Four: The End of the World

By John Butterworth

Four: The End of the World is the second contemporary fiction novel from John Butterworth. This is a dystopian story with controversial religious themes.

 

Four people are visited by Jesus and he tasks them with challenging assignments. Floods, famine and disease are sweeping the world and it is in chaos. Matthew is a PR whiz in New York City and Mark is a Colonel at an Army base in San Antonio. Luke is a TV preacher and Jenny a corporate lawyer. This is the story of their journey and how we've been in the Garden of Eden all along.

 

Started in 2018, this book is about a pandemic, before the pandemic started. I kept current political commentary and partisan politics out of this book because they don't mean anything when it all comes to an end.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Butterworth
• Release date: Nov 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201590123

John Butterworth

John Butterworth is an author living in Los Angeles who is possessed. Sometimes it’s ghosts, sometimes it’s stories that have to come out. They reveal themselves through novels like this one, or songs, or through his podcast. When he is not working or playing music, he likes to invent things. Check his work out at ButterworthSupply.com.

Book preview

One

Genesis 1:1

In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

Steam clouds from the street vents escaped their subterranean genesis and met the February chill in the deserted alley. Out of the cloud, four men emerged simply, like they were casually walking home from the office after pulling an all-night strategy meeting.

The men split up as soon as they reached the intersection, and headed in each of the cardinal directions, moving through Manhattan to points unknown. They looked like men, dressed like men, they walked and talked like men, but they weren’t anything like men. They’d surfaced before in times of turmoil, terror and trial. They came to destroy.

The city didn’t notice their arrival. People paid their bills, bought luxury goods and complained. No one knew what was coming.

It took years for the men to assume positions of power. Like before, it was easy to convince people how intelligent and strong, or pious and earnest they were. They were always the right man for the job. There were no skeletons in their closets, or questions about their pedigree because everything had been manufactured to be real.

The key was to be real. Although they weren’t, they seemed more real than anyone else. In fact, they defined realness to the people they met.

As time passed, they would marry beautiful women and live in luxurious homes.  Each of the four had a strong, fitting name, but it is easier to understand who they became by the direction they took in that cold February morning years ago.

South took Washington by storm. He was the politician’s politician. When a child died in a shooting, or an injustice was handed down by the intuitional powers, he was quick to say the right words to balance grief and offer a warning for the future. In the face of this tragedy, he would begin, and before he finished, he would remind his exponentially growing number of supporters who we need to protect ourselves against. It might be gays, Mexicans, or foreign interests or even his fellow politicians on the other side of the aisle. No matter the subject, he was strong, confident and correct.

Part of South’s success was due to East, who had risen to the throne of the largest media empire on earth. He chose winners and losers, both financially and ethically. He and South worked in perfect harmony, though on the surface there was no record of them ever meeting, either officially or in passing. East worked hard to keep people in conflict by promoting a new show, a newsworthy crisis or a new phone app to keep people’s eyes on the screen. He knew what people thought, not because of network reports, or electronic tracking through in-home digital devices. He knew what people thought because he told them what to think.

North controlled the largest manufacturing operation known to man, and through a network of suppliers, consultants, unions and all the people feeding off of the employees and their willingness to exchange time for money, he indirectly employed more than half of the country. He made sure wages were low enough to keep people in debt for life, and high enough to dream. If someone dreamed beyond their means and broke the laws set by South and promoted by East, the prison industrial complex run by North was available to support frequent and long-term incarceration for an attractive price.

West mined. Wherever he dug, he made sure to use the worst practices South’s laws would allow. He spilled oil into the water supply and spoiled the air around his factories with chemicals designed to cause maximum damage. It was easy for East to keep the news cameras away from the poisonings and spills, and when the public discovered, it was a matter of creating a diversion to make them forget. When West’s chemical companies polluted the crops with noxious insecticides, or added poison preservatives to the general food supply in the name of cost efficiency, no one suspected it was all a part of a plan.

Meanwhile, in a war-torn village on the coast of the Mediterranean, a child was born to a woman who thought she was sterile.

Two

Matthew 4:1

Then was Jesus led up of the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted of the devil.

What time is it? Matthew asked as his wife Sherry rolled out of bed.

Six-thirty. Get up, she said as she closed the bathroom door and started the shower.

Matthew lay still for a few moments and thought. He had a presentation today, but he had presentations almost every week. There was always a company in need of his services. As he sat up in bed, he looked out at the New York skyline. The windows in his impossibly expensive one bedroom weren’t large, but you had to admit, it was a great view. The Empire State Building was still lit since the sun came up so late in New York this time of year. The sky would be gray until March with winter sitting on the city as long as it could. Typically, there would be snow, but this year it had been washed away early by the rain. It seemed like it rained all the time these days, especially out west with Arizona dealing with flood waters.  He looked at the red, white and blue lights on the top of the old skyscraper, and remembered the first time he saw it on a field trip from his hometown in rural Pennsylvania. When he and Sherry found this tiny apartment, he knew he had to have it even though it took almost half his income to make the mortgage.

Are you showering or what? Sherry asked, rousing Matthew from his thoughts. She had her blonde hair up in a towel and was wearing the ancient blue chenille robe she’d had for longer than he could remember. He’d bought her a new one for their third wedding anniversary two months ago, but it went back to Bloomingdale’s right away. Sherry liked what she liked.

Yeah, moving slow today, Matthew said. I wish I could take the day off.

No way, Sherry said, We are saving up to go to Hawaii this summer. No vacation days for you. You should have thought about that before you worked all weekend, she said. I was lonely. She kissed him on the forehead as he walked toward the bathroom. Hang in there tiger, Spring will be here soon.

Sherry wanted what she wanted and Hawaii was on her list. Matthew just wanted a change. He didn’t know what, but it wasn’t a trip to the islands. Maybe he wanted to quit his PR job in Manhattan and move to Florida.

An hour later, after half listening to the news about Hoover Dam struggling to hold back water from the wettest year on record and a drought crippling East Africa, Matthew kissed Sherry good bye in front of their building and walked to the corner of West 38th and Seventh to get a bagel and coffee on the way to the office. He dodged panhandlers and the umbrella wielding, cell phone fixated commuters threatening to run into him, light poles or traffic.

Hi ya, Matthew, the woman behind the register said.

Good morning, Esther, Matthew said. Where’s the old man?

She looked up from her Chinese language paper and said, He’s sick today. Bad cough. Funny, he’s never been sick before.

Matthew grabbed a blueberry bagel wrapped in plastic and poured a cup of coffee into a white Styrofoam container. It was a ritual he’d performed daily, but today, it didn’t work for him. He looked at the two items in his hands and how they were packaged. So far away from whatever they were originally intended to be. He put the bagel back, and looked around the store for a piece of fruit.

Are you ok? Esther asked.

Yeah, I guess so, Matthew said. What do you eat for breakfast?

We have all kinds of things, bagels, doughnuts, egg sandwich...

No, I mean you. What do you have for breakfast?

Congee, Esther said with a laugh. We don’t sell here.

Matthew pulled out three dollars and put them on the counter. I’ll just have this coffee, thanks.

Suit yourself, Esther said as she returned to her paper.

Matthew walked several blocks before he arrived at his office. He noticed people wearing masks that didn’t look to be Asian tourists. He’d heard it was a bad cold and flu season, but masks? He shuffled into the elevator with the same strangers he saw regularly. With thousands of people in the building, there was no way to know them all, so it was easiest to not know any of them. He looked out of the corner of his eye, and noticed several of them didn’t look well. One had a cough and looked pale. It seemed like everyone he knew had some sort of cold, but he felt fine.

Good morning, Mr. Miller, Rebecca the receptionist said as he nodded and walked towards his office.

Matthew, wait up.

Matthew turned to see the senior partner, Bill Martin, walking up to him. You never saw Bill out of his office, much less walking quickly. Good morning, Bill, Matthew said.

It will be a good one if you can save this account, Bill said. They’re already here.

They’re early, Matthew said.

They’re waiting for you. Get in there and knock ‘em dead, Bill said.

Matthew followed Bill and walked into a conference room full of dark suited executives. He shook hands all around.

Hello Matthew, a tall brunette said as she kissed him on the cheek in front of the others.

Hi Erin, Matthew said, embarrassed by her attention.

His main contact with Fitzgerald Oil had been Erin Marks, a stunning woman who seemed too perfect to be true. She was smart, funny, amazingly beautiful and strangely interested in him. It made him uneasy to be around her. If he had met her before he and Sherry got together, maybe things would have been different.

What Matthew didn’t know was that the head of the oil company, Henry Fitzgerald, had chosen Erin to work with Matthew and had groomed her to be a perfect match. She worked ridiculous hours and was paid a salary questioned by the rest of the executive team. She had no personal life, but did have a great apartment and the finest clothes, just as Henry planned. Erin was lonely and beautiful, and she found Matthew compelling as Henry forced her to spend more time with, and thinking about Matthew Miller. He wasn’t rich, but he was smart and tall with a good head of dark brown hair. Traits she had trouble finding in other men. Unfortunately for Erin, Matthew was married and showed no signs of infidelity. Unfortunately for Matthew, Erin had great taste in perfume.

Matthew, we really need your help, Erin said over coffee at La Pergola a few weeks ago. We’re a big corporation, but no one here has your...gift. She looked him in the eyes as she ran her hand through her long brown hair.

Matthew put his napkin on the table and looked out the windows facing Fifth Avenue. He didn’t like the way Erin stared at him. Erin knew he was married, but still insisted they meet in romantic restaurants, and she always looked and smelled so good. She was a temptation he didn’t want. When she asked him to go to Italy with her for a tour of the oil transfer station, he couldn’t say no to the largest client of his PR firm, but he was trying like hell to get out of it. Look Erin, I’ll work for you, but I don’t like it. I might be good at what I do, but public relations for an oil company doesn’t sit well with me. I’m having a hard time, Matthew said.

Everyone needs oil, Matthew, Erin said. Sometimes there are problems, but most of the time it’s good business. Really good business. As a matter of fact, Fitzgerald wants you, Matthew. Join us and we’ll make it worth your while. She slid a piece of paper across the table towards him, making a mockery of a traditional job offer. Matthew couldn’t believe the number handwritten in delicate cursive on the paper.

Good morning everyone, Matthew said as he put his laptop on the conference table. Sorry I’m late.

Matthew, you know we got here early, Henry Fitzgerald said in his Texas drawl. He was the CEO of Fitzgerald Oil, an unexpected visitor, and the man to impress. He was powerful and rich, and before today, he was what Matthew aspired to be.

Matthew looked at Henry, Erin and the other suits in the room. As his laptop fired up the presentation he’d been working on for the past week, he came to the realization that he wanted no part of this. He didn’t know if money had corrupted them, or they had no respect for others, but they were awful. I worked all weekend preparing this for you. We can walk through the deck, but in essence it says you should take the blame and apologize for spilling five hundred thousand gallons of crude oil off the coast of California.

That’s ridiculous, Henry said. Why would we apologize? It was an accident.

I checked, Henry, Matthew said. You have dozens of accidents per year. You’ve done a nice job of keeping them quiet, but it is starting to catch up to you.

The room was silent.

Here’s what I think, Matthew started, closing the lid on his laptop and abandoning his weekend of work. I don’t think you care about the spills. You have price fluctuations, media coverage, you change the story, and you never get in trouble. You’re too big to get punished. It’s not like people can stop buying your product.

We want them to want to buy our product, Matthew, Henry said. They don’t have a choice, but we’re here to make their lives better. Joe the plumber can buy a new car and take a trip on a jet to Hawaii because of Fitzgerald Oil. We make people happy by offering them a chance to live.

Matthew looked at them in stunned silence. They actually believed they were making people happy. They were assholes, but didn’t know it.

Fitzgerald Oil is a terrible company designed to crush the multitudes and move money and power up to the few.

Where did that thought come from? Matthew shook his head to get clarity. 

The people in this room don’t realize they are working for a monster. Henry Fitzgerald is not human.

Matthew, Is everything ok? Erin asked.

Matthew hesitated. Having these random thoughts, or voices in his head was unsettling to say the least. I’m fine. Just trying to think, Matthew said. He took a bottle of water from the table and took a sip. It tasted like plastic. He held it up to the light and examined it while the people in the room watched him. It seemed fine, and other people had the same bottles and didn’t seem to be complaining. You don’t want to apologize, you can’t stop these accidents, and you want to make people happy by giving them cheap oil. Right? Matthew asked, trying to get back on track. As the suits nodded and agreed, Matthew had a vision.

A small child, ethnically unidentifiable, was running through her village to a stream. She was thirsty. As she bent over to take water into her hands to drink, Matthew smelled petroleum. He felt the oil slick on the water as her hands went into the stream, and then into her mouth. Matthew knew the little girl was sick, and getting sicker from the water. He also knew the water was polluted by Fitzgerald Oil. It wasn’t just Fitzgerald; it was all the oil companies. They were connected.

"Hello Matthew."

He turned to see a small, Middle Eastern man standing on the grass. The little girl didn’t seem to notice Matthew or the stranger.

"I’ve been waiting for you. It is time."

Who are you? Matthew asked.

"Later. First, you are still in the meeting with Fitzgerald Oil. I want you to tell them to make a very large donation to the Exegis Fund as penance for what they have done. You don’t need to understand more. Do this for me," the stranger said as he and the stream faded away, and Matthew found himself staring out the window at the skyline as the clients waited.

Matthew, what are you suggesting? Henry asked.

The Exegis fund, Matthew repeated. You should make a huge donation to them as penance for what you have done.

Penance? a man wearing glasses and a sour expression asked from down the table.

Yes, Matthew said. Make an insanely large donation.

I’ve never heard of the Exegis Fund, Erin said.

Henry looked at Erin and hid his anger. Her knowing everything about Matthew was required, and the whole reason for her existence as far as he was concerned. Henry knew he needed to keep Matthew Miller close, and it would be harder if she slipped up.

Look it up, Matthew said, trying to buy some time. He didn’t know what was going on, or if he should go see a shrink. He hoped whatever this was, it was temporary.

They are clean water activists, based in New Jersey, another executive said from down the table. He was reading the details from his phone. They are three years old and raise money to get drinking water to underserved communities. Looks legitimate.

I could agree, if you think it is best, Matthew, Henry said as he stood up from the conference table. He approached Matthew and shook his hand. It seemed cold to the touch. I hope you are thinking about what Erin said. We’d love to have you on our team, he said quietly.

Matthew nodded and absently said, Thank you, Henry, while he thought about the voices in his head. He didn’t want to work for Fitzgerald, or talk to anyone until he could figure out what happened to his brain.

Do you have a minute? Erin asked as the group of clients left the conference room and were greeted warmly by Matthew’s boss, Bill.

Matthew hesitated as Bill said, Sure he does, anything you need.

I’ll meet you in my office, Erin, Matthew said. I need to make a pit stop first. Matthew left Erin and Bill and went to the men’s room. He washed his hands, and splashed some water on his face. Maybe I’m just tired, he said to his reflection.

"It’s more than that," the now familiar voice said.

Matthew looked away from the mirror to see the man from his vision standing behind him. He looked in the mirror, and couldn’t see him, but when he turned back, there he was. What’s going on? Matthew asked. Who are you?

"You can’t see me in the mirror, because I am not here, the man said as he gestured to the brown-tiled bathroom with stainless-steel washbasins and fixtures. I am here, he said as he pointed at Matthew’s forehead. I can communicate differently."

I am losing my mind, Matthew said quietly.

"No, you have been chosen."

Chosen for what?

"To save the world."

I’ve gone crazy. How much time do I have before I’m in an asylum?

The man laughed as the bathroom morphed into a green field stretched out across a rolling hilltop. Matthew could feel a breeze, smell the clean air and look off into the distance where there were no sounds of the city. "This is nice," the man said.

"Where are we?’ Matthew asked.

"I don’t know. It’s not flat enough for Kansas. This is your happy place, you tell me."

Matthew looked towards the horizon and realized they were in the field behind his grandparent’s house in Ohio. He played there as a kid. He turned to see their house next to the lonely two-lane road connecting them to the nearest town. His grandparents been dead for years and he missed them. They kept him safe as his parents went through their divorce. The field didn’t look like this any longer. His mother sold the land when her parents died and now it was a residential community. It was a nice memory even though both of his parents passed away a few years ago. Who are you? Matthew asked.

"You might say I’m Jesus," the man said.

Might say?

"Jesus was a construct of the times. A child born during the time of the Roman Empire. Now I’m a man born to another woman in a different time. You can call me Jesus if it helps. Just don’t call me late for dinner! he said with a laugh. I love that one."

Matthew looked at Jesus, who was smiling as he stood in the tall grass. He looked like he was from somewhere in the Middle East with short hair and