John Frum The Reluctant Messiah

Hello And Goodbye

"Hello Miriam."

John and Miriam never expected that voice to greet them as they emerged from the bush. It was a voice with a French accent, it was familiar, it was the voice of Gerard, John's uncle. Standing on the beach, leaning on one of the many giant rocks that peppered that section of shoreline, an old Russian Mosin Nagant rifle slung over his shoulder. Miriam stopped; her smile replaced with the look of panic which was quickly replaced by the look of anger. John was confused. Professor Wharton was supposed to be there waiting. He was the only one who knew of John's plans to retrieve his mom. John was careful to hide his growing suspicions of his uncle.

"Hey, hi. Everything alright? Where's the professor? What are you doing here?" John asked.

"He's fine," his uncle flatly stated.

"If what you mean by fine is lying face down in the dirt unconscious..." a gravelly voice yelled from behind a boulder. It was hard to tell who it was. John thought it might be an injured Professor Wharton and started to run towards the voice, but he was mistaken. A bloodied and broken Fletcher Howard appeared from behind the rock and began to stumble over to where they stood. Gerard rolled his eyes.

"Must you?" he said, almost bored.

"Yes. Yes actually. I must and I will..." Fletcher said, pausing briefly to spit out blood. "Gerry."

"I'll handle this!" barked Gerard.

"Oh really? Like the way you handled everything at the trial?"

"Shut up!!"

"That didn't work out so well for me, did it? You said you had your boy here under control. You said he'd walk right in and we'd have 'em. Piece of cake."

"Gerard! How could you?!?" cried Miriam.

"Fils de pute!" chided Gerard. Oh, shut up Miriam!" 

Fletcher's bloody face revealing a look of utter contempt. "If you had taken up with me rather than Frenchy here you could have had a normal life. A good life! But no, you chose him. You put yourself in that prison. You gave me no choice!!"

Gerard had heard enough. A lifetime of deceit was far too difficult to reflect upon and Fletcher's words were now becoming too much of a mirror. It wasn't going to get any prettier by allowing him to go on and he never much cared for Fletcher Howard anyway. He reached across his chest to the canvas strap that held the Nagant at his shoulder and was in the process of sliding it into position when Fletcher sprung at him like a hungry leopard. It caught Gerard by complete surprise and in an instant, Fletcher was somehow behind him and had ensnared his neck in the rifle's shoulder strap. One swift kick from the back to Gerard's groin and Gerard's knees quickly buckled and folded beneath him. Fletcher stomped his foot into Gerard's back and while still choking him attempted to turn the barrel towards John and his mother. John wasted no time and charged him. The crack of the round as it left the Nagant's long barrel made John instinctively throw his head to the left and as the bullet passed, it passed by so closely that he could feel the air being sucked out of his head. John was able to get behind him and apply a choking head lock he'd learned in one of his Aikido classes. He applied it just as he had been instructed and within seconds the struggling Fletcher Howard dropped like a fifty pound bag of jasmine rice.

"It works. Holy shit, it works!" an out of breath John muttered.

A recovered Gerard rushed the lifeless Fletcher intent on finishing him with his 5-inch survival knife, but Fletcher had one last hateful surprise in-store for his boss. A 7-inch knife of his own concealed in his boot now held at arm's length pointed directly at the charging Colonel. He jumped to his feet, extended his arm, and watched as Gerard ran himself onto the sharpened steel. There was a horrific look of disbelief on Gerard's face as the knife buried itself deep into his chest. Fletcher grabbed him by the collar and held him on the knife while staring at him. He tilted his head as if studying him. He had no doubt done this countless times in his mind and one got the sense that this long-awaited moment was a moment he was savoring. John picked up the vintage rifle and slammed the heavy, wooden butt end into the eyes of Mr. Howard, sending him reeling backwards on his heels. His shoe caught the gnarled branch of a driftwood log that had washed onto the sand, sending him back onto a group of small boulders sticking out of the sand. The back of his head smashed against the rock with a sickening thud. John was convinced that there would be no more surprises. He turned back to his mom who was sitting in the sand and looked at her as if to say he was sorry. Sorry she had to re-enter the world she had left so many years ago only to witness such horror and disappointment.

"Are you OK?" he said gently.

She smiled at him and gently shook her head no.

"No. No, I'm not."John looked down at her hands covering her stomach. They were bloody. Very bloody.

"No no no no no!!!

John scooped her up and began running towards the interior's exit point.

"It won't work that way. It's an exit." Miriam whispered.

"It has to work." an exasperated John declared. John lowered his head, exhaled, and stepped in. He laid her down on the soft, dry moss and began to tend to her wounds.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything" Miriam said through her tears.

"I can fix you."

"I'm sure you believe you could," she said with a smile. "But I doubt it."

"I can!!"

"I doubt it, John. I...me. My believing determines my fate. You cannot determine someone else's believing, no matter how well intentioned. You became such a handsome boy... Use your knowledge for good...for good..." 

Her voice trailed off. She coughed; her breathing became elevated and shortened. She reached up and touched his face.

"Your father no longer needs to protect you. He'll join you soon and then I can finally rest. " 

She took a long, death rattling breath.

"I have my wish now."

Her eyes left his and quietly closed. John felt a hand touch his shoulder. It was one of the three elders.

"We shall tend to her. You must go now. They come tomorrow.  You must stop them. There is a portal at the base of Mt. Yasur. They will come from there. They will come to do battle."

John wasn't hearing much of what they said. He was battling his own body that wanted to flood him with tears of despair and grief. The pressure behind the eyes, his nose beginning to fill, his throat clamped, desperate to hold himself in check. His brain trying to process the loss of his mom, the loss of the man who raised him, the outrage that accompanied the onset of betrayal as it replaced a lifetime of trust. It was all a bit too much to comprehend.

The second elder spoke."Come, we will show you a different way out."

"I can't. I mean not yet. I have to go back for Professor Wharton,he's hurt and-"

"We have attended to him. We will take you to him. Come. Hurry. This way."

In what can only be described as a conscious coma, John followed them without question and disappeared back once again into the interior.