The Prophet Motive

 “TESTIFY”, “TESTIFY”, the light on the steeple flashes. A swarm forms in response.  From the warren of alleyways south of Main, skid row denizens march towards the bright red letters blinking on Angelino Heights.  The sound is of ancient flight, the creaking of carts.  A procession of homeless trudge across the freeway overpass downtown pushing shopping carts filled with belongings.  

    Natalie and Jake are somewhere in the middle of the caravan. Each has a cart.  There’s just enough room on the sidewalk for them to stay abreast.  It’s near midnight, yet a considerable number of cars pass beneath.  The galaxy of headlights emit a ghostly glow, and din from the traffic makes it hard for Jake to hear what Natalie’s excitedly telling him.

    “He has a power that’s a wonder to behold.  You feel it come inside you.”

    “He ask for money?  Preacher’s always seem to,” Jake sourly observes.

    To ward off the late October chill, the pair wear layers of clothing from Goodwill.  The dowdy apparel coupled with grime ages them.  Both are thirty-seven, but could be taken for fifty  They share as well in the sour smell seeping from the line that mingles with up-welling exhaust.

    “No, prophet’s a giver not a taker.  I still feel tingly from coming here last night.  It’s too bad we weren’t together then because, baby, I was supercharged,”  Natalie says as they reach the end of the sidewalk.

   They ease their carts off the curb to pavement.  The profusion of litter indicates carts capsized here.  Jake grabs a colorful scarf off the ground but throws it down after seeing it’s stained with filth.

    “Yeah, and I spent the night in the drunk tank.  Don’t remind me,” he says.

    “I didn’t say nothing, but hang on to your hat, mister,  cuz I’ve come back for more.”

    They’re in a pack scurrying up a street of vacant lots and derelict buildings that ends at a churchyard.  The throng rushes through a large parking lot then bottles up at the front stairs of the church.  A narrow handicapped ramp provides the only way in for carts.  There’s a chorus of curses and a crashing of metal, but quiet descends at the threshold as if commanded.  Huge double doors of black wood are open wide.

    “Let’s try and get as close to the stage as possible so we can see him real good.  He’s up there already.  See,”  Natalie says once they’ve made it inside.

    Cavernous and bare, the interior’s an empty hall with a shallow proscenium along the front that rises a bit less than five feet above the floor.  A middle-aged white male stands motionless center stage.

    “I see him.  He don’t look like nothing special to me,” Jake says.

    A spotlight focuses on the man dressed in blue business suit..  The brilliant beam activates the figure.  Flapping his arms like a spasmodic puppet, he starts to goosestep across the stage.

    “Are you ready to testify?” The man repeatedly shrieks.

    The assembly of around two hundred responds with increasing enthusiasm.  Hoots and hollers ring through the room.  Cries of “Lord, it’s prophet,” “That’s prophet talken,” “Say it prophet,” and the like are proclaimed with awestruck fervor.   

    Jake and Natalie edge forward losing themselves to the enchantment that has suddenly gripped the crowd rendering one and all void of thought and volition. Enraptured, the couple abandon the carts filled with all their possessions and move ahead in a daze.  Their steps don’t cease until they bump into the stage.   

    After reaching the left end of the proscenium, prophet pirouettes and struts back to the right.  His voice grows louder and more hysterical.

     “Then I give you a testimonial.  We have the power.  Let me hear you stamp your feet one time”

    The crowd complies.

   “Let me hear you stamp your feet two times.”

    The response is more energetic.

    “Let me hear you stamp your feet three times.”

    Four times, five times, six times, seven times.  People are jumping up and down like they’re on Pogo sticks.  Jake and Natalie embrace  in a swoon, decouple, and stare up at he form onstage in a trance.  Prophet stops dead center facing the flock.  His voice grows ever louder.

    “Send prophet’s message down through the floor.  Send prophet’s message out through the door.  Tell the world with your feet.  Time is now.  Feel the beat.”

    A church bell has has begun to toll the hours.  Prophet shrilly continues.

    “We gonna shake this city down.  Spread prophet’s word around.  No more living in poverty.  Pay the price to be free.”

    At the bell’s twelfth gong, the congregation gasps.  Prophet’s vanished taking with him the mesmeric hold that kept everyone in place.  Jake and Natalie rush to reclaim their carts.  Side-doors have mechanically banged open.  There are a dozen ways out, and it’s an unruly mob  that races for the exits.   

    Jake and Natalie end up in a walkway breathlessly discussing where they can set up their tent so they can be together and relieve their hyper-charged state.    They pause briefly to paw one another before grabbing back hold of their carts. When they reach the parking lot, they see a dozen some police cars parked with lights flashing.

    “Let’s try and sneak past them along here,”  Jake says.

    Natalie pushes her cart behind his along a wall by the dumpsters.  A pair of policeman stop them at the sidewalk.

    “Hey Jake, remember me?”  one of them asks.

    “What you want with us?  We weren’t doing nothing,” Jake complains.

    He recognizes the cop who busted him last night.

    “Its nothing like that.  Maybe you two can help us out.  We’re looking to get a line on the preacher man that’s taken over this church,” the other cop says.

    “What you want to know?  We’ve never met the man”  Natalie says.

    Shamed by her messy looks, she lurks in the shadows just beyond the oval of light illuminated by a streetlamp.

    “Well mam, I’ll tell it to you straight. On Monday, this fella opens a church for midnight services.  By Tuesday, he’s got a crowd of homeless coming up here, and after the service, we notice a lot of vandalism in the neighborhood.  Last night the crowd was bigger, and things got uglier.  Businesses were broken into, and a mess of folks took to fighting.  There were multiple stabbings, and a couple of people are in intensive care.  Tonight, the mob’s bigger yet, and they seem, how should I put it?  Energized.”

    The cop looks at Jake as if to confirm that he’s made the right word choice.  He continues after Jake’s noncommittal shrug.   

    “Anywho, tomorrow ain’t just a Friday night, it’s Halloween.  So we want to know what the man’s got planned.”

    “We can’t tell you anything.  Didn’t you hear what I said?  We don’t know him,” Natalie says.

    She steps into the light as she speaks.  Her attention is then caught by confusion from the street.  Police are using megaphones to order people to disperse.  They’re pulling individuals aside for questioning seemingly at random.

    “We’d like to put you in touch with him around three tomorrow afternoon.”
    It’s the cop who busted Jake talking.   

    Jake stands squarely before him to ask, “And just why would we do this?”

    “You remember what you told me last night, Jake?  How you wanted a place where you and your wife could get off the streets.  Well, we can get you into public housing.  We’ll guarantee that in writing.  Say yes, and you’ll also get a chit to stay at the Cecil Hotel tonight.  Not the best, but not bad.   Tomorrow morning we’ll even rustle up some clean clothes for you.  What do you say?”

   Both say yes.  Natalie more eagerly

   They get more than just second hand outfits.  Police escort Jake to a menswear shop for sports coat and slacks and then to a barber for haircut and shave.  Natalie gets a nice dress and shoes.  She also gets her hair done at a beauty shop.  The pair are reunited at Denny’s.  Each is astonished and delighted by their spouse’s upgrade, but before they can do anymore than clasp hands and smile at one another, the police turn them over to pair of men who identify themselves as Homeland Security agents.

    “Hello, hello.  Do sit down,” one of them says pulling a chair out from the table for Natalie.

    Jake sits opposite the younger man who signals the waitress over.

   “Coffee everyone?”  He asks.

    The whole table nods.  The waitress comes right over with a coffeepot and remains to take their orders.   

    “Are you gonna tell me this prophet guy’s a terrorist?  Is that why Homeland Security’s involved?”  Jake asks once the waitress leaves.

    The younger guy answers.

    “What brought us in is that light flashing up there on his church.  The FAA registered a complaint right off.  This got investigated by several government agencies before we got involved.”

    “What’s wrong with the light?” Natalie asks.

    The older man opposite her answers.

    “It isn’t plugged into anything.  The FBI had technicians with all kinds of equipment on the roof when the sign lit up night before last.  After analyzing the feeds, the techs determined the power came from a point about a million miles out in space.  They haven’t been able to detect anything in that vicinity.  They can’t even decide what kind of energy’s being transmitted.”

    “They use the word strange a lot. Some kind of radiation saturates about a hundred acres of South Central when those lights come on, and it focuses on the church as well.  After an hour, everything shuts off at midnight, ” the younger guy adds.

    “Oh, so now you’re telling me prophet’s from outer space?”  Jake exclaims.

    He speaks loudly enough for others in the restaurant to look around.  Normally Natalie would be embarrassed by such a display of temper from her hot headed hubby, but Jake looks so fine in his fancy clothes.  With his new haircut and shave, he’s downright handsome.

    “We’re not prepared to tell you anything about him.  We’re hoping you two will help us find out something, anything about him,” the younger guy says.

    “And just how we supposed to do that?” Natalie asks.

    The older fellow lets her know.

    “He won’t talk to anybody from government, but he’s agreed to answer questions from a couple parishioners.  His definition of parishioners covers anybody at Thursday’s service.  For identification purposes, he told us to pick a couple upfront because they’re on videotape.  We had plants in the crowd.  We know you two qualify.”

    It’s the younger guy’s turn to speak, and he fidgets nervously as he does so.

    “We know we’re asking a lot.   This is getting investigated as cautiously as possible.  They’d have just shut the church down, but that got ruled too risky.  This is considered the safest way to proceed.  You’ll be taking a chance for sure, but we’ll make it worth your while.”

    “I ain’t agreeing to shit before I eat me some steak,” Jake says.

    He’d ordered the most expensive item on the menu, a one pound porterhouse.  It’s been a long time since having such a treat, and his taste buds rev up as the waitress approaches loaded down with plates.  The older man leans towards Natalie and gives her a salesman’s smile before speaking.

    “Would you like dental implants, Natalie?”

    The question hangs in the air amid the clattering of plates and rearranging of orders, club sandwiches for the agents, Chicken Alfredo for Natalie, and the aforementioned steak along with fries.  The sheer normality of all this maneuvering lets Jake relax, and he start chowing down on the beef.  Natalie is staring out into space.

    “Go ahead and eat, honey,” Jake says noticing the faraway look in his wife’s blue eyes.

    They really are lovely, and he vows to tell her so once they’re alone.

    “Jake, medicaid won’t even give me a root canal,” she says.

    “That’s right.  They only cover yanking teeth out.  You had one pulled last year, didn’t you?”  The younger agent says in a voice that signals the answer’s already known.

    “You still have that gap in your lower jaw?”  The older man asks.

    “Well why don’t you just tell us if she got that filled, or is there something about us you don’t already know?”  Jake loudly demands.

    It catches the attention of the entire restaurant.

    “Easy, easy,” the older agent cautions.  “We’re going to take good care of you.  Not just your teeth, whatever it takes: cash bonus to kit yourself out, a monthly stipend to get you going.  We'll put you in a decent apartment in a respectable neighborhood and see you get decent jobs making decent money.  For now, let’s just finish our food and head over to the church for your appointment.”

    .Natalie picks at her plate barely eating at all.  When they get  outside, she doesn’t want to get in the car with these guys.  It takes some doing for Jake to persuade her.  He doesn’t feel good about having to do it.  On the ride to the church, the men keep reassuring her that everything will be okay.  Jake can tell she did’t buy it by the way he has to drag her along as they’re escorted through the rear of the building.   

    He doesn’t feel good about this either, or hearing his wife lament, “Those two big, strong Homeland Security agents just dump us here in the sacristy to  face God knows what.”

    “Relax, they explained everything to do right down to where to sit.” Jake says.

    A pair of tabernacle chairs are set at the far end of the narrow room.  The vestibule is lined with shallow closets and cabinets.  Long handled collection plates, and immense candlesticks are fixed into wall brackets.  There’s a small sink above a mini fridge, and the place smells of incense and cedar.

       As soon as they seat themselves, prophet jerkily strides into the room.  Jake blurts out the first question Homeland Security gave him to ask.

    “Where are you from?”

    “I’m inherent in all matter and in all that matters.”

    Jake whistles appreciatively and shakes his head.

    “I don’t know what that means, but I know they’re not gonna like it,” he says.

    Prophet is pacing.  He looks comical with his high kicking strut.  It’s the only thing distinctive about him.  Natalie considers how to describe the man.  Nothing comes to mind other than average.  

    “Jake, let me ask the next one,” she says.

    “Be my guest, darling.”

    Natalie checks the paper she was given back at Denny’s to make sure she gets it right.

    “Are you following any orders?”

    “I hate order,” prophet says freezing momentarily.

    As he reanimates his arms flail about, and his voice rises in volume and intensity.

    “When earth was a molten mass, I could revel in the swirling gases, but then shapes started forming, and a rage came into me that’s never passed.  When mountains rose up, rains were sent downto wear them away and water covered the land, but this only created new  patterns, tides, currents, thermoclines, a tyranny of order which I can’t abide.  Just because I’m chaos, don’t  think I don’t plan.   Ten times ten million times lightning bolts came down until one time, and don’t you know it only had to be the one time, the right  batch of matter got hit, and life rose from the impact.  From that point onward, I knew there would never be order on earth.  Life would see to that.  Periodically, the process of dissolution I represent is accelerated through a direct intervention such as this.  There’s no set interval or method.  With chaos, there wouldn’t be, but such phenomenon occurs across all space and time.”

    “I can’t figure anything you’re saying.  Listen, we’re trying to put our lives in order, and there’s people now to help us do just that.  The deal is we first gotta ask you a bunch of shit.  The law’s got you figured as part of some evil cult or better yet, from outer space.”

    “Jake, they warned us to just ask the questions.”

     “I figured he should know what’s up.   If we level with him, maybe he levels with us.”

    Jake and Natalie exchange anxious glances as prophet paces silently seemingly oblivious to their presence.   Jake sighs emphatically and begins reading from his sheet.

    “Alright, alright then, question number three: what power source lights up the sign flashing “TESTIFY”?”

   “The letters themselves contain storage and conversion components charged by the  focusing of cosmic rays. The amount of energy required is a pittance compared to the power used in the force field projected over South Central.  You’ve  felt those effects.  It brought you here,” prophet says.

    He stops at the doorway and turns to face Jake who asks, “What’s that force field for?”  

    A more honed variation of this question actually is on the list.  Jake just hasn’t read down that far.

    “Come, I’ll show you,” prophet says and slips out  into the hall.

    After another exchange of anxious glances, Jake and Natalie take off after. They spot prophet opening a door down the corridor and walking through.  At the doorway, they see his legs climbing a stairway that doubles back on itself.  Jake and Natalie climb up to a small square room with a very tall ladder at center.  There’s an open door that gives a view out to the church roof.  Their cop buddies are standing some thirty feet distant and give them a wave.

    “He went up,” one of the cops shouts pointing at the ladder.

     “Didn’t look like he climbed.  His hands held the rails, and it looked like he got yanked up,” the other says.

    “You stay here.  I’m going up,” Jake says.

    “You be careful,” Natalie cautions.   

    She gives Jake’s left bicep a squeeze kneading the flesh beneath his swell new  sports coat.  The muscle feels strange to her, doughy, like something malleable set to be molded afresh.  It makes her shudder.  She can’t bear to watch her husband climb any higher and so looks out the door at the policeman who are busy on their phones.

    Jake has never scaled a ladder near this tall.  It’s truly nerve wracking, and gets more so at the frighteningly open apex.  He keeps tight grip on a rung and carefully steps onto the narrow walkway that lines the perimeter.  The thought that the tower below contains lights powered from outer space adds to his worry.  Wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, Jake then grabs one of the four metal beams that slant inward to a pinnacle that supports the decorative cupola.  Aside from these thick rods of steel, there’s just empty space along the sides, and Jake judges the drop down to the roof at forty something feet.  Prophet stands along the west edge.  His shoe tips jut over the void.  The gray sheen of ocean can be seen beyond fifteen miles of cityscape.

   “Tonight a force field will extend to the sea.  This shall summon legions in costume ready for havoc.  You and your wife will be focal points of the night's festivities.  Make sure you’re armed,” prophet says.

    Then he jumps.

    “Holy shit,” Jake exclaims.

    He leans as far over as nerve allows but can’t spot where the man fell.  Jake rushes down the ladder a lot faster than he went up,  

    “Were you looking out the door just now? Did you see the guy drop?” He asks Natalie.

    She shakes her head.  The one cop doesn’t believe Jake when he says prophet jumped and mutters, “Lordy, Lordy.”.  The pair had turned away while each took a call from headquarters.   

    After listening to Jake repeat, best as remembered, prophet’s statements, the other cop says, “Well’ I don’t think we need Homeland Security to get you two costumes.”

    The pair of Homeland Security agents stationed on the roof think otherwise and haughtily assert jurisdiction.  Jake sees pretty plain the cops don’t much like these guys.  They aren’t the pair as from Denny’s, but in the same mold, clean cut, immaculately attired, and oddly detached. Natalie voices her mistrust of the men to Jake in a whisper as they’re ushered out of the church.

    “I don’t like or trust these jokers,” Jake says loudly enough for the agents to overhear.

   Not bothering to introduce themselves, the men remain silent on the drive to the nearby police headquarter.  The couple’s reception inside Parker Center is far more rude.  Jake and Natalie are separated right off despite Jake’s vociferous objections, and Natalie stamping her feet.  They’re simply overwhelmed.  Six agents enforce their division.

    Jake ends up in a dingy waiting room under the watchful eye of a uniformed policeman who sits behind a counter rummaging through paperwork and occasionally responding to phone calls.  Every few minutes Jake inquires about his wife, but the officer pleads ignorance and tells him to be patient and wait.

    “I’ve already waited here an hour,” Jake finally yells.

    “Okay, bud.  Sit tight, and  I’ll check what the holdup is,” the cop says exiting the room.

    Soon as he’s gone, Jake tries the door he was brought through.  It’s locked so he hoists himself over the counter and follows the route the cop took out.

    He wanders down a hallway past a room full of detectives, a fingerprint lab, and evidence room somewhat shocked not to be stopped.   Indeed, the two cops that pass smile and say “afternoon.”In the restroom after pissing, Jake takes a long look in the mirror and concludes clothes do make the man.

    “I could get hired cuz I look respectable,” he says.

    “You surely do,” a cop says coming out of a stall.

    Embarrassed, Jake beats a hasty retreat.  He opens the door across the hall to what looks like a motel room  There’s a double bed with table lamps on nightstands to either side.  An oil painting of the Grand Canal in Venice hangs above the headboard.

    “What’s this? He asks the cop coming out of the bathroom.

    “Oh that’s for conjugal visits.  Yeah, they sometimes bring guys over from the jail to be with their old ladies.”

     “Hey, you’re not allowed here.  I told you to wait out in reception,” the cop from behind the counter says storming towards him.

     “I’m looking for my wife,” Jake says.

     “We’ll take you to your wife.  We just need to talk to you alone for a minute” someone behind him says.

      Jake wheels around. A large man in a suit is standing nearly on top of him.

    “Come with me,” the fellow orders.

     With two  cops and the suit surrounding hmm, Jake’s sees no other option.

     Three doors down, he’s led into an interrogation room and told once again to wait.  

    This room’s empty save for a table with two chairs on one side and one on the other  where Jake’s been instructed to sit.  The wall he faces is mirrored.  No doubt people are watching on the other side.   Jake’s tempted to moon them.  There isn’t a clock on the wall.  Without a watch, he can’t tell how much time elapses.  It feels like forever.  Jake can’t figure out if the delay’s due to uncertainty and confusion on the part of the authorities or if it’s some kind of tactic.  Every few minutes he hollersa demand to see Natalie.  There’s no response.

    At last, two men enter and sit opposite him.  They aren’t the two guys from Denny’s, or the men who drove them over, or any of the people seen so far around Parker Center,  These two seem sterner, Jake thinks, sadder’s his subsequent conclusion.

    Before he can demand to see his wife, one of the agents bursts out, “He wants you to shoot him.”

   “What?” Jake shouts.

    “He just gave us the word it’s the only thing that will halt the contagion,” the second guy says.

    “What\s that supposed to mean?” Jake demands.

    “We don’t know.” the first guy says.

    “Do you want me to shoot him?”  

   Jake looks from one guy to the other.  The two men give each other searching glances before the first man replies, doling out words like each one weighed a ton.

    “We’re dealing with a set of inexplicables here so we need to remain open to all possibilities.”

    “That’s mealy mouthed mush,” Jake bellows.

     “Sure as hell is,” the guy who just spoke admits.

    He lays a snub nose 38 on the table close to Jake.

    “Ever use one of these?”  He asks.

    Jake understands they’ve searched his records and know he’s a vet with excellent scores in marksmanship, and also that he was busted a couple years back for illegal possession of just  such a weapon.  .  He slowly reaches for the pistol watching for reactions from the men.  They remain solemn and unflinching as he picks the piece up and flips the cylinder open.  All six chambers contain a bullet.   

    Jake doesn’t point the gun, but he’s holding it when he says.“Take me to my wife.

    “Sure thing, boss,” the younger guy says.

    “What time is it, anyway?”  Jake asks him.

    “Eight nearly, no eight exact.”

   “Geeze, you bastards really did keep me waiting in there forever.  Still, there’s time.  Okay, here’s the deal.  You want me to do anything, you got to bring Natalie to that conjugal room and don’t come knocking till ten.”

    “Whatever you say.  We’re gonna take care of you guys,” the older man says.

    “Yeah?  Well then be sure to pick up a sorcerer’s costume for me and something nice and fairy princess like for my wife.”

     Despite sharing intimacy, Jake opts not to inform Natalie about prophet’s request, nor that he’s been given a gun.  He has trouble enough dealing  with the demand prophet’s made on his wife.

    “Why does he want you climbing that ladder up to the steeple?”  He asks.

    “They don’t know.”

    “That figures.”

    They’re putting on the costumes whose delivery a few minutes back finally got them out of bed.

    “They said prophet told them there’d be trouble all over town if I didn’t.  Jake, I’m scared to climb up there.”

    “Don’t worry, you won’t have to.”

    There’s an insistent knocking at the door, and someone calls out, “Hey, hurry up in there.  We got to get going.”

    “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be out in a minute.  Listen, hon, I’ll climb the damn ladder.  Prophet’ll be up there, pretty sure of that, and I’ll just tell him flat out that there’s no way in hell I’m going to let my wife do something so dangerous.”

    On the drive to the church, the pistol stiffed in his pants’ pocket presses against Jake’s leg like an evil appendage uncomfortably close to his cock.  He tries to concentrate on how pretty in pink Natalie looks in her fairy princess outfit.  His sorcerer garb’s quite cool as well, but the conical hat’s too tall to wear in the car.  He leaves it on the backseat after recalling the ladder that’s to be climbed.

    There are agents aplenty on the church roof.  The profusion of portable lights on stands make the place bright as day.  Jake and Natalie are the only nongovernmental personnel among the two dozen people milling around long tables loaded with keyboards, hard drives, and large screen monitors.   Jake and Natalie are free to wander and watch the tech crews calling up sites on screen,  They end up staring out at the  actual view.

    The city has started to burn.  Flickers of flames rise down by the ocean as the sign on the steeple flashes “TESTIFY”.  There’s commotion at a nearby table, and Jake and Natalie hurry over to see what’s happening.  They’re riveted by the scene onscreen.  The shops lining the boardwalk at Venice Beach are being torched by mobs garbed as werewolves, vampires, and other Halloween favorites.  The image abruptly shifts to a shot of the passage where the Santa Monica Freeway curves under a viaduct onto Pacific Coast Highway.  A truck carrying gasoline lays on its side athwart the maw of the tunnel.  Its ruptured tank pours flaming fuel onto the pavement as revelers dance along the edge of the fiery flood.  Some dart to their death straight into the conflagration.  Others are shoved in.

     “It’s awful,” Natalie says.

     She points out to Jake the helicopter taking off from Parker Center.  It hovers a couple hundred feet up in the air.  A second rises beside it and then a third.  The triumvirate flies west towards the ocean.  From the south, at a distance, comes a squadron of seven helicopters launched from the military bases by the port.  Multiple speakers  along the tables blare a cacophony of orders megaphoned by police.  Their amplified commands mingle with screams and laughter from rioters.   

    A new set of helicopters fly in from the north.  These four are from local television stations.  They take up positions at cardinal points around the church, a hundred yards out and above.

    “Jake, Natalie, come up, come up wherever you are.”

     Prophet’s voice calls out from somewhere above.  Jake turns around and scans up the steeple.  Prophet’s standing in the opening up by the cupola.  When Jake turns back around at Natalie’s tug, he see a phalanx of five men fast bearing down on them.

     “You guys got to go up there,” one of them shouts.

    There’s desperation in the voice.

   “The city’s burning.  You gotta help us make him stop it.”

    Their entreaties are not what moves Natalie.  Her feet rise a few inches up in the air, and she’s whisked across the roof screaming, a low flight fairy princess.  Jake sprints after her, but can’t keep up as she shoots up the ladder.  Jake climbs after, but can’t spot Natalie up  top.  Prophet stands along the narrow west walkway back-lit by flames from the city.

   “What have you done with her?” Jake shouts.

     He pulls the pistol out of his pants and aims it at the figure standing a yard in front of him.

    “To see her you must shoot me,” prophet calmly replies.

    “What?  Why?”

    “Nothing so agitates like tragic drama.  Such sorrow thus furthers my plan.  Not only is this being televised live to a large audience, but it will be replayed over and over spreading more confusion with each repetition.   

    “I’m not a living creature so don’t let my well-being concern you’” prophet adds after a pause.

    “Jake, he’s putting a pain in me,” Natalie wails.

    “You bastard,” Jake shouts and unloads the gun point blank into prophet.

    Jake hears his wife scream and then a thud as something sizable hits the deck.  Prophet’s stands unmoved, apparently unhurt.  Jake rushes at him.  He runs right through the figure and trips onto his wife body laying prone on the walkway.  Jake’s looking down at Natalie’s dead, glassy eyes.  He hears the whoosh of helicopter blades and can feel turbulence in the air as they move closer on all sides.  Jake rolls over and stares back up at prophet.  

    “You ain’t real,” he says.

    Prophet spreads his arms out towards the city.  It appears monumental

and vast, like something the Maya might have abandoned.

    “I am the unmaking of all of this.  Nothing lasts forever.  I am nothing.  What therefore follows?”

    “What are you saying?” Jake cries out.

    Raising his hands heavenward, prophet leaps towards the stars proclaiming, “I am forever.”

The end