Tribulation House: Reloaded

Chapter 67

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I finally admitted it to myself: I had lost my way. Had not been back home for several days. I was afraid to go back. Surely someone would be looking for me there. The police. The Mendels’ lawyer. Some big, thick-necked guy named Guido who wanted to pay a visit to my kneecaps.

I had given up on the radio, on the hope of any news about the Antichrist or his evil machinations. Any news that we faithful few were about to be called up into the sky, rescued from our tribulations on earth. And boy, did I have tribulations. I just never thought it would strike as close to home as being a fugitive from a murder rap and owing a lot of money to organized crime.

For the time being, I had pulled into the parking lot of Mister Bee’s Grocery. It was shut down now, but hopefully nobody would think twice about the car parked in front of it. I checked the gauge. The car was almost out of gas. Running on fumes. Leaving town was no longer even an option.

In my fuzzy, hazy state of mind, I had spent several days moving the car from parking lot to parking lot. Nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. I spent my nights asleep in the car, my days trying to think of a place to stay, a place to crash, a place to stop and think.

I didn’t dare go back to the office—not that it was actually even my office anymore. After the way I told Sherman off, I certainly would not be welcome there.

I hadn’t heard from my wife in a long while. Tried to check my cell phone for messages, but the battery was dead.

I looked at the big, empty parking lot. It was a shame this place had been dark so long. I couldn’t even remember when it was operating. It seemed like yesterday when I brought the boy out here with his little go-cart and we’d run figure-eights in the empty parking lot.

And now my little boy was in the hospital.

Everything was such a mess. My life. My career. My family. My religion. Everything in jeopardy.

The Lord had no business hiding all those secret codes in the Bible. Distracting folks with tantalizing conspiracy theories.

Reverend Daniel Glory had no business leading his people astray like that. Deceiving even the very elect.

The wife had no business spending the last of our money on herself. Spending our life savings on her material lusts, frittering away the kids’ college fund.

The mob had no business offering money to an innocent bystander like that. Preying on the unfortunate circumstances of ordinary people’s lives.

Then a thought came to me. An idea. (Was it the voice of God? I don’t know.)

I saw in my mind two things from the Bible. Two projects. Two stunning examples of engineering: Noah’s Ark and the Tower of Babel.

But their results were vastly different from each other. One was enormously successful—it saved the human race from extinction. The other was an enormous failure—it led to the disintegration of civilization.

What was the difference between them? Listen, this is important. It was like, sitting in that parking lot of Mister Bee’s, someone had flipped a switch in my mind. Like the light came on.

Noah’s Ark was a success because God spoke first. It was God’s idea. And man went along with God’s plan and was blessed.

The Tower of Babel was a failure because man spoke first. It was all backward. And man was cursed for it.

And I realized I had lived my life like the people building the Tower of Babel. I had come up with the ideas, and expected God to bless them.

Here I was in this horrible, horrible mess, and I was blaming everybody for it but myself. I blamed God. I blamed Reverend Glory. I blamed my wife and kids. I blamed the mob.

No.

It wasn’t them.

It was me.

All me.

I had been deceived by my own arrogance. By my own greed. My own lust for material possessions. And I’d ended up here, alone.

And now my boy was in a hospital bed. Who knows how bad off. Who knows how much longer he had to live.

I cried out to God. I owned up to the mess.

I asked the Lord for help to do the right thing—to get me back on track.

That’s when I saw the black-and-white police car pull into the parking lot. Did God send it? It was probably just turning around. But when I leaped out of my car and started running toward it, the men inside noticed me quickly. I also realize I should have approached them more calmly, less like a crazy man.

But I was crazy. And I knew how to get better.

And that’s how I ended up seeing you, Detective Griggs. I needed to make my statement. I needed to come clean.

So that is my statement. I am prepared to be charged with the murder of Reverend Daniel Glory.

I just hope that someday my family can forgive me.

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There are 70 chapters for Tribulation House. You can purchase the whole eBook from Amazon, Apple, Kobo, B&N, and more! 

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