CHAPTER 5
Christina leaped to her feet as the front door swung open. With a cry, she rushed toward her husband. “Oh, Richard!! Thank heavens, you’re back!”
Richard hugged her, then disengaged her arms as he shut the door. “Are you OK?” He gazed at her with concern. Christina nodded.
Removing his cap, Richard looked at Gloria quizzically. “Who’s this?” He tossed his cap on the sofa as he spoke.
“This is Gloria.” Christina nodded toward her new friend. “We met yesterday, just down the street from Ground Zero. She spent the night with me--with you gone, I was lonely.”
“Hello.” Gloria smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Daly.” With a tilt of her head, she extended her hand.
Richard sighed. Without a word, he shook Gloria’s hand. To Christina’s relief, he did not scold her. She had feared that he would object to her inviting a strange woman over. She suddenly noticed that Richard was limping. “What happened?”
“I sprained my ankle. Don’t ask me how--it’s a long story.” Setting his flight bag on the floor, Richard leaned against the wall, rubbed his face with his handkerchief, then glanced down at his now-swollen left foot. His eyes looked bloodshot. Christina choked back a sob and took a deep breath. Earlier, she had removed her slippers, so now the soles of her feet felt buried in the soft carpet spanning the living room. As Richard looked up at his wife, he straightened his back, and a concerned expression welled up in his eyes. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Christina choked down another sob. “Oh, Richard--the most terrible thing has happened!” She bit her lower lip.
“What?” Richard grabbed her arms, pressing his fingertips against her upper arms. “Tell me! Is it Jessica? Has there been an accident?”
“Yes, it’s Jessica!” Christina took a deep breath. “She disappeared last night--right out of her crib! While Gloria and I were asleep.” She shook her head from side to side.
Richard froze. His face turned pale. “No,” he whispered. “No!” He turned toward the wall and clenched his fists. Christina and Gloria gazed at each other worriedly.
Slowly, Richard turned around. With trembling hands, he removed his jacket. “I may as well tell you, Christina--the same thing happened on my plane. My first officer disappeared, and so did a number of the passengers.” He tossed the jacket on the couch, next to his cap.
Christina and Gloria stared at each other. Could it be true? Christina wondered. Dare I tell Richard what Gloria said?
“Why are you two staring at each other like that?” Richard demanded. “Do you know something about this I don’t?”
Christina took a deep breath. What she was about to say would make Richard furious, she knew, but she had no choice but to say it. “We--we might.” She swallowed hard. “We just might, honey.” Her voice trembled. Richard stared at her, a quizzical expression in his eyes.
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Ryan paused in the doorway of Puccini’s office as Puccini’s secretary hurried down the hall towards the elevator. He couldn't help but smile slightly. They had talked on a formal level the whole way. Ryan had learned her name was Kristen Crossman, and a few other things.
It was hard to do so, but Ryan forced all thoughts of his brief conversation with Kristen out of his mind and focused on what he was there for. Puccini, he noticed, was leaning against the right wall across the room in a relaxed stance. A shaft of sunlight flooded his office, illuminating his desk and forming a rectangle of light on the carpet.
“President Puccini,” Ryan greeted as he entered.
“Mr. Whittaker,” Puccini responded, amusement in his voice. “Did I not ask you to call me Antonio?” He straightened his back as he spoke.
Ryan felt sick to his stomach. How could Puccini smile at a time like this? Didn’t this man realize millions of people all over the globe had vanished off the face of the earth that morning? Didn’t he realize this was not an appropriate time for smiles? Ryan bit his lip. He wasn't sure he wanted to work for someone like that, let alone be on a first-name basis with him.
“I'm sorry, sir,” Ryan said, taking the chair he'd had during their earlier conversation. “I’ve just never addressed an employer by their first name, and I would prefer not to.” It wasn’t completely true, yet it wasn’t a lie either. Ryan had indeed called an employer by his first name once, back in college, but that employer had been his friend too. The last thing Ryan wanted was a friendship with Antonio Puccini.
Shrugging, Antonio perched behind his desk. “Maybe when you get to know me better.”
Like I really want to, Ryan thought. He was surprised when he didn’t feel guilty after thinking it. He didn't like this guy, and wasn't ashamed of it, just afraid to admit it.
Puccini cleared his throat. “OK, you said you have thought of someone to be my flight attendant. Who is it?”
As he leaned back in the hard-backed chair, Ryan had no trouble at all projecting his mind back to the face of that smiling woman. He quickly mulled over everything he knew about her, and began talking.
“Her name is Monica. I don't know her last name because she never worked for me. She was on the flight I came here on. She’s a knockout red-head with a cute accent. She’s really nice, polite, and professional, but she has a way of leaving an impression on you.”
“So I noticed, from the way you speak of her,” Puccini said teasingly.
Ryan wanted to scream and punch the man. He wants me to call him by his first name, he picks on me about girls I meet, trying to be buddy-buddy with me. I'm supposed to be his pilot, not his best friend!
Despite that, Ryan had to blush slightly. He told himself it was a cover for his angry thoughts, but it was true. Monica had made an impression on him, but not because of her looks as Puccini seemed to think. Rather, it was because of her sweet personality and almost unforgettable love for everyone.
“Yes,” Ryan admitted, unsure of why he was telling the man he already disliked more than nearly everyone on the planet about this. “But not for the reasons you think. She’s...uh, she’s just got this incredible love that shines on everyone. She strikes me as the kind to smile even at hardened criminals, and talk to them as though they were normal people.” He fidgeted on the chair’s unyielding wood seat.
Puccini's teasing smile brightened, yet it still never quite reached his eyes. That was when Ryan felt the guilt from his previous comments. Maybe he’s naturally a great smiler, and the kind of person who can find humor in everything, but the disappearances have devastated him to the point where all he can do is smile and make weak jokes.
Ryan tried to ignore the guilt. Puccini was still in the wrong with his smiles and jokes. What kind of man he was under other circumstances didn't change the fact that his attitude was uncalled for now. He clenched his fists in his lap and took a deep breath.
“Sounds just like the kind of woman we need on our team,” Antonio said. “And do not worry about not knowing her last name. I have my ways of learning about people.” He leaned back as he spoke.
Despite Puccini's warm smile, Ryan felt a chill in the room. If those words had been spoken in any tone other than the one used, they would have sounded like a threat. Ryan didn’t want to look into Puccini’s eyes, but he was drawn to them. Looking into those strangely colored, expressionless eyes, Ryan realized the full significance of what those words meant. He heard in his mind Antonio's words and voice as clearly as though Antonio had spoken them. I would have my ways of finding you, too, if you dared try and run out on me, Mr. Whittaker. I have my ways.
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Richard waved his hand. “Never mind. Tell me later. I’ve got to turn on the news.”
He picked up the remote control. As he pressed the power button with his thumb, he looked at his wife. “You called 911?”
Christina nodded. “They haven’t sent anyone yet. They’ve got hundreds of these calls to respond to, the police sergeant says.” Richard pursed his lips in response, shaking his head.
He remained standing as the TV set switched on. In a CBS special report, an anchorman was talking about the mass disappearances. “News has just come in of another plane crash,” the anchor said. “Rumor has it that the pilots and flight crew vanished at the moment of the mass disappearances. There were no survivors.” Christina shuddered. How thankful she was that nothing like that had happened to Richard or Ryan!
Richard and Christina sat down on the couch, and Gloria perched in an armchair. The mattress sagged and creaked when Christina leaned back, leaning against her husband. As the anchor described detail after detail of chaos all over the world, all three sat silently, eyes glued to the TV set. Christina choked down a sob when the anchor spoke of missing babies and small children, and the strain the police departments were operating under, trying to keep up with the flood of calls from frantic parents. She twisted strands of hair around her index finger. Next to her, Richard took several deep, shuddering breaths. Gloria rubbed her fingers on the surface of the end table next to the armchair, back and forth.
Finally, Richard turned the TV set off. “I’m sure all regular programming has been turned off,” he said. “There’ll be no regular programming for days, now.” He glanced at the TV Guide, lying on the coffee table, as he spoke. Pain welled in his eyes.
Christina nodded agreement. “No, there won’t.”
With a sigh, Richard rose to his feet. He trudged toward the wall and leaned against it for a long moment. A moment later, he slammed his fist against the wall.
Gloria approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He smiled wanly. “Thanks.”
Smiling warmly, Gloria returned to her seat. Richard turned toward Christina. “You--you said you and Gloria might know something about this.” He paused. “What is it?”
Panic welled up in Christina’s throat. She swallowed hard.
“Well, honey--” Christina paused. “Maybe--uh, maybe God called them up. To Heaven, I mean.”
“What do you mean?” Richard stiffened, as he whirled to face her.
Raising her right hand to gently pat her hair, Christina paused to gather her thoughts. The mattress creaked underneath her as she fidgeted. “Maybe what the church has been predicting for centuries happened, last night. The Rapture, I mean. I never believed it till now, but after what happened--”
“Stop! No more!” Richard’s face turned beet-red, and he clenched his fists into tight balls. “There is no God; that’s just a stupid fairy tale. Don’t you ever bring that up to me again!! Do you hear?”
Without waiting for an answer, he marched toward the TV set and turned it back on. He stood leaning against the wall as the picture came on. This time, Antonio Puccini appeared on the screen. Christina caught her breath. What on earth was the new Italian president doing on CNN now, of all times?
“Already, some people are suggesting that the fabled Rapture took away the missing people, but in truth, there is a natural explanation for what’s happened.” The EU president leaned forward at his desk, clasping his hands. “For decades, nations in this world have conducted nuclear blasts, as they have tested their nuclear warheads. The fallout from those tests have since accumulated to the point where they have become a deadly threat to life on this planet. I am convinced that it killed and evaporated the missing people. Rest assured that I will do all I can to help the nations of the world remove that threat from our atmosphere.”
With a frown, Gloria rose to her feet. As Puccini paused to clear his throat, she left the room. “Perhaps you are wondering why it did not kill everyone. I have a theory on that.” Puccini paused again. “Fortunately, there is not, yet, enough residue to kill everyone. It seems the radiation spread out till it filled holes in the planet that were only slightly larger than people. Whoever found themselves in those radiation pockets disappeared, and the rest of us stayed.”
Richard approached the coffee table. Reaching for the remote control, he switched off the television. “There, you see?” He dropped the remote on the couch. “It was simply--”
He froze. His face turned pale as the implications sank in. “It means our little girl has been vaporized in one of those pockets.” Biting his lower lip, he left the room.
Shaking her head, Christina sighed. Maybe Puccini was right. Yet, as she returned to the kitchen to ladle out the scrambled eggs, bacon, and biscuits she had cooked earlier, something nagged at her. Something is wrong with this whole picture, she thought. But what? It makes sense the way Puccini said it, but something just doesn’t ring true.
All morning, Christina, Richard, and Gloria watched the news. They ate their breakfast in the living room so they wouldn’t have to stop doing so. In the process, they learned that the President and the Vice-President had also disappeared; oddly enough, the Speaker of the House made no statements.
At one point, a policeman stopped by, apologizing for his long delay in responding to their calls. Christina and Gloria described the events of the night, Gloria filling in whenever Christina's memory failed her.
“I wish I could promise you we will find your little girl.” Sadness creased the police officer’s eyes. “We will do our best.”
“I know.” Christina bit her lip. “I know you will. With all these missing people…” Her voice trailed off. The police officer nodded.
After he left, the Dalys and Gloria sat back down to watch the news once more. Several times, Puccini appeared on the screen to hold a press conference, much to Christina’s puzzlement. Why Puccini and not their own Speaker of the House? With the President and Vice-President missing, he was next in the order of succession.
At last, Richard rose to his feet. “I’m worn out, Christina.” He shook his head. “I doubt very much I’ll be able to sleep, but I must try.” He picked up his cap and flight bag, and draped his jacket over his left arm. His boots thudded on the carpet as he trudged out of the living room.
Christina rested her face in her eyes. Agonized sobs forced their way out of her throat. Jessica--Jessica! My poor baby. Why’d you have to die like this!
“Christina.” Gloria’s voice startled her. Christina raised her tear-streaked face to meet her new friend’s. “You think Jessica died, don’t you?” Gloria knelt in front of Christina.
Christina bit her lip. “She must have, Gloria. If Puccini’s theory is right, then she did.”
Gloria shook her head. “Puccini is not right, Christina. In fact, he’s dead wrong.” She perched on the couch next to Christina and laid her hand on Christina’s arm. “What I told you, earlier, was true: God did take up Jessica--He took her to Heaven and gave her a new body. Her, and every other baby and small child. Every Christian, too.” She smiled comfortingly. “Not only that, He resurrected every Christian who’s died from the first century till now. Including your mother. Jessica and your mother have new bodies, Christina!” Gloria paused. “I forgot to add--God is going to help your husband face the truth. He told me to tell you that.” She dropped her hand onto her lap.
“Told you to tell me that?” Christina stared at her. “How? And for that matter, how do you know all this?”
A golden light suddenly emanated from Gloria. “I’m an angel,” she said softly, rising to her feet.
END OF CHAPTER 5