Infinite Testament (18 page)

It was two weeks since Nick Castaneda was slain by X.
Naturally, an investigation was opened by the police, but nothing was
found. As CEO of the Russell Corporation, X’s influence traveled long and
far.

Bruce stood in X’s office. They were high in the Russell
Corporation skyscraper in downtown Grand Rapids. The view of X’s office
extended far over the city and the surrounding suburbs. Looking out the
windows, the buildings below looked like miniatures. Bruce wore a casual
shirt, coming straight from work to meet X in his office. X wore a suit
and tie. The all-important CEO dressed and looked the part, keeping his
long hair neatly tied in a ponytail. It was a far cry from the sinister
look he otherwise maintained. The blue robes didn’t come out until night,
when they held their meetings deep under the ground of Russell Corporation’s
headquarters.

Bruce said, “I have news for you, Russell.” During
the day, under business pretenses, the use of the name Russell was acceptable,
as bothersome as it was for X to hear.

X leaned back in his office chair and perused the monthly
sales figures for his company. “What is it, Bruce?”

Bruce spoke quietly. Even though they were behind
closed doors, he didn’t want to risk any of the bustling employees walking by
hearing him. “You want to know who killed Sara? I know who we can
bring in next week.”

X flung the sales figures out of his hand and directed all
of his attention to Bruce. His face grew stern with anticipation.
“Who?”

Bruce continued, “I know you think he had nothing to do
with it, but I have new reason to believe otherwise.”

“What reason is that?”

Bruce said matter-of-factly, “He confessed to me.”

X stood up and met Bruce at eye level. The ferocity
and fire usually absent in X’s workplace vigorously appeared. He trembled
as he spoke. “You found Sara’s killer? Who is it?”

Bruce took a deep breath before he revealed the name to X.

‘Russell Corporation’.

Bruce, now over ten years out of college,
walked
through downtown Grand Rapids with Kristen. He noticed the illuminated
‘Russell Corporation’ sign at the top of the skyscraper in the distance.
Bruce and Kristen looked slightly older than their college selves. The
biggest difference lied in their demeanor. No longer were they two
college kids squeezing every drop out of life; they were now working
professionals. And with that came a difference in attitude: they were
more confident, more relaxed, and married.

A year after they graduated, Bruce surprised Kristen with a
trip to Las Vegas where, naturally, one thing led to another. In a
drunken stupor, they walked out of Vegas as a married couple. When the
news trickled to their friends and family, they reacted with a mix of shock,
surprise, and laughter. Bruce and Kristen went with it. And it
worked. They were an accidentally happily married couple.

Nothing would ever completely heal the loss of Sara.
But Kristen was the perfect stitch to keep the wound closed.

On this warm evening, Bruce held Kristen’s hand as they
walked through downtown. They just finished dining at an up-scale
restaurant and were now on their way to get some ice cream, just like on their
first date.

Kristen asked, “Is Chad still giving you a hard time at
work?”

Bruce laughed. “Chad’s an idiot. He still tries
to get under my skin but I ignore him. He’s just mad that he wrecked his
spine and never made it to the NFL... Two Michigan State quarterbacks in
a row that were robbed of their careers. Sad story isn’t it?”

Kristen slapped his shoulder. “Stop it!”

“What?”

“Making fun of my school.”

Bruce laughed.

Kristen continued, “Do you want me to call Vince?
Tell him to have his brother stop picking on you?”

“Chad’s not picking on me. I can wipe the floor with
him,” Bruce defended. Kristen was well aware of Bruce’s fighting
prowess. She witnessed it firsthand when she and Lisa held that party in
college.

“I don’t know Bruce, I think you’ve lost a couple steps.”

“Yeah ri…”

Before Bruce had a chance to finish his thought, a young
boy sped between them. He was black, wearing a backwards hat, and
speeding by on rollerblades. As he flew by, he tore Kristen’s purse out
of her hands. She stumbled and fell into Bruce’s arms as her purse fled
with the boy on rollerblades. Everything happened so fast, by the time
the purse was gone, Bruce hadn’t a clue what transpired.

“What just happened?”

Kristen yelled, “He stole my purse!”

“Stay here,” Bruce said, “I’m going to get your purse
back.” He bolted into action and ran after the boy who was fading away.

“Bruce, no!”

Bruce’s feet pounded on the concrete as he sprinted.
The boy was but a spec in the distance. “Someone stop him!” he
yelled. People idly stood by as Bruce ran by them. No Good
Samaritans in the city tonight.

The boy on rollerblades looked back to see if the coast was
clear. To his horror, a man was running after him. And closing in
on him. The boy desperately pushed his feet with all his might. The
wheels of his rollerblades furiously whizzed around. He dodged people who
were walking throughout the sidewalk. One unfortunate old woman who
wasn’t paying attention wound up falling backwards and losing her bag of
groceries as the boy zoomed by and narrowly averted a collision.

Bruce leapt over the old woman, determined to catch the
rollerblade boy. Bruce turned the corner, following the trail that was
left behind. In the distance, there was a wide flight of stairs leading
to some kind of government building. The boy carefully climbed the
stairs, step by painful step, and lost valuable time. This was Bruce’s
chance.

The boy’s heart raced as he struggled to climb. He
needed to be careful not to slip. Not only to avoid injury, but to avoid
the crazy man chasing him. He held on to a rail in the middle of the wide
stairs. He looked down at the man, who was now only about thirty steps
away and closing in.

Bruce flew up the stairs. The boy was almost within
reach and already in earshot. “Just give me the purse!” The boy
panicked and dropped the purse. He ducked under the handrail and rolled
to the other end of the stairs. He failed. Bruce was too
fast.

Bruce stood on the same step as the boy and picked up the
purse. The boy was physically and emotionally spent. He was young,
plainly still in grade school. He had to have been about 10 years
old. Bruce, out of breath, asked, “Where are your parents?”

The boy responded, “I don’t have parents.”

Bruce shook his head, not understanding.

“They’re dead.”

Sympathy grew within Bruce. The kid was just trying
to get by, doing it the only way he knew how. It wasn’t like Bruce hadn’t
found
himself
in any trouble at that age. He would give him some
money. Bruce put his hand in his pocket to grab his wallet. When
the boy saw this, he panicked. He didn’t know what the man was going to
pull out. A knife? The boy turned around and leapt onto a concrete
slab that ran parallel with the stairs. It was as a large, extravagant,
concrete handrail. It was wide enough to provide enough space for the boy
to easily balance on. This concrete rail ran all the way down to the
beginning of the stairs and would work as a ramp to get away.

“Hey!” Bruce yelled. When he saw the fixture the boy
was sliding down, he realized one thing:

This wasn’t good.

The fixture went down with the stairs but would inevitably
rocket the boy into the street, where he would be lucky not to get hit by a
car. And if he didn’t soar into the street, he would wipeout onto the
stairs at dizzying speeds.

There was no good ending to this.

The boy realized it too. A sense of dread came over
him. He couldn’t stop. His feet wobbled as he flew down the
concrete handrail. The wind blew in his face, taunting him. What
would he do? He had precious few seconds to decide. He would have
to jump onto the street and try to avoid the cars. Maybe he would get
lucky. But as he looked at the streets, there were dozens of cars
crossing in front of him every second. There would be no luck.
Maybe he would try to land on top of a car. The stairs next to him flew
by. He was moving faster than ever.

Bruce, with the purse over his shoulder, ran down the
stairs. He watched, terrified, as the boy torpedoed himself into the
street. Goosebumps popped up on his skin. He had seen a sight like
this before; he had felt this helpless feeling before. The night when
Rachel Ixley was killed by an oncoming truck. This sight was eerily
similar. Bruce watched as the boy came within feet of the street.
This was it.

“God help him,” Bruce uttered.

Traffic relentlessly flowed through. The boy launched
from his ramp and was sent flying through the air towards the street.
Bruce held his breath. So did the boy.

The boy was airborne. He was fated to meet head-on
with a car that would obliterate him. But miraculously, he was whipped
backwards, away from the street. All his forward momentum was halted as
his body contorted sideways. Bruce was shocked. The boy seemed to
be tackled by an invisible force that landed him on his side.

Impossible.

The boy’s eyes were slammed shut. When he opened
them, he saw he was on his side on the sidewalk next to the street. How
did that happen? He looked around. There were people who looked at
him with amazement. No one could discern what just happened.

It was a miracle.

Bruce ran down the stairs and approached the boy. He
knelt down and comforted him.

“Are you okay?”

The boy was dazed. “Yeah…”

“How did you do that?”

“I… I don’t know what happened. It felt like I was
pushed backwards.”

A woman approached, “You should thank your guardian
angel. He’s looking out for you.”

Bruce looked around. A couple yards away, hidden
under the bushes, he saw something that caught his attention: a green
hat. Bruce squinted as he tried to get a better look at it. He then
remembered where he had seen that hat. What just happened became clear to
Bruce. It wasn’t a guardian angel that saved the boy:

It was a repentant truck driver.

“Thank you,” Bruce whispered to himself. If the truck
driver was anywhere near, perhaps he could hear him. And perhaps he could
finally forgive himself for what he had done. Bruce looked back toward
the green hat. Naturally, it was gone. Bruce smiled.

“What’s your name?” Bruce asked the boy.

“Mikey.”

“I’m Bruce,” he said as he patted him on the back.
“You shouldn’t steal, Mikey. And maybe you should give up
rollerblading.” Mikey nodded. Bruce turned Mikey’s backward hat
forward.

A voice rang out amongst the crowd that had compiled around
them. “Should we call the police?”

Mikey’s eyes widened and his ears perked. Calling the
police would be bad.

“No,” Bruce proclaimed.

“But he stole that purse!”

“No he didn’t,” Bruce said, “He’s with me. We were
just playing around.”

Mikey looked at Bruce with great surprise. Huh?

The crowd implored him to call the police. Bruce
could hear them whispering and insisting police involvement. They
vilified Mikey, demanding justice.

Bruce stood up and yelled, “You all need to mind your own
business! If you don’t get out of here, I’ll give you a reason to call
the police.” Bruce gritted his teeth, practically growling at the crowd.

The crowd began to disperse. It was as simple as
that.

Bruce held his hand to Mikey, who was still sitting on the
ground. “Come on kid, let’s go.”

Bruce walked to his car.
He just
finished his meeting with X
at the Russell Corporation
skyscraper. As Bruce approached his car, he saw Mikey sitting in the
passenger seat. They smiled at each other and Bruce nodded at him.

Bruce opened the door and shifted into the driver’s
seat. Mikey asked, “How did it go?”

“Perfectly. He bought every word of it.”

Mikey was older now. A teenager. He was taller,
more muscular, and had a deeper voice. Star of the football team, he was
becoming as athletically skilled as Bruce. Bruce noticed Mikey wearing a
backwards hat. “What did I tell you about that, Mikey?”

Mikey turned his hat forward. “Sorry, Dad.”

Bruce buckled his seatbelt and started the car. Mikey
asked, “So what now?”

“We get ready. We’ll bring
him
in. And
then we’ll kill X and the disciples.”

Mikey smiled with satisfaction. Bruce interjected, “
You
won’t be killing anybody. You’re just helping. After next week,
this will all be over.”

Over a year before Bruce’s grand plan with Mikey, life was
good. While things were still sticky between him and Chad, Bruce had
succeeded in settling in as a teacher. He was the polar opposite of when
he started teaching and couldn’t retain the students’ attention more than five
minutes. Now, they respected him, engaged in conversation, and constantly
proved Chad wrong with their intellectual curiosity.

The school day was over and the Dennett family was at
home. Bruce was downstairs investigating the contents of the refrigerator
while Mikey sat in his room and diligently completed his math homework.
Kristen lay in bed and read a book. All was normal in the Dennett
household.

Or so it seemed.

Over the past few weeks, Mikey noticed a trend that seemed
out of place. On certain nights, his dad would leave for a few hours and
casually come back home. Where was he going? Bruce never mentioned
anything about it to anybody. Maybe he was getting drunk at the bars,
hitting up strip clubs, selling drugs… the possibilities were endless.

Tonight Mikey was going to find out.

Of course, only if his dad cooperated and left the house
again. Mikey sat at a desk in his room. A small lamp pointed at his
math homework, providing his only source of light. Mikey tapped his
pencil on the desk. Wait. Wait. Wait.

Finally, it happened. Bruce yelled to Kristen, “Going
out! Be back in a little bit!” Whenever he was going to his sneaky
place, he always yelled something to that effect. If he was just going to
the gas station, getting some milk, or doing something innocent, Bruce didn’t
say a word. He just left. So tonight, he wasn’t just going
out. No, he was going somewhere fishy.

When Mikey heard Bruce yell, he threw open the window to
his room and tossed out a rope that was tied to the windowpane. The rope
flapped to the grass below and waited for Mikey to climb down. Secure and
sturdy, it would easily handle his weight.

Mikey didn’t arrive at this day unprepared.

After climbing down the rope, Mikey ran around to the side of
the house. The sound of Bruce’s starting car filled the air. He
would be zipping out of the driveway any second. Mikey had precious
little time. He pulled a black tarp off of a motorcycle that leaned
against the side of the house. He had borrowed it from a friend at school
in exchange for test answers. Bruce and Kristen barely ever went to the
side of the house so it didn’t require an extensive hiding. Just a simple
tarp did the trick. The tiny motorcycle bordered on motorbike. It
wasn’t a powerful machine, but it would get him where he needed to go.

Tonight was the night Mikey would find out what his dad was
up to.

It was many years earlier, when Bruce had not yet
become one of X’s disciples.
Mikey had been on a long journey
from street rat to Bruce’s son. Bruce and Kristen often disagreed about
the extent to which they should help young Mikey. At first, she was
against helping him. He did steal her purse after all. But Bruce
felt a vast responsibility to help him. Why? It was a question even
he didn’t have the answer to. It could’ve been the fact that Mikey’s
parents were gone. It could’ve been the fact that saving Mikey was the
truck driver’s penance. But most likely, it was that Mikey reminded him
of himself. Defiant, intelligent, and athletic, Mikey’s personality was a
mirror image of Bruce’s confident-sarcastic self.

The two formed a naturally strong bond. They had
officially been father and son for little over two years. It was
symbiotic: Bruce was the father Mikey lacked and Mikey provided a young,
energetic attitude Bruce had been gradually losing. It took some time for
Bruce to get used to being called ‘Dad’, but he learned to embrace it.
Kristen eventually got used to being a mother too, once commenting that, “He
tried to steal my purse, but he ended up stealing my heart.” Eck.
She just couldn’t control her level of corny.

Bruce had taken up Mr. Ixley’s offer and was given a
teaching job. He stood at the front of a small classroom, housing roughly
20 students. An ordinary chalkboard stood behind him, with little written
on it. Bruce wore a ruffled collared shirt and tie. He maintained a
semi-clean appearance. Most of his students thought he was crazy.

“Desiderius Erasmus,” Bruce declared, looking at the empty
faces of his students. “Can anyone tell me the significance of Desiderius
Erasmus?”

No hands shot in the air. Bruce wasn’t
surprised. For sixth graders, they had no intellectual curiosity.
The students were more concerned with videogames, sports, and members of the
opposite sex. They stared at him blankly, mostly wondering when recess
would arrive. Bruce pointed at one of the girls, actively engaged in
twirling her hair. “How about you, Karen?”

She shrugged her shoulders, never taking her eyes off her
hair.

“Nothing? Did you read any of the handouts?”

“Nah,” she responded with a mouth full of gum.

Bruce continued in spite of the low interest from the
students. “Erasmus had a central disagreement with Martin Luther on the
idea of Free Will. I’m sure you remember the guy who nailed the 95 theses
to the door of a Catholic Church, ultimately starting the Protestant
Reformation…” Bruce looked at the students staring into space.
“Actually, you probably don’t remember that. Anyway, that was Martin
Luther, and he believed we had no Free Will. That we were instead
controlled by
God’s
will. To Luther, man had no choice at
all. So Karen, that means that no matter what I do, God has already
decided if any of this will ever make sense to you.”

Karen, with the palm of hand planted on the side of her
face, rolled her eyes. “Whatever, Mr. Dennett.”

Bruce continued, “And does anybody know what Mr. Erasmus
believed?”

A hand rose into the air. Bruce almost stumbled over
in astonishment. Someone actually raised his hand. Young, fat
little Joseph. Bruce knew that boy had potential.

“Yes, go ahead, Joseph. What do you think?”

Joseph asked in a monotone voice, “Umm… Can I use the
bathroom?”

Bruce’s bubble didn’t just burst. It exploded.
“Is it an emergency?”

Joseph furiously nodded his big head.

“Alright then go, get out of here.” Bruce was
disgusted. He stood corrected; Joseph had no potential. He was just
fat.

As Joseph ran out, Bruce continued, “Desiderius Erasmus
believed man
had
to have free will. And that we would be rewarded
or punished based on our choices.”

A hand sprung up. It was Karen’s. Probably had
to go to the bathroom too. “Yes, Karen?”

Karen sat up straight, folded her hands and said, “I agree
with Erasmus.”

Bruce tilted his head in surprise. A student engaging
in class discussion? And Karen, no less. Miracles do happen.
“And why do you think that, Karen?”

“Because God doesn’t tell me what to do. I do what I
want.”

“Interesting. Does anybody else have an opinion?”

DING. The bell sounded, signaling the end of
class. Too bad. They were just about to make some real
progress. Bruce watched as the students filed out. It was time for
recess.

Bruce sat behind his desk and kicked up his feet.
This was not the life he had envisioned for himself. He wouldn’t have
ever believed he’d be back teaching at the very grade school he grew up
in. It was the same school where he met Stephen. The same school
where he became rivals with Mr. Ixley. Ironic. But what else would he
do with a philosophy major? Big corporations didn’t exactly come knocking
on the doors of philosophy majors.

There was a knocking at his door. It was Chad
Kane. The principal. Vince’s brother. Bruce’s rival. No
matter how old Bruce was, he just couldn’t get along with principals.
Chad was a heavy-set man, not overly obese, but he packed on the pounds.
He hadn’t exactly taken care of himself since his college football days at
Michigan State. His bald head shined and illuminated the room. It
blinded Bruce as he entered.

“What can I help you with?” Bruce asked.

“What’s all this philosophical nonsense you’re teaching in
class?” he asked with that stupid voice of his.

“I’m enlightening the kids.”

“Can’t you just stick to the curriculum?”

“I can,” Bruce replied, “But I haven’t.”

Chad’s lips pursed in disapproval. “And that’s the
problem. Start sticking to it.”

Bruce pulled his feet off the desk. “Yes sir,” he
replied with irreverence.

Chad was about to leave. But he needed to stick in
just a few jabs. “Ixley isn’t with the school board anymore. We
have no loyalty to you, Bruce.”

“You mean
Mr.
Ixley.”

Chad raised his voice, “It doesn’t matter! Stick to
the course plan or you’re outta here! The kids don’t need to learn that
useless blather!”

Bruce turned his chair toward Chad. “I must
respectfully disagree with you, Chad. It isn’t useless. Someday,
maybe, you will be forced to think about something deeper than what sandwich
you’re going to devour next. And I hope to be there for that.”

Chad shook his head in disgust. “Sure Bruce.
Just make sure to pick up your mischief maker son from detention after school
today.”

Mikey was always at odds with the principal and couldn’t
keep himself out of trouble.

Like father, like son.

Deep under the confines of the Russell Corporation
headquarters, Bruce stood
in a dark hallway with X and another of his
disciples, John. They garbed their mandated blue robes, with the hoods
off resting on their backs. The lights above them were eerily dim.
To Bruce, the whole underground meeting place was downright creepy.
Everything was metallic: the walls, the doors, and the random poles sprawled
throughout. Every room of the massive facility looked the same.

X asked, “How is the progress on the Keres?”

John, one of the disciples, cautiously muttered, “Some of
the other disciples are starting to wonder what the point of startin’ over is.”

John was a feeble old man, well into his seventies.
He was one of the old-timers who was a part of the forest group Bruce and
Stephen terrorized with firecrackers years ago. John’s body was littered
with tattoos, most of them religious in nature. A cross was imprinted on
his shoulder and several bible verses were scrawled on his back. John was
arguably the most dangerous disciple among the twelve. He was known for
his short temper and often puzzling decision making.

X responded, “They question the will of God?”

John scowled. “It ain’t that. They been workin’
hard. Dealing with things they ain’t never seen before. They ain’t
gonna keep goin’ without an explanation.”

X stoically stared at John and gripped his staff. It
was always tempting to use, but he seldom did. X stated, “God has given
every man the ability to choose good or evil in their lives. We have
chosen good. Tell the disciples we are allowing the rest of the world to
make that choice.”

Bruce was confused. How did that make sense?

X continued, “I once knew for a short time the man who is
spreading the lies.”

John seethed through his teeth, “And who is that?”

“Stephen Pandora.”

Stephen’s name smacked Bruce right in the face. He
didn’t expect to hear X utter it.

Bruce asked, “Stephen Pandora?”

“Always so curious,” X said with a hint of suspicion.
He leaned in to Bruce. “You’re so much smarter than the rest of them. Why
don’t we go for a walk?”

Bruce had instant reason for concern. It wasn’t
necessarily safe to be alone with X at any time. John seethed as X led
Bruce away.

They walked down a long circular corridor that looked like a
cramped sewer tunnel. The corridors connected all the rooms of the
underground base and at the end of the hallway was the infamous Keres, the
super-weapon that would soon hold the capability to destroy the world.
The corridor was dark and desolate, with sparsely few light bulbs providing
glimpses of light. Their voices echoed as they spoke.

Bruce asked, “Is there somewhere in particular we’re
going?”

“We’re going for a walk,” X replied.

Great. The king of the obvious.

“You know Bruce, I am simply a messenger. A
prophet. The modern day John the Baptist. I am just paving the way
for Him.”

“Of course,” Bruce answered reverently.

“There is an angel that tells me what to do. He has
been instructing me and overseeing the Keres. Truthfully, I too sometimes
worry about getting to start over and changing our lives. But I have
faith. Faith that God will grant us our Free Will.”

Bruce didn’t know if they were doomed to repeat their
lives. But if Stephen said that was the case, then that’s what Bruce
believed. Free Will or not.

X reached a door. It was infinitely strong, the only
one of its kind in the corridor. X taking him into that room was
worrisome. There was no getting in or out if it was locked. None of
the disciples had ever been in this room. X had strictly forbidden
it. Nonetheless, X and Bruce entered.

Bruce was stunned when he saw the details of the
room. The ceilings shot high above and in front of him was a steel wall
that spanned the height of the room. Embedded on the steel wall was a
giant logo he’d come to know well: an X with a circle around it. It
towered over Bruce. Beneath it was another steel door.

“Where’s the door go?”

“Just another one of the corridors,” X replied.

Bruce wandered around the room. As he neared the
giant X, he noticed another familiar sight. On the ground was another X
circle. It looked just like the X formation he found in the forest.
It was just about the same size. Only this formation was full of water;
the X was submerged.