Revenge of the Beehive: An Entirely True Story

By Fredrik Hellsten

"Death by a Thousand Stings"

Why would God allow injustice? Why would the enemy be permitted to prevail, even for a moment? And why would authorities prosecute the innocent without verifying the veracity of hostile killer bees?

Inside of a claustrophobic prison cell, such questions can haunt the most harde

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: Dec 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798890414496

Fredrik Hellsten

Fredrik Hellsten is a Christian author, a former Temple Mormon, and well-versed in LDS theology and Christian apologetics. Born in Sweden, father of three, professional musician and producer, Fredrik immigrated to the United States in 1989 on a full-ride music scholarship. After encountering the Real Jesus, Fredrik has devoted theremainder of his life to the defense of biblical truth, in the midst of battling against false religion masquerading as Christianity.www.heresyhunters.com

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Into the Dungeon

Chapter 2: Door Number Eight

Chapter 3: Kept like Animals

Chapter 4 : Apostates

Chapter 5: Walk and Talk

Chapter 6: The Old Testament

Chapter 7: Court or Not?

Chapter 8: Lying under Oath

Chapter 9: An Angel called Stone

Chapter 10: Only Words

Chapter 11: Unruly Evil

Chapter 12: Lying for the Lord

Chapter 13: The Art of Deception

Chapter 14: A Masterclass in Slander

Chapter 15: In Her Own Words

Chapter 16: God Moving

Chapter 17: Free or Not?

Chapter 18: A Chicken, a Cage, and a Cat

Chapter 19: Silence

Chapter 20: A Worldwide Shutdown

Chapter 21: Truth from Above

Chapter 22: Still Waiting

Chapter 23: Strange Requests

Chapter 24: Getting Close

Chapter 25: The End or the Beginning?

Chapter 26: A Devilish Offer

Chapter 27: Destruction by Six

Chapter 28: Almost There

Chapter 1

Into the Dungeon

How surreal it was. Yet, much too real at the same time.

Without wearing cuffs, walking up to that desk the US marshalls had pointed to in order to voluntarily surrender my liberty was like a bad dream come to life.

In fact, each step was an eerie fulfillment of a recurring nightmare that had plagued my childhood, culminating in unjust incarceration inside of a dingy cell, resulting from being falsely blamed for all manner of wrongdoings.

Behind those double doors, a wide counter some fifty feet ahead was staffed with several police officers standing there to process new inmates to the Jefferson County Jail in downtown Birmingham, Alabama.

The Jefferson County Jail is located inside a high-rise complex next to the adjoining criminal court building and incarcerates inmates on nine floors.

Each floor is divided into several sections in which approximately twenty-four to thirty inmates can be housed per section.

Inside these cellblocks, there is one large room used as a daytime living area and many smaller cells along the back wall, where inmates are locked up from evening until morning in groups of two.

In about the size of a walk-in closet from your average single-family master bedroom, two inmates share a narrow steel double bunkbed, sleeping on ice-cold gel mattresses about one and a half inches in thickness.

No pillows are allowed, only a crusty blanket, which most often is folded to provide a substitute for a missing pillow, choosing rather to be cold than to rest one’s head on solid steel.

Next to that bunk bed is a tiny table with two chairs, small enough to belong inside of a kindergarten classroom, and immediately by the front entrance, a grey steel toilet seated next to a narrow sink.

The walls are solid brick, and the cell door is made of steel, approximately four inches thick, with a small double window at the top almost as thick as the door itself.

Inside each cell on the opposing side of the door along the upper bunk sits a rectangular window measuring about ten inches high and approximately four feet wide, providing the only source of outside light anywhere inside the cellblock.

The beds are no more than thirty-five inches wide, not allowing for much movement while sleeping, and a cell like this would give almost anyone instant and severe claustrophobia.

But I wasn’t there yet. Still standing by that front desk, first, I had to be booked and processed as the newest inmate in Jefferson County, Alabama.

After introducing myself to the police officers downstairs, they looked me up on a computer and told me to walk inside of an empty cell nearby and remove all of my clothing and belongings.

Before entering that cell, a small packet of my new inmate attire was provided to change into. My new outfit had multiple stripes running horizontally across, colored in white and dark red.

After first taking off my jeans and T-shirt and emptying my pockets of any valuables, I reluctantly put on that jail outfit.

When finished, I was ordered to call for an officer to unlock me from that small cell on an intercom located inside the door frame on the left side.

Thereafter, I was led back to the desk area for my clothing and personal effects to be booked under my name and stored in a locker, followed by pictures to be taken for my mug shot.

After the photo session, a female police officer with white surgical gloves demanded a DNA sample be taken from my mouth. I asked why I was forced to give a DNA sample to the State of Alabama and was told that it was mandatory for anyone accused of sex crimes.

After the DNA swab was removed from my mouth, another police officer took me to a back area behind a white brick pony wall for a search of my body. I was told to drop my pants, bend over, and graphically submit all those areas of the body all of us expect to be kept private for inspection.

It was extremely invasive and degrading, as you might imagine, and the officer performing the search looked very uncomfortable doing it. After the body search revealed no contraband, I was finally allowed to go and make one phone call from what looked like an old pay phone from the 1980s.

I called my attorney, but per normal, he didn’t answer, so I left him a detailed message explaining what had happened. Afterwards, I was led to a small room where a nurse was waiting to ask me what prescription medications I was taking.

I answered, None at all.

She jotted down my answer on a small piece of paper.

I asked, Mam, I have chronic dry eye problems. Am I allowed to use eye drops here?

Are they prescription? she asked.

No, just over-the-counter eye drops, I answered.

In that case, no, was her reply.

After she was done, she turned me back to the officer who had inspected my nude body a few minutes before.

He led me towards an elevator and asked, Are you ready to see your new home?

I smiled and answered, Do I have a choice?

He smiled back and said, I guess not…

May I have a Bible before we go upstairs? I asked.

He answered, A Bible? Sure, let me find you one.

He walked over behind a desk and came back with a small brown New Testament-only Bible that had been provided to the jail by the Gideons.

I placed that little Bible in my breast pocket and said, Thank you, sir. Do you also have the Old Testament available?

I’ll try to find one and send it up to you, he answered.

He grabbed my arm, and inside an elevator, we went headed for the ninth floor.

I asked, Why the ninth floor?

Without hesitation, he said, "‘Сause that’s where all of the worst of the worst go."

Was he kidding?

At forty-five years old, never before had I ever been arrested, convicted, or accused of any crime whatsoever.

My last traffic infraction, back in 2001, had been followed by over 600,000 miles of commercial truck driving all across the lower forty-eight states without a single traffic citation. But here I was, headed for the ninth floor, where all the most dangerous criminals in northern Alabama were locked away awaiting trial.

I had my immediate suspicion of who had been pulling strings to get me locked up in such an extremely dangerous environment, as the buzzing of a tall killer bee with the initials G. P. was heard in my mind’s ear.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped, and the doors slid open. The sound that greeted me on the other side was very unexpected…

Chapter 2

Door Number Eight

Deafening was the silence on the ninth floor. Having watched many prison movies before, I was steadying myself for the roar of caged inmates greeting newcomers with threats and insults, but all was quiet.

I asked the officer, How come everything is so quiet?

He said, Enjoy it while it lasts. The inmates are asleep still.

He took me to the front of a large white sliding steel door, behind which I could see a room with concrete floors and white brick walls.

All that adorned that room were two rectangular steel tables with four attached metal benches, two round steel tables with four benches, one large television screen high up on the wall, and one small aluminum bench off to the left side.

To the left of that bench was a staircase leading to the upper level of cells, painted in a burgundy color.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. The officer who had escorted me up to the ninth floor said, See that cell straight ahead with the number eight on it?

I answered, Yes, sir.

Walk in there and meet your new cellmate. Let’s hope he’s not in a grumpy mood this morning.

The sliding steel door began opening, and as instructed, I started moving towards cell door number eight, not knowing who was waiting there.

After pulling on cell door number eight, the remote lock was opened, and I stepped inside. On the lower bunk was a man asleep facing the wall. He was about five feet seven inches and 220 pounds. As the cell door slammed shut behind me, he woke up.

I said while smiling, Sorry to wake you, but the deputy made me do it.

He looked me up and down, deciding what to make of me, and to my relief, he got my little joke. With a thick southern accent, he said, What you in fo’?

I answered, That’s a long story…

He said, All right… Well, I’m going back to sleep fo’ a while. Soon, they be openin’ the doow.

Okay, I’ll get up on that top bunk then, I replied.

So, back to sleep he went, as I climbed up to the top bunk next to the window.

After lying down, it took all my mental effort possible not to panic from claustrophobia. The ceiling was no more than eighteen inches above my head, the bed just slightly wider than my shoulders, and it was freezing cold in there.

After praying to God in silence, asking Him to communicate with me, I was reminded of a new Bible topic that I had studied shortly before the marshalls came.

In the Bible, God often uses numbers to denote things of great significance. For example, the number seven can be said to be God’s number of perfection, serving as His signature and fingerprint on His creative and miraculous workings.

In the book of Genesis, we read that God rested on the seventh day after having created the world and that God blessed the seventh day as the capstone of His labors:

And God blessed the seventh day, and sanctified it: because that in it he had rested from all his work which God created and made.

Genesis 2:3 (KJV)

God divided each week into seven days and later told the Jews to sanctify the seventh day as the Sabbath day.

In Matthew, Jesus miraculously fed the multitudes using seven loaves of bread, of which seven baskets were filled with the leftovers after all had eaten:

And he [the Real Jesus] took the seven loaves and the fishes, and gave thanks, and brake them, and gave to his disciples, and the disciples to the multitude. And they did all eat, and were filled: and they took up of the broken that was left seven baskets full. And they that did eat were four thousand men, beside women and children.¹

Matthew 15:36–38 (KJV)

In the book of Revelation, God uses the number seven to denote His perfection and fingerprint.

There we find mentioned seven angels, seven churches, seven spirits, seven golden candlesticks, seven stars, seven spirits of God, seven seals, seven horns, seven eyes, seven trumpets, seven thunders, seven heads, seven crowns, seven vials, and so on… all these sevens testifying to the divinity of God’s Word and matchless power.

Further, something amazing, hidden away inside of the Greek text as a numerical witness to His authorship of the Bible, God displays His incredible intelligence.

As taught by the late Chuck Missler based on discoveries by Dr. Ivan Panin—also known as the Father of Bible Numerics—imagine yourself being asked to complete the following writing assignment:

As Mr. Missler used to say (and I am paraphrasing):

Compose a genealogy adhering to the following mathematical rules, after adding each of the following categories together:

Your total number of all words used in your writing must be divisible by seven.

The number of letters you use must also be divisible by seven.

The number of vowels you use must be divisible by seven.

The number of words beginning with a vowel must be divisible by seven.

The number of words beginning with a consonant must be divisible by seven.

All words occurring more than once must be divisible by seven.

All words occurring in only one form must be divisible by seven.

And so on…

Just imagine how difficult this would be to accomplish.

In fact, according to mathematicians, writing a text following these kinds of rules breaks