The Second Coming

By E. L. Smith

Has society turned its back on God? Are we drifting further away from the truth?

In The Second Coming, private investigator Shawn Abernathy struggles with his b

• Language: English
• Publisher: Koehler Books
• Release date: May 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9781646639212

E. L. Smith

E. L. Smith was born and raised in South Bend, Indiana. After attending college at Indiana University, Bloomington, Smith drove to Los Angeles in hopes of igniting a career in music. Ultimately, he befriended and worked with a multiplatinum music producer and many other talented musicians, but the secular music industry hype was not all that it was cracked up to be. So Smith tried his hand at writing, which has given him true satisfaction. He is currently married with four children.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It’s with great pleasure and gratitude that I thank everyone who was a part of the journey we started years ago with this story. You know who you are.

Although this novel was originally written as a screenplay, we have gotten the same warm reception and overwhelming support and enthusiasm for the book from countless people.

Thank you to all the editors, proofreaders, and research staff who contributed with their hard work, professionalism, and valued patience toward completing this book and genuinely valuing our objectives. Each person’s role has proven to be invaluable and immensely indispensable.

I appreciate you, admire you, and thank you once again for all the encouragement and support in bringing this essential piece of work to fruition.

CHAPTER 1

Sermon on the Mount

Forty days after the resurrection of Jesus Christ, atop a desert hilltop outside of Jerusalem, a large flock of people gathers. The crowd approaches and encircles a great man. Men, women, children, and even livestock are drawn to this figure like moths to a flame, unable to move away. They pray and whisper to one another, taking stock of the situation. What is happening? No one really knows, but everyone has a vague sense that something important is about to occur.

Some extend their arms and reach toward the man, hoping desperately to receive his attention and notice. Off to one side, a woman clutches her baby. As she gazes at the man, tears run down her cheeks. Other people in the throng are similarly affected; emotions are high, and people await expectantly, ready to burst forth and express their devotion.

An old, balding man with gray streaks in his full beard, hunched over in extremely old, torn, and dirty clothing, proceeds to chant, Jesus, deliver us! Jesus, deliver us! Jesus, deliver us!

A young shepherd picks up the same chant, holding his staff in the air. A toothless older woman joins in, then a young boy, and then another. Slowly, the multitudes begin to chant in the same rhythm, their intensity increasing with each repetition. The gathering unifies like cells in a single organism or like a heart, beating together in a coordinated rhythm—thump, thump, thump. Each individual is part of the greater whole; no one is alone because they’re all one.

The man that all have come to see stands on the hilltop, dressed in robes. He has a golden sash draped around His chest, and His hair is as white as snow. No one can see His face, as the glare of the sun behind Him creates a blinding light.

Jesus Christ has arrived!

He slowly raises His arms in the air, keeping His palms open toward the flock. As He does this, a ray of bright light reveals holes in the center of each palm; the wounds aren’t fresh but have instead mostly healed. A gentle breeze ruffles his hair and robe. The sight of Him is majestic. Despite His human appearance, His stature commands power over the people—a power derived not from force but from love, compassion, and wisdom.

By this time, the size of the gathering has tripled, and more will continue to arrive. As Jesus raises His arms, everyone falls silent in expectant reverence.

Nothing can be heard except the faint sounds of babies crying and miscellaneous livestock. It’s the moment of truth. The air is heavy with anticipation; the people wonder: What shall they be witness to? Will they take part in a historical event? How can they come and serve their lives in the name of Jesus?

His figure towers over the people on the hilltop. Slowly, Jesus brings down His arms and begins to speak.

Behold, I am coming soon. My reward is with me, and I will give every one according to what he has done. I am the Alpha and Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End!

He continues, Blessed are those who wash their robes, that they may go through the gates into the city! Outside are the dogs, those who practice black magic arts, the sexually immoral, the murderers, the idolaters, and everyone who loves and practices falsehood!

One man glares at Jesus with piercing contempt, an occasional sneer creeping onto his lips. He is one of many nonbelievers amid the crowd who refuse to accept their own lying eyes.

I, Jesus, have sent my angel to give you this testimony for the churches. I am the Root and the Offspring of David and the bright Morning Star!

He is approached by a woman holding a small, bronze water jug. She humbly kneels and presents it to Jesus. He takes the jug and then helps the woman back to her feet, drinking from the jug before handing it back. With this, the woman is pleased; she dashes back into the fold after performing her noble gesture.

Even now, Jesus’s face is not visible in the bright sunlight streaming behind him. His long hair also conceals his visage. Jesus speaks once more, proclaiming, Do not leave Jerusalem, but wait for the gift my Father has promised, which you have heard me speak about. For John baptized with water, but in a few days you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit!

The people brim with questions and ideas. One man who cannot hold silent any longer bursts forth and asks, Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?

Others nod in approval and whisper to one another before falling silent again.

Jesus responds, It’s not for you to know the times or dates the Father has set by this authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all of Judea and Samaria and to the ends of the earth!

He slowly spreads his arms to his sides, and then, before the multitudes, Jesus is miraculously pulled up into the sky and into a cloud, disappearing from their sight. The gathering marvels at this amazing sight, tilting their heads and craning their necks to get the best possible view. Those who see this wonderment believe it; others will attempt to refute it with logical thinking. However, those of the faith know that no trickery of any kind has been performed here.

While most continue to look to the sky, two men dressed in white turn to face the masses. The first man demands, Why do you stand here looking into the sky? The second man dressed in white adds, using the same loud tone, This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.

After the magic of the moment wears off and it’s clear the event is complete, after everyone has satiated their curiosity, the crowd disperses from the hilltop. The woman who offered the water jug to Jesus prays to the heavens on her knees. In her worship, she accidentally drops the jug to the ground, where it tips on its side. To her astonishment, gold coins spill forth. She bends down and scoops the coins into the jug, then runs to catch up with the others. Tightly embracing her jug and the precious coins within, tears in her eyes, she thinks, See how serving the cause of Jesus, even in a small way, brings rewards in this life and the one hereafter.

•••

History is rife with examples of tyrants using force to subjugate, harass, attack, and threaten others in a display of power and domination. How many tragedies has humankind seen? Yet how many of us continue to cling to that path and repeat the mistakes of the past? In the struggle for achievement, many will trample over others and only consider our own desires and goals. Some are relegated to be as sheep in the herd, only suitable as a source of protein. This circle of violence and imbalance of power is so familiar that we feel it in our genes.

Despite our pretense of being civilized and advanced people, we frequently display primitive tribalistic tendencies and behaviors. Instead of learning and embracing novel ideas, we seek to ignore or even despise their presence. Differences in skin, faith, body, region, sexuality, and mentality set us apart and are then used to justify destruction. Anything which deviates from the identity determined as superior or preferred is seen as a threat, as something to be attacked. We have forgotten that we are one.

In the United States, we are deeply familiar with the horrors of slavery that taint our history. Slaves were whipped, beaten, raped, separated from their families, and treated worse than dogs. Slaves were nothing more than farm property—when the equipment became old and frail, it would be discarded without care. Black men, women, and children were hung by the neck from trees, and their self-proclaimed owners would pose by the bodies. To them, slaves were a display of wealth and position within society.

These examples of the past give us insight into the changing nature and constancy of hate. Although the setting changes and the subject changes, the core remains the same. How many people have died in the great world wars? Such noble intentions, but in the end, it only led to us becoming more effective killers, to a new development in death-dealing with the potential to destroy all life on earth several times over: the atomic bomb. We have seen the devastating effects of this horrible weapon in Japan—two cities reduced to rubble.

Other scars from World War II also have yet to heal. The echoes of Adolf Hitler still ring out loudly in the present. Humans claim to support freedom and liberty across the world, yet only a few dare to raise a hand against those who mete out atrocity after atrocity. Some of us applaud those who fight, sacrificing their lives in defiance of pure evil. Others stand idly by, thinking only of themselves.

How many have suffered and continue to suffer from the Vietnam War? Civilian men and women on both sides, young children, and desperate farmers, struck down with indiscriminate chemical and conventional weapons. Youths forced to fight, facing an early and devastating death in a faraway land. So many lives lost, and for what?

For no valid reason—at least for no good reason. There was no good reason for the Oklahoma City bombing, the 9/11 attack, the Tiananmen Square massacre, the senseless murder of George Floyd, and multiple school shootings, the Kosovo refugee crisis, starvation in Ethiopia, Ukrainians under attack and fleeing from death and destruction, and so much more. The horror blurs together into one awful collage of violence, conflict, murder, and mayhem. From this perspective, it sure looks as if nothing is safe, nothing is holy, and nothing is sacred in the past, present, and future events of the world we live in.

The tide turns, and the oppressed become the next oppressors, waiting for their moment to seize and abuse power. It sometimes seems as if the only ones who aren’t guilty haven’t yet had the chance to commit sin. If this is the way of the world, are any of us really worthy of saving?

If Jesus believes so, then so must we.

CHAPTER 2

The Birth of Samuel Turner

In the rural countryside of modern-day Elkhart, Indiana, a very heavy tornado has touched down. It greets the evening with violence, raining terrible destruction on the earth. At the same time, the beautiful, life-giving powers of nature are also at work.

A modest trailer home squats on the dirt roadside, housing a young married couple going about their evening. They’re connected yet disconnected at the same time. Fate is about to make a significant change in their lives; they just don’t know it yet.

Lathan Turner is what one might call an irresponsible deadbeat. He’s twenty-three years old and has a slim build and brown hair. His needs are simple. He lounges in an old reclining chair, watching adult cartoons on the television at a loud volume. Long after coming back from his shift, he hasn’t bothered to change out of his mechanic’s uniform.

Rachel Turner cooks dinner at the stove. She’s a twenty-one-year-old beauty with long red hair and an innocent, girl-next-door look. It doesn’t occur to Lathan that his laziness is causing her problems. He drains the final sips of his beer and then peers down at the empty container.

Lathan yells, Rachel? Bring me another beer?

She turns to the refrigerator, groaning a little at the weight of her eight-month-pregnant belly. Moving has become quite a challenge, and Lathan’s sloth-like attitude and disregard for her make it even worse. If only he could be more considerate, she thinks. As she bends to pull a can of beer from the back of the fridge, a sudden, sharp pain shoots up her body. She winces and pauses.

Feeling a bit better but still in discomfort, she moves toward Lathan at a languid pace. She holds one hand over her stomach as she hands Lathan his beer from behind the recliner. Lathan is too engrossed with his show to notice that Rachel is suffering. He takes the beer without acknowledging her while Rachel toddles back toward the stove to turn it off.

The pain lessens, but the dull ache hasn’t gone away. She can’t put her finger on it, but something doesn’t seem right. In pain, she cries out, Lathan? Can you please take out the trash? It smells awful from the fish we had on Monday.

Lathan takes no notice of Rachel. She may as well not exist, aside from being a beer dispenser, a maid, and a cook. Rachel waits, but all Lathan does is take another swig from the can, belch loudly, and yawn. He breaks out laughing hysterically at some crass remarks made by a character in the show.

She tries again in vain, desperately crying out, Lathan, please! It’s a pretty serious storm outside right now!

Her cries for help are of no use. Lathan is far too mesmerized by the images flitting across his screen to care about his heavily pregnant wife’s welfare. This is his personal time, and Rachel can wait.

She takes a deep breath, resigned, and crosses over to the full trash can. Cans, cartons, and miscellaneous trash fall on the floor as she jiggles out the full bag. Sighing in disbelief, Rachel struggles to bend over and pick up the trash in pain and frustration. If only Lathan had helped, she thinks, this wouldn’t be such an ordeal. But Rachel is alone in her misery.

A photo of Rachel and Lathan hangs on the fridge in a magnetic frame; it was taken on their prom night. It is surrounded by other memorable snapshots—wedding photos, pictures from high school. On the bookcase in the living room, keepsakes like cheerleader pompoms and baseball and football trophies are on display. As Rachel catches sight of these relics, she reflects on all the wonderful times they had not so long ago; yet here they are. How did everything go so wrong? she wonders. How did such a promising and bright future turn so mundane and insufferable?

Rachel notices their unused copy of the Holy Bible sitting buried under bills on the table next to the window. Taking in the formidable rain, thunder, lightning, and punishing wind outside, she fears that this brutal storm is an omen.

On her knees, Rachel picks up the last bits of trash and slowly stands. Sharp pangs shoot again through her body, but she tries to ignore them. All responsibility in this household falls squarely on her shoulders; Lathan prefers it this way. Someone has to be the mature one around here. Exhausted and out of breath, Rachel sinks into a kitchen chair with a loud sigh.

Lathan? asks Rachel, hoping to get a response.

The only response is the roar of thunder and rain pounding on their trailer’s thin roof. Lathan has dozed off and migrated into the land of dreams.

Steeling herself, Rachel moves toward the front door of the trailer and pushes the screen door open. The heavy rain falls in diagonal sheets and obscures visibility. She opens an umbrella, dragging the trash bag behind her. If Lathan wants to laze around, fine. She would not let her house fall out of order. Rain, and now hail, pounds down mercilessly. Nature seems to be in the same frustrated mood as Rachel—tired of being ignored, underestimated, and disrespected.

She looks at the first step cautiously. Even one step down is risky in this turbulent weather, especially for a pregnant woman. Slowly, she braves the first step and then the second. Maybe I can make it out alright, she thinks.

But then she slips on the wet stairs and falls, landing hard on the concrete. The umbrella flies out of her hand and sticks in the mud, and trash scatters all over the steps.

Rachel’s wet hair covers her unconscious face like a veil. No one knows she’s in trouble, and Lathan is snoring inside the house.

Luckily, the phone rings. Lathan comes back to his senses.

Rachel? he shouts. Rachel, you gonna get that? But no response comes, and the telephone continues to ring, cutting across the background noise of the droning TV.

Lathan notices the open front door and jumps up to see a terrible sight.

Rachel! Oh my God! Rachel! he cries out in alarm from the doorway.

What am I to do? Maybe—yes, the phone! The sky is full of black, whirling clouds, and lightning illuminates the heavens in brief flashes. He rushes back inside and frantically dials 911. How could something so terrible happen? he thinks. What is going to happen to Rachel? What if she’s dead? What am I going to do?

•••

Dark clouds linger over Memorial Hospital from the previous night’s storm. Although that storm has dissipated, another brews inside the waiting room, which is filled with nervous, fidgety people. Some are sick to their stomachs, awaiting possibly disastrous news. Others are there for more mild issues.

Ruth and Phillip Engelman, Rachel’s parents, rushed to meet Lathan in the waiting room after being notified of Rachel’s fall. They can’t sit; the anxiety of not knowing their daughter’s condition eats away at their beings.

The doctor finally emerges and approaches Lathan. Mr. Turner? I’m Dr. Ray. He reaches out his hand to shake, but Lathan coldly refuses it. Embarrassed, Dr. Ray continues.

Mrs. Turner gave birth to a six-pound baby boy. He’s healthy and doing just fine. The look on his face predicts grave news to follow. However, your wife had severe hemorrhaging. We did all we could to stop the bleeding, but it looks like she might not live long. I’m sorry. She’s resting in a recovery room with your son now.

On hearing this, Ruth breaks down. How could our baby girl be in danger of dying so young? How can this be? Sobs wrack her body as she doubles over as if someone has knocked the breath out of her. My little girl! My little girl! Phillip holds his wife, rubbing his hand over her back, trying to hold back his own tears.

But Lathan is angry. It’s a regular thing with him, feeling angry, wronged, and cheated. Whenever things don’t go his way, he loses his temper. And at this moment, the rage hisses and licks at his insides like so many serpents.

What are you saying, Doc? Rachel’s not going to make it?! he almost screams. His hands ball into fists, and a thick blue vein throbs on his forehead, threatening to burst. His posture is aggressive. He wants to lunge at the doctor and grab him by his pristine white collar.

Dr. Ray sighs deeply and looks down for a moment, the toe of his shoe scuffing soundlessly against the worn tile floor. He wonders how to make this easier for the family. Breaking bad news always feels terrible, and each time is just as difficult as the first. He gazes up at the young man before him, his eyes full of sympathy.

Seeing the resigned and regretful expression on the doctor’s face, Lathan breaks down crying like a young boy. His macho facade quickly disintegrates, revealing just how powerless he feels. He sinks into a metal chair that is far too small for his lumpish body. The cold of the armrests on his bare skin doesn’t help restore any sense of calmness. The smell of antiseptic hangs in the air, reminding him of where he is. There’s no avoiding what is unfolding in this moment, no matter how hard he tries. He buries his face in his palms and takes a few shuddering breaths.

Then, erupting back to his feet in a fit of denial, he demands, Doc, you better get your butt right back in there and make this right! She can’t die. I got nobody else in the world!

The words are harsh but full of vulnerability. He’s not strong like Rachel, and he isn’t independent enough to imagine a life without her existence. He relies on her for everything, even the mundane task of fetching drinks. How will I ever take care of myself if she dies? Some small part of him knows how unlikely he is to find another person willing to take care of him, with his callous attitude and irresponsible behavior. How will I take care of a baby? A baby that will grow into a boy, a teenager, a man?

The concerned doctor watches the young man for a moment, then with firm conviction says, Mr. Turner, you still have your son. We had to make a decision—your wife or your son. We did all we—

But before he can finish, Lathan lashes out in a violent torrent of abuse. The other people in the waiting room gawk.

Lathan shouts, Who made you God today, Doc? I sure as hell didn’t give you my vote! You’re acting like she’s already dead. I’m going to sue your ass!

An older Black couple watches this disturbance from one side of the waiting room, their attention drawn away from the television. Turning to his wife, the man murmurs, Wouldn’t he rather sue the whole doctor, not just his behind?

His wife gently elbows her husband in the side, shushing him.

Dr. Ray only says, I’m so sorry. He really did what he could for the woman and the child. He wants to save lives, not take them away. Sadly, this day, a tough choice had to be made.

The doctor reaches out to