "You seem like a reasonable man, so, let me ask you: What is your take on this…this Ekkklesia of Yahoeh—this so-called ‘Church of the Final Prophecy’?"

You mean, the plaintiff in your case?

"I mean this so-called church," he shot back. "I want to know what you think of them."

Jake, the courts have no interest in my opinions regarding the litigant in this case, Shumaker said. My personal views on them aren’t going to help your case.

"No, but it might help me," Jake said, leveling his gaze at him. "They’ve accused me of attacking them, and I need to know what you think of them!"

The doctor remained silent, looking at his patient. Jake’s piercing grey eyes seemed to cut through his professional demeanor in ways that left him feeling off balance. Again, he thought of Pete.

"Come on, Doc, you want the truth from me? Then how about reciprocating a little? The Ekkklesia of Yahoeh? Really??? What kind of name for a church is that? It’s even spelled with three K’s!!! You do understand what that’s all about, don’t you, Doctor Shumaker?"

Jake, the psychologist said, shifting in his seat. "Let’s say I do agree with you, and my opinions on the efficacy of the plaintiff’s religious dogmas did come to light; all it would do is place you in a lose-lose situation."

How do you figure that?

If my assessment of you is less-than-favorable for you, the plaintiff won’t challenge my findings. On the other hand, if it’s less-than-favorable for them, they will immediately discredit me as a valid witness due to the ‘prejudicial nature of my personal feelings regarding them.’

You’re just avoiding my question, Doc, Jake said pointedly. "We’re talking about the Ku Klux Klan, for chrissake!!! I just need to know: am I the only one who sees this???"

Shumaker looked at Jake, weighing his answer before he responded.

We can debate this for the rest of the session, Jake, but we won’t get any closer to completing your evaluation, Shumaker said. It’s what has been ordered by the judge, not my personal opinions about the other party. We have to stay on task, or this entire evaluation can be discredited. I’m sorry; I don’t know what else to say.

Shumaker shifted uncomfortably under Jake’s unwavering gaze, feeling regret for his evasive response. He truly felt Jake deserved an answer to his question, but also knew he would be walking a fine line professionally if he engaged in such discussion. He then became irritated with himself for harboring non-impartial sentiment towards this client.

He liked him.

Against his volition, his mind went back to his brother, Pete. Pete would have challenged him in the same way Jake did. Pete would also have had the same haunted look in his eyes.

Okay, Doc, Jake said after studying him. "Just make sure what I say about that crazy outfit goes in your report. I want every insane religious idea I tell you about the Ekkklesia of Yahoeh on record with the court so that someone somewhere will know I’m not the only crazy one in this case!"

They sat in silence for an uncomfortable moment, and then Jake leaned in, looking directly into his eyes.

You want the truth, Doc? He began. "Okay; here it is: I love my children. That’s it. Do I love them enough to do what that church has accused me of doing? You’re damned right; I would have done it to save my boys. Did I do it? No. Furthermore, it offends me that anyone would blame this situation on Vietnam. It not only dishonors the love I have for my kids; it dishonors what I did as a soldier in that war."

Shumaker sat stunned by the incisiveness of Jake’s words. He cleared his throat and leaned in.

Fair enough, Jake, he said. But where do we go from here?

"Well, it might help if you told me what they’ve told you about me," Jake said unwaveringly. Or is that outside the ‘scope of your clinical practice,’ as well?

Shumaker smiled at the jab, appreciative of Jake’s lack of duplicity. His straightforwardness was fodder for genuine therapeutic movement.

No, it’s not, Jake, he said. Let me read the statement from the court-recorder concerning your charges. He reached for the documents and read: You are charged with ‘aggravated assault with a deadly weapon,’ resulting in ‘serious bodily injury to three allegedly unarmed individuals.’ It also says you ‘forcibly entered the church in a terroristic manner,’ breaking doors and locks. You are, in fact, charged with terroristic threats against the church along with the assault charges." Shumaker read, then looked up at Jake.

Okay, I did break through the locked doors, Jake said. "But none of the rest is true. I never laid a hand on anybody."

I’m listening.

My wife… Jake began. "My ex-wife, that is; well, she has her own issues. None of anything else I have to say will make sense unless you understand more about her and the so-called marriage we had. So, can we aside discussing PTSD from a war ten years ago and tell you about her?"

Please, Shumaker said with a nod.

My ex-wife, Madeline, is one of those women endowed with more physical looks than good sense. Over the years, she has used her beauty as a tool in her power over men—including me. She’s also enjoyed healthy doses of alcohol and meth, and that has left her in quite a mess. That’s why I left her.

So, back up; how did you two get together in the first place?

It was right after the war, Jake began, looking down. For those first few years I stayed drunk myself. That’s how I met her. We were at a bar one night—both of us drunk—and one thing led to another, and we ended up in the sack. She ended up pregnant and accused me of being the father. When Mikey came along, everything changed for me. I sobered up. Her other child, Scott, became equally important to me, because I saw him as being lost and afraid, and without real parental love and support. I woke up from my self-absorbed grief and self-pity over what I lost in ‘Nam and decided to be a father to both the boys. We got married—for their sake—and that’s when the crazy marriage stuff began with that woman. Outside of getting the boys, marrying her was the worst mistake of my life.

So, you married, and then what?

Madeline didn’t slow down with her party life. After Mikey was born, she began to disappear for days at a time, running around with God-knows-who. I refused to sleep with her after that but wouldn’t leave because of the boys. The final blow was when she had the audacity to bring some drunk asshole home with her one night. I then realized my focus on the boys had blinded me to what I had to do and I got an attorney and filed for divorce and for custody of the children. She went into treatment to salvage the marriage but was back using meth and running around with a drug dealer named Fox within two weeks of getting out. I won temporary custody and was following through on the divorce when her brother got her into treatment again. This time it was at this religious nuthouse called the Ekkklesia of Yahoeh. They supposedly do alcohol and drug treatment and when I first heard she had gone in I was glad she was trying to get better. I had no idea what the place was about. I had no way of seeing what was coming.

What was coming…? Shumaker asked, intrigued.

I think she fell for the preacher who was running this outfit, and she immersed herself in his ‘rehabilitation’ program uncompromisingly. Soon, things began to happen to me that I did not, at first, tie to the church, but soon I did.

I’m listening, Jake.

One day at work, a man showed up I had never seen before in my life and began ranting in the foyer of my company’s office building. He was going on and on about how I was supposedly having an affair with his wife. I just thought he was some nutcase from the street who had wandered in, until he started throwing out my name and home address, and flung pictures of his wife around the office; pictures of me downtown next to her on the side walk. It was an innocuous picture of her standing next to me at an intersection, waiting to cross.

Did you know her?

I’ve never seen her before in my life, he said. Looking back, I can see how it was all orchestrated, including the photograph of me, supposedly with her on the street. I remember a woman tripping and falling into me on the street, and her laughing with embarrassment, and patting me on the back, but I did not see it for what it was. Apparently, someone with a camera snapped the shot right as she draped her arms over me. A week after the man showed up, a sheriff’s deputy showed up—again at my job—and issued a restraining order from this same woman, who was accusing me of stalking her and physically attacking her. More photographs were produced—right there at my job—so that my employer could see them as well. My boss became concerned, and I was given a written warning about bringing my personal problems to work. My boss didn’t listen when I said I was being set up. I tried to tell him I had no idea who the woman was, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. I also began getting correspondence from Madeline’s attorneys accusing me of infidelity with this same woman during our marriage. She furthermore accused me of physical violence against her when we were still living together. That’s when the light bulb came on. I figured out was going on.

I’m listening…

If they hadn’t orchestrated the whole thing, then how did they know to bring up this so-called ‘infidelity’ charge at the same time of our divorce proceedings? Madeline had been physically out of my life for months when this confrontation on my job happened. Her attorneys also had access to the incriminating photographs the man used against me, and now were using them in the divorce proceedings. If they weren’t behind it, then how did they so conveniently access this stuff? In fact, it became the fulcrum of their proof against me in the custody hearing!

So, what did you do, Jake?

"What could I do??? Jake shot back. What do you think I did? I did what any normal man who is a father would do! I contested their claims but continued to work and pay my bills and try to be a good father to the boys. I played by the rules. I was determined to be a good father to the boys no matter what they did. That is, until Madeline and her goons showed up with new custody papers at school one day and took my boys. She and a small army of attorneys walked right out of the school with the children, denying the school the option to even contact me to let me know. When I finally realized what had happened, I was ready to kill to get my boys back. I was pissed."

Shumaker looked at him with surprise.

Yeah, you heard me right, Jake said. It was a set-up right from the start. Not only were they taken from me, but I was also denied any contact with them. I became willing to do anything to rescue my boys from those bastards. Anyone who is a father and who loves his children would have reacted the same way to get them out of that nut house!

Please continue, Jake, Shumaker said, with an understanding nod.

For years, she had done everything behind my back except honor her marriage vows, and this was the last straw. It was then that I knew I was up against a group of people who were willing to do anything to get their way. I thought of my boys, and I became desperate. It was only then, Doctor Shumaker, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Playing by the rules hadn’t worked. The church didn’t play by the rules and were never going to. Furthermore, they were winning. I wasn’t willing to just roll over and let them get away with it.

"So…That’s why you say this evaluation is all part of their game plan?

Checkmate, Doc, Jake said. Whatever else happens, this ‘thing’ you and I are doing will go just on record as more proof of my being an unfit parent because I’m ‘crazy.’

So, when did you decide to, ah, go out there to get your boys out?

Madeline’s attorneys began their attacks on me with full force after I became more aggressive with them through legal channels. They began threatening all sorts of legal action if I did not back off with my pursuits of the children. I didn’t back down. They sent reports to DFACS about my so-called ‘long standing history of violence, and infidelity.’ They were working the system perfectly. They had not only won the custody battle, but they had also made sure law enforcement became involved with restraining orders, etcetera. They had gained, in their estimation, a unilateral victory against me.

So, that’s what led to the night in question—the night of the supposed attack?

Yeah…April 21st, 3:00 am; the day after Adolf Hitler’s birthday. I admit I had been watching the compound for days from the woods outside the place. I thought I was hidden, but later learned they had video cameras set up all around the place. They knew my every move; they knew what I was planning. They even knew when I was coming. April 20th was a huge celebration at the church. I thought it was the best time to make my move. They read me like a book. They were waiting for me.

So, you did break in…

I told you that…yes, Jake said. I had to act fast, or risk losing my children forever. They knew it, too. I was so naïve… I fell for the bait. And now, I’m here with you.

Okay, Shumaker said with a conciliatory gesture. I want to believe you Jake, but something is standing in my way.

Yeah? Jake asked guardedly. What’s that, Doc?

When they sent this court order for you to be evaluated, they also sent copies of… photographs.

Photographs… Jake muttered, shaking his head. Of course, they sent photographs.

Shumaker cut a quizzical look at Jake but opened the folder and slid three photographs across his desk to Jake.

You say you didn’t attack these men; that they were waiting for you and that they surprised you…?

That’s right. I’m telling you, Doc, this was all orchestrated by them. Jake looked down at the photos with a scowl.

Jake, I have been assured these are not ‘faked’ pictures. These are not fabrications. These men ended up in the hospital that night, and these photos were taken by a sheriff’s deputy at the ER. According to the report they sent me, this one… He pointed at a photograph. Thomas Blakely was in the Intensive Care unit for four days—in a coma. The doctors were afraid he might not make it.

I see… Jake said, obviously feeling no compunction as he took the photograph from the doctor and studied the gore. It showed a man who was so badly beaten, he was unconscious. In fact, he appeared nearly dead. The photo showed him secured to a gurney, with a blanket over him up to his neck, as if he were already a corpse. Jake looked from the photograph, shaking his head. The lengths they will go to… He muttered, then turned to Shumaker. This is what I’m up against, Doc, he said, jabbing his finger at the picture. "This shit!"

"You’re telling me you had nothing to do with this?" Shumaker asked, put off by Jake’s disregard of the carnage in the photograph.

"Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m telling you." Jake flipped the photograph back across the table, staring at him.

The report says his beating had continued even after he was unconscious, that he looked as if he had repeatedly been kicked in the face, Shumaker said, meeting Jake’s eyes.

Jake looked back down at the photo, seeing the man’s jaw was obviously broken, hanging slack to one side. Gaps in his bloodied teeth were apparent through his swollen lips. As Jake glanced down at the photograph, he shook his head and snorted.

Yeah, it’s obvious he was kicked in the face a few times, Jake said. And no one anywhere is going to believe this man chose to receive such a beating just to incriminate me. Yeah…I get it.

So, you’re still saying it was a set up?

Let me ask you, Doc, Jake asked, leaning in. "How the hell did they manage to get such perfect photographs of everything I supposedly did at three in the morning—hunh? If this wasn’t a set-up, then how? Remember: I too, have seen all of the photographs used in the court hearing. How did they have camera men so conveniently on hand at such an hour? And do the courts usually supply you with such incriminating photographs for your assessment process? Madeline’s attorneys wanted to make sure you had those, I’m sure, to influence your perception of me."

Perhaps, Jake, Shumaker said. Nevertheless, it doesn’t look good.

I never touched those men, Jake said with a dismissive wave at the photographs.

The psychiatrist at the pretrial hearing had taken statements from these three men when they were able to give testimony, Shumaker said, continuing to shuffle through the report on the desk. He said, based on the reports, you seemed to go into some sort of blackout right when you began to attack them. Is that a possibility?

Absolutely not, Jake said. "I was hit from behind before anything happened to those men. That’s the only blackout I had."

This doctor has suggested that you might, in fact, have Intermittent Explosive Disorder, and that you may have gone into a fugue state, and that you just don’t remember…

That’s bullshit, Doc, Jake said, becoming angry. The man who gave that ‘expert’ testimony was bought and paid for by Hightower. This whole thing is a setup.

And this Hightower; he’s the main preacher at this church? Shumaker asked.

"The main preacher?!? Jake asked incredulously. He’s the only preacher! Hell, he’s their god. They call him ‘the Messenger,’ the ‘Herald of God,’ the Prophet, Yahoel,’ ‘Kerux Invictus, the High Angel of God’… It seems his titles just go on and on. Despite what you, or the Judge might think, the man is crazy—and scary. So are his followers. He can pull their strings to get them to do anything for him—even die for him, he gestured down at the photograph of the comatose man. Even kill."

That’s a pretty strong accusation, Jake, Shumaker said, looking hard at Jake before looking back at the photos. So, you’re saying his followers would even do this to themselves for him?

Yes, Jake said. That’s exactly what I’m saying.

"So, let’s back up: tell me what did happen when you went into the place; at least…as best as you can remember."

"It’s exactly what I said to the judge, though no one believed me. Sure, I broke into the place, but I never saw anyone until that man in the first photograph you showed me came out of nowhere and threw himself at my feet. But I swear to you, Doc. I never laid a hand on him. Right after I saw him, everything went dark. I had a lump on the back of my head the size of an egg when I came to. That’s the last thing I remember until I woke up in the back of a police cruiser. That’s the story, Doc: all of it. Even though it sounds completely unbelievable to you or the judge, it is the truth. I know you think I’m paranoid and crazy but I’m telling you the truth."

These are very serious charges, Jake, Doctor Shumaker continued, patting the stack of papers on his desk. And the evidence doesn’t look good. Just based on what I have here, there’s not much wriggle room for you.

"Now you understand how I feel, he said. If they find me guilty, I’m looking at a minimum of five years behind bars and a $50,000.00 fine. I know that. That’s not even counting the civil suits coming from the men I’ve supposedly attacked. The only possible out from that is to be deemed ‘crazy’ and to be locked away for it. That would end rights to ever see my boys again. Jake leaned over, placing his head in his hands, rubbing his temples. I’m the only one who knows the truth: I…did…not…commit…those…crimes!"

Jake grew quiet, staring at him and knowing he would not be believed. Shumaker remained quiet, studying him. He was again reminded of his brother, Pete. He had the same passion, and the same haunted look in his eyes.

I’m not an animal, Doc, Jake said. "I’m not one now, and I wasn’t one in Vietnam. I—I am not…"

Jake’s conviction appeared to crumble in the wake of the paltry sound of the words coming from him. He sighed as turbulent memories of another place and time came tumbling out of the recesses of his mind. He also felt trapped by malevolent circumstances in Vietnam years before. He turned away distracted, becoming quiet.

It’s still with you, isn’t it Jake? Shumaker asked softly.

What’s that, Doc? Jake asked.

The war.

He felt exposed and looked away, shaking his head with frustration.

This isn’t about Vietnam, Doc, he said. I don’t know how to get that across to you, or anyone else. Nobody wants to believe me about those bastards I’m dealing with.

Perhaps it’s not about Vietnam, Shumaker said. But it’s obvious that the war still haunts you. Regardless of the outcome of this evaluation or even the trial, I’m convinced you could use…more help.

Wh…What do you mean, Doc? Jake asked. How do you know this isn’t just…

"Because you have the look, Jake," he said, holding his eye.

The look?

Yeah; the look, he said, leaning forward. It’s the same look I’ve seen in others who’ve come home from war, Shumaker said. "Whatever you did in Vietnam is still