Pastor Lucas Wald wiped the sweat off of his forehead and shut his office door behind him. He felt along the wall and switched on the light. He wobbled a bit and walked to his plush office chair, took off his white jacket, placed it carefully on the back of the chair, and then sat down heavily in it, blowing out a puff of air from his mouth.
He picked up a remote control from his desk and switched on a big-screen TV mounted on the wall. At the same time he pushed the power button on his PC and waited for it to start up. The TV was on his congregations' dedicated channel, so he switched it over to CNN. He needed to get some material for his next sermon.
Not that he thought he needed to put much effort into it. The "Light of Heaven" congregational revival hall had been packed for the last week. Not an extra advertising dollar spent. Pastor Wald had been in the Televangelism business for over thirty years now, and he had never seen his membership so full. The more disasters that happened, the more parishioners came streaming through his door. He smiled. His auditorium, which he had bought in the 1980's when Televangelism was in its' heyday, could seat over three-thousand worshippers. In the last week, for the first time in his career, he had considered expanding it. He shook his head and reached into a drawer in his desk as the PC blinked to life. He pulled out a bottle of JD and a shot glass. He poured and downed a shot in one smooth motion, then repeated it immediately. He let a satisfied sigh and turned op the volume on the TV.
"...officials were concerned of a possible chemical contamination, but early reports indicated that simply the entire lake had turned to what appeared to be, and I feel I must apologize to our listeners, but I am quoting...blood. The Army Corp of Engineers, who is responsible for the upkeep of the over 30,000 acres of Lake Granada, refused further comment on the initial reports..."
Pastor Wald leaned back in his chair and grinned. Oh yes, expansion was going to be more than needed. Hell, he might even be able to get that Cessna he'd had his eyes on for the last few years. He entered his password 'RighteousBucks' on his computer and pulled up his office program, typing the first few lines of his next sermon.The more fire and brimstone, the better, he thought, laying it on heavily as to how the world was obviously being punished for it's immorality. Sprinkled in with a healthy dose of 'how were his parishioners souls prepared for the coming Rapture', and he was looking at a avalanche of new donations.
He was just finishing the last few lines, condemning the homosexual agenda in Hollywood and the open support of major media, when he felt someone watching him. He frowned and turned halfway in his chair. He scanned his office behind him and saw nothing, just a stack of his new promotional material - his "Are You Ready for What's Next?" campaign. The poster showed a young couple standing on a tall hilltop staring reverently into the sky. He thought it was one of his best campaigns yet. For a 'small' donation of $10,000, he was offering a weekend seminar complete with workshops that he would personally host and conduct. The goal was to ensure the participants of their salvation and reward in Heaven. This was going to make him millions during a fifty state tour, ending in Hawaii, naturally.
He heard a rustling sound behind him and spun his chair, seeing nothing again. His eyes darted around the room nervously and he felt a chill race down his spine. Screw this, he thought, and reached into another desk drawer and pulled out his nickel-plated .50 caliber Desert Eagle.
"Somebody in here?", he called out in a heavy southern accent. "You better be one of the cleaning crew, or you're gonna end up with a new ventilation system in ya." He saw a shadow on the wall next to the TV and his hand jerked. The gun fired, the cracking cannon-shot noise instantly making his ears ring.
"Jesus Christ!", he cried out, standing up and moving quickly as his bulk allowed from behind his desk. He had just put a rather large hole in an authentic Greek plinth that he had bought at Sotheby's. A chunk of marble slid off of it as he approached and shattered on the ground. He let out a groan and bent to pick up some of the rubble.
"Try again," came a calm and icy voice from the direction of his desk. Pastor Wald stood up and held the gun out in a shaky grip, pointing directly at a figure in the shadows, standing behind his desk and looking out of the large picture window.
"Who...who the hell are you and how the hell did you get in here?", Pastor Wald demanded, anger rising in his voice.
The figure turned slowly and the Pastor's jaw dropped a little...it's just some kid...what in the...He lowered his gun and moved angrily to stand in front of his desk, his face turning red.
"Is this some kind of high school prank or somethin'? Sneak into the good Pastor's office or some crap? Damn, son, you are in a lot of trouble." He began to reach for the phone to call security, but quicker than he could follow, the kid yanked the phone off of the desk, sending it crashing to the floor. Pastor Wald glared at him furiously.
The teen eyed him and shook his head slowly. "No, Pastor Wald. This is not a prank. The fact is, I need you to do something for me."
Pastor Wald let out a deep sigh. "Look, kid, if you got a sick family member or something, then come back on Sunday. Faith healings are free to paying parishioners, but my office, after hours? This is not a charity, son, and I am a very busy man."
The kid met his gaze without blinking. The pastor felt the icy chill in his spine deepen. He involuntarily gripped his gun tighter.
"I don't need any faith healing, Pastor Wald. I need you to send a message for me."
The pastor cocked his head, not understanding. "A message? What message? Son, what are you going on about?"
The teen placed his hand on the Pastor's desk and smoke began to rise out from under his palm. "What...?", Pastor Wald was able to stutter out before the kid took his hand away. There was a symbol burned into the desk. The Pastor looked down at it and then back to the teen quickly, who was still watching him patiently.
"Shit, you little s.o.b., that desk there is a goddamned antique! What the hell did you just do to it?" He looked back down at the symbol. It appeared to be an inverted cross with a vine or a rope wrapped around it. There were dual columns of flame behind it, coming to two distinct points over the top of the cross. "What is this supposed to be?", the pastor shouted.
"It's my message," the teen replied. "I want you to put it on all of your broadcast material. Flyers. Hymn books. Posters. Even on the television show. I want it everywhere."
Pastor Wald looked up at him. "Are you on drugs or something? Just why in the flipping hell would I do that?"
"Because if you don't, I will tear out your guts right here and stuff them down your throat."
Pastor Wald's face flushed. "You threatening me, kid? I've got a gun..."
The teen shrugged. "It'll take a lot more than that to stop me, pastor. But you're welcome to try." With that, the teen moved swiftly around the desk, half leaping over the edge. The pastor scrambled back, the gun raising again.
"Keep back, you crazy little shit, I'm warning you!", he yelled. Sweat began to stream down his face as the teen advanced, looking calm and cool.
"Yawn," the kid said, bored. "Go ahead. You got about two seconds before I tear you apart."
"I said, I'm warning you!, the pastor yelled, stumbling back until his back was at the door.
"And I said, I don't care," the teen replied, grabbing the shoulder of Pastor Wald with an iron grip. To his horror, he felt himself being lifted against the wall, the pain in his shoulder excruciating.
The gun fired, hitting the kid squarely in the chest. The pastor blinked in horror.
"Oh hell, what've I done? I'm sorry, I'm sorry...", he squeaked out.
The teen looked back at him and continued to smile. The pressure on the pastor's shoulder increased as the kid brought his other hand to the pastor's chest and began to press on it. Pastor Wald felt his ribs giving way, ready to crack. He fired again, point blank in the kid's face. He watched in terror as the bullet seemed to hit the teen's skin and melt there in a blazing slag, before sliding off harmlessly to the ground. The teen glanced down at the smoking remains of the bullet and continued to smile. Pastor Wald emptied his clip as he felt his first rib crack, a lightning bolt of pain shooting through him. Gunsmoke rose all around the two as the teen moved his face closer to Pastor Wald's own.
"Last chance, padre," the teen practically hissed. "Are you going to carry my message for me, or not?"
Lucas Wald licked his lips hurriedly. "Yes, yes, whatever you want, just let me go!", he stammered out in a panic. Immediately the teen released his shoulder and the pastor landed in a heap on the floor. He looked at the charred remains of his bullets scattered all over the marble floor and back up at the teen, who had moved back over to look out of the window.
"What...who...are you?", the pastor practically whispered.
The teen looked back, a smile curling on his lips. "Why, we're 'What's Next' Pastor Wald," the teen grinned widely, slapping one of the promotional posters. He sighed when the pastor just looked at him, dumbfounded. "No one appreciates a good joke anymore...fine, I'm an Angel, Pastor Wald. You have nothing to fear from me...as long as you do as I say, that is..." His eyes met the pastors' and shined briefly an intense white.
Pastor Wald scrambled back against the wall. "A...a...what?"
The teen sighed. "An Angel, Pastor Wald, an Angel on a holy mission. And now, our mission is also your mission. It's really not that complicated."
"But...I don't believe..."
The teen turned around and cocked his head. "Oh, I know that, already. I'm not hear because of your unwavering faith in the Divine, Pastor Wald. I'm here because your 'church' here is uniquely positioned to spread the word. My word."
"That...that logo thing there, that's it?"
"Yes, pastor, that's it."
"And then you'll leave me the hell alone?"
"You'll never see me again, Pastor. Cross my heart," the teen said, making the sign of the cross across his chest, a mocking smile on his face. "But, " he continued, the smile fading. "I will be sending my...advocate by tomorrow morning to coordinate with you and make sure you stay on track. A Mr. Jesse Turner. I suggest you be extra accommodating to him. And, if you try to back out of this deal..."
"No, no, whatever you want you crazy bastard, just leave me the hell alone."
The teen shrugged. "No one likes to just hang out and talk anymore," he sighed. "I blame twitter." With that, he simply vanished, leaving no sign that he was ever there.
The pastor sat on the floor and shook for a good five minutes before carefully rising, holding his injured ribs. He walked slowly over to his desk again, trying to avoid looking at the symbol until the last second. He regarded it and sat back down again. He picked up his phone and placed the receiver back in its' cradle. He grimaced and pulled the bottle of whiskey out of the drawer, this time not bothering with a shot glass, downing a third of the bottle in practically one gulp.
He pushed the call button on the phone.
"Jeanine, It's Pastor Wald. Get me marketing on the phone. And call my wife. Tell her I need to work late tonight."