Infinite Testament (6 page)

Gina had a point. “Yeah, you’re right. You
should call her.”

Gina left the room to get her phone. Lisa dreaded the
thought that it might actually be the end of the world. There were people
she needed to talk to. Most notably, Stephen Pandora. She had a
chance just a week earlier and blew it.

Now it was too late.

3:00 PM

Moros stood at the bonfire with hundreds of people around
him. The mood was celebratory. There were people playing bongos,
flutes, and other percussion instruments. Anyone not playing an
instrument was either dancing or building the fire. The dancers were full
of life, injecting energy into everyone around. The fire builders threw
anything into the fire they could get their hands on. While everyone was
having a good time, Moros simply stood and watched.

Moros took off his backpack and looked at it. It was
blue with white straps. Despite being flimsy and torn up, it had held up
remarkably over the years. It was in the exact condition that he received
it.

Moros hugged his backpack and held his face against
it. “I’m sorry,” he uttered to himself.

Without thinking about it any longer, he tossed the
backpack into the fire. He watched as the flimsy blue cloth and all of
its contents gradually burned up and disappeared. He fought back the
tears that were begging to come out. Unable to continue watching, Moros
turned around and fell to the sand. He gripped a chunk of sand that
slipped through his fingers. The tears running down his cheek were a
culmination of years of regret. “I’m so sorry.”

He stared at the sand. His rational mind called
him. Crying wasn’t going to help. He needed to get to the water.

Moros picked himself off of the sand. Reflected in his
glossy blue eyes, he could see the backpack’s existence shredding away.
He whispered, “I wish I would have listened to you.”

Wiping his eyes, he turned away from the bonfire party and walked
toward the ocean. The beautiful sight of endless water used to evade
him. He had failed to understand what was so great about it.

They told him he’d get it one day.

They were right.

He finally understood.

3:15 PM

It took what seemed like forever for Stephen Pandora to
lead his minivan out of traffic. His team of Campbell, Miles, and newly
acquired Guide to the Stars, Balwant, was finally about to reach their
destination with a whole eighteen minutes to spare.

“Turn here,” Balwant pointed.

Stephen made the turn and found a massive gate in front of
them. There was a security house with an on-duty officer preventing
anyone from getting in. “She’s in a gated community?”

“Yes,” Balwant replied, “To keep stalkers out.” He
glanced at Stephen with a “like you” tilt of the head.

“What do we do?” Campbell wondered aloud.

“Pull up to the security booth,” Balwant said.

Stephen complied and drove to the security booth. He
glanced at the gate. It was steel with narrowly spaced bars. He
considered driving through it, but would likely walk away with a crushed
minivan and a sore neck.

The man in the booth was dressed like a police
officer. He was a chubby, dark-skinned Indian man. He walked out an
open door and approached Stephen. He raised his eyebrows and waited for
Stephen to initiate the conversation. Stephen obliged and stated, “We
need to get in.”

“You on the list?” the guard retorted.

“Well, not officially, no.”

“Can’t let you in.”

“Galav?” Balwant asked from the back.

The expression from the security guard went from stern to
lighthearted in a flash. He peeked in Stephen’s window and looked toward
the backseat.

“Balwant!”

Balwant forced open the door of the minivan and hopped out
to approach Galav the Guard. “You didn’t tell me you were working security!”

“I’ve been here for almost five years now! Trying to
keep out people like you!”

Balwant hugged Galav. Overjoyed, he turned to
Stephen. “This is my brother! I have not seen him in ages!” They
jubilantly spoke to each other in their native tongue that Stephen couldn’t
understand.

Stephen, Campbell, and Miles waited in silence while
Balwant and Galav were soaking up their reunion. Stephen looked at the
clock on the minivan dashboard: 3:23. “Hey Balwant,” Stephen said, “Can
you tell your brother we need to get moving here?” Balwant spoke to Galav
in a more serious tone, presumably asking him to let Stephen and his minivan
pass.

Galav nodded. He turned to Stephen and said, “I will
let you in for bringing my brother to me. But don’t you start any trouble
in there.”

The gate creaked open. “Lucky break,” Campbell
asserted. “You want to tell me why we’re going to see Lisa Binsby?”

Stephen watched with great anticipation as the gate
continued to open. “We were in love once. I need to talk to her.”

The statement stuck Campbell right in the face.

The gate was open. It was time to find the woman he
had always loved. All he could hope was that she would be home.

Lisa Binsby sat on a couch in Gina’s living room.
Gina was in the other room talking to her mother on the phone. Lisa
watched the reporter on television. He blared, “With only minutes left
until the 3:33 deadline, the world waits with anticipation to see if the
mysterious man who interrupted yesterday’s speech by Stephen Pandora will
fulfill his promise. The world has been turned on its head by this simple
threat. And shortly, skeptics and believers alike will learn the truth.”

Lisa’s eyes strained. End of the world or not, she
had reason to feel dismal. She had money and fame but so much was
missing. Years ago, Stephen asked to marry her. What happened after
that changed the course of their history. Looking back, her handling of
the situation was her biggest regret. She had hurt Stephen and lost him
forever.

For the first time in a long time, Lisa prayed. She
leaned forward, put her head in her hands and, in her confinement, whispered,
“It’s been a long time since I’ve asked you for anything. I’ve been
blessed with a lot in my life. But I need to ask one thing of you.
Please protect the ones I love. If this actually is the end, let them
know in their hearts that I love them. I love them more anything in the
world. I haven’t always made the best choices, but I tried my best.
If only Stephen could know how sorry I am…”

Stephen leaned against Lisa’s front door. “She’s not
here,” he despaired. Campbell stood a few feet behind him with Miles in
hand. He felt for his friend. What torment it must have been for
him to keep his feelings for Lisa bottled up all those years while her face was
plastered everywhere. Campbell tried to think of something to cheer him
up. All he could conjure up was a single question, “How do you know she
felt the same way for you?” After the question left his lips, Campbell
realized it might not have been the right thing to say.

Stephen looked at Campbell in defeat. “I just
know.” It was weird for Campbell to see Stephen like this. It was a
side he’d never seen before.

Stephen slowly stepped over to his friends-Campbell and
Miles-the two in the world who had never abandoned him and probably never
would. If this was the end of the world, how fitting it was that he would
get to spend it with them. Stephen petted Miles on the head. Miles
bobbed his head in satisfaction. “You’re a good boy, buddy.” Miles’
tail wagged. Stephen loved that goofy dog. He looked at
Campbell. It was amazing to see the man he’d become. For someone
who started off as a hopeless loner, he’d come along amazingly. Stephen
tugged Campbell close to him and gave him a hug. Without squishing Miles,
they embraced; it was a group hug. Stephen remembered the days they spent
together, particularly the thrill of discovering the ILD. Stephen’s eyes
glazed. “I’m proud of you, Campbell.”

Campbell smiled at him. “I hope we’re wrong about the
ILD.” Stephen smirked, knowing that was unlikely.

Stephen wished he could do something. It was a
hopeless feeling: the world was about to end and there was nothing he could do
about it. All of the innocent people who deserved to live their lives
would be robbed of the chance and would always be robbed of the chance.
There had to be
something
. It was too late for that, he
supposed. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket: 3:30 PM.
There were mere minutes left. Maybe the crazy man was just
bluffing. If that was true, Stephen would change a lot in his life
tomorrow. Every day would be a blessing. Everyone he’d been meaning
to talk to, he’d talk to. Everyone who needed help, he’d help.
There were probably a lot of people in the world who felt this way. Maybe
a blanket death threat was exactly what the world needed to discover what was
important in life.

A gigantic explosion noise erupted in the distance.
The sound was louder than anything Stephen had ever heard. It was so
loud, he nearly fell over. The ground began to quake. The palm
trees violently swayed. Stephen ran toward the street. Looking in
the distance, he could see the city, where the noise appeared to come
from. The ground rumbled and everything was shaking.

The man known as X wasn’t lying. He was going to
destroy the world.

A woman across the street ran out of a house to get a
better view of the city. Her eyes were affixed in the distance. To
Stephen’s shock, the woman was Lisa. Her long brown hair blew with the wind.
This was his chance. It wasn’t too late! He pulled off the
seemingly impossible: he found her.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Every
second was stretched into hours. Time was critical and Stephen didn’t
have much of it. Neighbors poured into the streets, anxious to see what
caused such a powerful noise. Streetlights whipped from their upright
positions and slammed to the ground, rippling the street like a tidal
wave. Lisa fell to her back.

Stephen took off and ran toward her. A huge rip in
the pavement knocked him over. He flew forward, landing on his
stomach. Everyone standing on the street was tossed off their feet.
Lisa was right there! If he could just get her to
see
him!
That’s all he needed: one last look into her eyes, one last
smile
.
It was why he came all this distance.

Stephen tried to get up but the quaking ground just pushed
him right back down. He yelled her name. “Lisa!” The loud
rumblings cancelled out his voice. He crawled as ferociously as he could,
moving his hands and feet like a dog.

There was another deafening explosion that made the last
sound seem like a horn toot. He couldn’t hear much anymore. He
thought he might have been deaf, but there was no way to tell. Stephen
thought the whole planet might crumble into pieces. The sky lit up bright
yellow, like the Earth had morphed into the Sun. It was brighter than his
eyes could handle. He held out his hand to Lisa, who had no idea that he
lay only yards from her. His hand was as outstretched as it could
go. It might’ve come right off. He extended his fingers. He
couldn’t get to her. She was
so
close. But he couldn’t do
it. He just could
not
do it. He continued to scream,
“Lisa!”

She didn’t hear him. Looking at the city, Lisa wished
she could be with Stephen. All her life, she searched for the one thing
she once had. She would give anything to see him one more time, anything
to apologize for that fateful day. She would never know Stephen had
forgiven her. And he was only yards away.

The air grew blazingly hot. Stephen saw Lisa and
everything around him turn into a blur. The world stretched into
infinity. This was it.

Everything was gone.

Everyone on the planet was dead.

Everyone except Moros…

Stephen Pandora died. A man named X killed not only
him, but the rest of the world. It was not the first time this had
happened and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

Stephen Pandora’s path was tragic. It was
inevitable. The painful truth was that what happened during Stephen’s
life sealed the untimely end of the world.

Stephen Pandora was born again. What seemed
instantaneous for him, like waking up from a long sleep, actually took
octillions of years. He didn’t exist as the Universe “crunched” on
itself. He didn’t exist as the Universe restarted with “The Big
Bang”. He didn’t exist as Earth was formed. But he did exist when
he was born. Although everything had to happen again, it happened in an
instant for him because he simply
didn’t exist
until his birth.

Stephen was raised in St. Joseph, Michigan. There, he
would meet someone who would change his life forever.

“Bruce!”

Bruce stopped. It was pitch black outside and close
to three in the morning. Bruce and Stephen were fourteen years old:
freshmen in high school. Their facial features were less defined than
their future selves; they were directly between childhood and adulthood.
Bruce appeared older than his age. He had a strongly defined jawbone and
deep masculine eyes. He was the prototypical man-boy: athletic and muscular.
Stephen, on the other hand, looked younger than fourteen. He was clumsy,
flimsy, and still growing into himself. His eyes had a youthful,
illuminating innocence beneath them.

The two were covered in black: black shirt, black pants and
black shoes. It allowed them to blend in; they didn’t want to be
seen. They were in a forest and the only light provided to them was
generously given by the full moon shining above. They were undercover on
a mission. It was actually Bruce’s mission but Stephen was there to
help. Bruce turned and put his finger to his lip. “Ssshhhh.”

Stephen tried his best to be quiet. Every step he
took created a small crunch, no matter how small. This was a forest,
after all, and it was littered with twigs, branches, and who knew what
else. In every direction, all he could see were trees. No one was
around anyway, so what did he have to be quiet for? But Bruce
insisted. Bruce moved his hand in a forceful downward movement,
nonverbally demanding silence. Somehow, Bruce was able to move through
the forest without making a peep. Stephen wondered if he was somehow
hovering, and not actually walking. Bruce was the most physically able
person Stephen knew, so it was no surprise he was able to move in such complete
silence.

The duo continued the trek. Their reason was simple:
Bruce heard from a friend at school about a cult that performed bizarre rituals
in this forest every time there was a full moon. Bruce had traversed the
forest days before and found what he thought might be the remnants from the
ritual. Instantly interested, Bruce set out to do two things: see what
they were up to and disrupt them in epic fashion. Unfortunately, the ritual was
deep in the heart of the forest and would take a while to find.

Stephen doubted they would find anything. Over the
years, he heard plenty of stories of cults. In order for all of them to
be true, every town in the state had to have at least two practicing
cults. It was just nonsense.

A bright white flash erupted in the distance. It
provided a burst of light that lasted only milliseconds. “Did you see
that?” Bruce asked. Stephen nodded. He saw it. Probably a
picture flash. Big deal. More kids looking for the mythical cult.
“We need to head that way,” Bruce asserted.

A shadowy figure walked by. It startled Stephen so
much, he tripped over a branch and crashed to the ground. As he fell, a
yelp escaped his mouth. Bruce darted to a knee to avoid being seen.

“Who’s there?” An adult male voice yelled.

Bruce looked at Stephen with wide eyes and shook his
head. “Don’t make a sound,” he said with his eyes.

Footsteps crunched in front of them. This was where
their all-black attire would hopefully come in handy. The sounds of
crushing sticks daunted closer. Stephen lay on the forest floor and Bruce
knelt next to him in silence. Stephen held his breath just for good
measure. It couldn’t really be a cult, could it?

A group began chanting in musical rhythm. It sounded
like a twisted Gregorian chant. Yes, there really was a cult in this
forest. The figure reverted back toward the chanting.

“We found them!” Bruce exclaimed as quietly as he
could. The chanting was loud enough to provide them some cover as they
tried to make their way closer.

A tiny fire burst in front of them, about ten yards
away. It illuminated the surrounding area and allowed them to see the
full extent of what was going on. The fire was only inches high and
formed a circle on the ground. There were thirteen people standing around
it dressed in blue robes. Hoods attached to the robes drooped over their
faces and concealed them. Their lips and chins were visible, but little
else could be seen.

Bruce helped Stephen to his feet and they inched as close
as they could to the chanting men. “What is that?” Bruce asked, “KKK?”

Stephen shook his head. “I don’t think so.” The
hoods weren’t pointy and the robes were blue. That didn’t seem to match
any KKK footage Stephen had ever seen. He didn’t know much about the KKK,
but he was pretty sure they didn’t chant in song.

Bruce looked on, bouncing around and giddy as ever.
“Let’s do it. You got ‘em?”

Stephen calmed him down. He was gripped by what was
unfolding. “Hold on, I want to see what happens.”

The blue-robed men methodically paced around the circle of
fire sprouting from the ground. They continued their chanting, which was
clearly not English. Stephen couldn’t decipher what language it
was. This
could
be a peaceful ceremony, but it didn’t feel that
way. The robed men simultaneously stopped and faced the fire
circle. They slowly extended their hands and raised them slightly in the
air. They crossed their feet and bowed their heads. The pose was
distinctly familiar: they looked like Jesus Christ on the cross. Maybe
this was a religious cult. Even worse, Stephen worried, a crazed Satanic
Cult. Would they start microwaving babies? Wait, what?
Stephen’s thoughts escaped him. There was no baby and definitely no
microwave. Even so, he didn’t feel safe.

One man stood with his arms at his side, not posing like
the rest. That man must have been the leader, Stephen figured. The
man yelled, “We await your arrival!” The robed men stood in silence.

Bruce chuckled. “Seriously?” It was one of the
most ridiculous things he had ever seen. What a bunch of buffoons.
Time to show them who ran this town. He nodded to Stephen, “Now.”

Stephen reluctantly agreed. If there was a time to do
this, it was now. He pulled two firecrackers out of his pocket.
They weren’t the kind that launched in the air: these firecrackers would
explode in place and sound like gunshots. Painfully loud gunshots.

Bruce instructed, “Ok, we light them at the same
time. You throw toward the left and I throw toward the right.”

The robed leader chanted, “Redeo! Redeo!
Redeo!” All the robed men who were assuming the Christ-like position
hummed in unison.

BAM! Dozens of loud pops went off. It sounded
like a Chicago mob gunfight landed right in the middle of the cult. The
members all jumped, startled out of their wits. Some ducked for cover and
others let out yells of surprise. Stephen and Bruce laughed and soaked in
the mayhem they had caused. The whole ceremony was ruined. Everyone
looked around and panicked.

Everyone except the leader. He never flinched.
He pulled up his hood, barely revealing his eyes, and stared at the circle of
fire. Stephen and Bruce were still unable to fully see his face.
The leader looked straight in their direction. His robed head didn’t
move.

“I think he sees us,” Stephen nervously blurted out.

“Run!”

Bruce and Stephen turned and ran. Bruce, of course,
seemed to hover away from Stephen, who did his best to keep up. The
sticks and branches poking from the ground stabbed Stephen’s legs through his
pants and prevented him from moving quickly. He ignored the pain and ran
as hard as he could. The trees brushed by as he twisted and contorted his
body to avoid colliding with them. Bruce was ahead of him and falling out
of sight. He was just too fast.

A hand yanked on Stephen’s shirt and violently pulled him
back. He was caught.

The leader stood behind him and put him in a
headlock. Stephen kicked and flailed to escape, but it was no use.
The man had him in his grasp.

“Do you know what you’ve just done?” Stephen didn’t
know what to say. He was scared for his life. The chanting started
again. Stephen could hear it in the distance. “You almost ruined
everything,” the man muttered.

Stephen had a black eye.
Ronnie, the
class bully, punched him square in the face. He was picking on Stephen
and taunting him in front of the whole school. Stephen was in first grade
at Lincoln School and had been there for almost two months. He was a shy
kid and struggled to make friends. Being smaller than most of the other kids
his age caused bullies to target him. During recess, Stephen had tried to
talk to a girl he had a crush on. Apparently, Ronnie, the big tough
third-grader, didn’t like that.

Ronnie pushed Stephen against the side of the school and
banged him against the bricks. “You don’t talk to her. Only I talk
to her.” Stephen nodded, wanting to get away from him. A crowd of
kids stood around, watching the unavoidable beating. Most of them laughed
and cheered. The first-graders were ripe for the picking; it was a rite
of initiation to be picked on by the older kids.

“You going to cry?” Ronnie asked, hoping he would.
Stephen looked to the ground with heavy eyes, surely close to it. Ronnie
punched his shoulder. Hard. Stephen shrunk against the wall.

Stephen begged, “Please Ronnie, I’m sorry.”

“Mommy and Daddy aren’t here to help you,
first-grader.” Ronnie pulled back his fist, about to deliver another
blow. But unexpectedly, he felt a tapping on his shoulder.
Distracted, he wondered who would dare interrupt him. He turned to find
the source of the tapping, worried it might be the principal, Mr. Ixley.

Ronnie was instead greeted with a fist pounding to his
face. The ‘pop’ could be heard and felt throughout the playground.
It was Stephen’s classmate, Bruce. His fist flew through the air like an
eagle swooping for its prey; it soared with a screaming ‘whoosh!’ On
impact, his fist smashed Ronnie’s face. With one punch, Bruce obliterated
him. Ronnie stumbled, confused with the weight of the world that just
crashed into his face.

Bruce was the biggest first-grader. He was taller and
more built than even the third-graders. He slammed Ronnie against the
wall with a thud. Stephen dodged out of the way. Ronnie, terrified,
glared at Bruce.

Bruce demanded, “Say sorry.”

Ronnie shook his head. He was stubborn. It
wouldn’t be that easy. Bruce punched him in the shoulder.

Bruce shouted to Stephen, “Come here!” He
obliged. The crowd was silent as they waited to see Bruce’s next
move. He instructed, “Punch him as hard as you can. In the face.”

Stephen looked wide-eyed at Bruce. He couldn’t hit
Ronnie
.

Bruce declared to Ronnie, “You will never beat up a
first-grader again. Do you understand?” Ronnie, on the verge of
tears, nodded. The message was clear. “Good.” Bruce turned to
Stephen again, “Now punch him.”

Stephen stared at Ronnie. He had been picking on him
since the day he arrived at Lincoln School. With Bruce on his side, it
wouldn’t happen anymore. He smirked. Why not? Stephen pulled
back his fist and prepared to deliver the final blow.

A loud whistle filled the air. Uh-oh. That
could only mean one thing. He turned around to see Mr. Ixley, standing
over them with his arms folded looking angry.

Bruce despaired, realizing that Stephen lost his chance to
punch Ronnie. He looked at Mr. Ixley and back at Stephen, who were busy
staring at each other. Bruce turned to Ronnie and knocked his fist into
his face. One last, quick punch. Ronnie fell to the ground and
wept.

“Boys!” Mr. Ixley declared, “In my office, now!”

Stephen and Bruce sat in Mr. Ixley’s office waiting for him
to arrive. Stephen fidgeted in his chair while Bruce coolly waited for
his punishment to arrive. “You okay?” Bruce asked.

Stephen smiled at him. “Yeah. Do you think
they’ll call my mom?” This was the first time Stephen had ever been in
any real trouble.

“Yeah. They will.” Bruce replied. He, on
the other hand, was used to it.

Stephen stared straight ahead. He had a shell-shocked
look on his face. Bruce picked his nails as they continued to sit amidst
the awkward silence. Bruce knew Mr. Ixley well. He spent a lot of
time in his office and felt right at home. Truth be told, Mr. Ixley hated
Bruce. Every day was made just a little more difficult and frustrating,
all thanks to Bruce. Whether Bruce was interrupting class or getting into
fights, Mr. Ixley was always there to stop him. At least temporarily.

Stephen blurted out, “Thanks for helping me.”

Bruce shifted in his chair. He leaned toward Stephen,
donning a confident smile. “No problem.” He held out his
hand. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Stephen.” Their hands connected. Bruce
nonchalantly shook Stephen’s hand. “I’m Bruce.”

The door opened. Mr. Ixley walked into the office and
proceeded to sit behind his desk. Mr. Ixley was not a large or
intimidating figure. In fact, he was a skinny bookworm with a nasally
voice that wouldn’t scare a bird. Nonetheless, he was the disciplinarian.