Fiction - Week 27 - A Fiasco in a Restaurant.

All Characters in this story are fictional and bear no resemblance to any person, whether living or deceased.

A Story based on Biblical Truth.

=================================================================

There were mixed feelings in the heart of Peter Wilkins and also in me as we sat in the police lounge with officers Bill, Gregory and Gus. Over the weeks, these officers had developed respect for both of us and let us out of our holding cell for most of the day. They trusted us. We already knew how foolish it was to try to escape. In addition, the police station offered refuge from the environmental judgements outside, and by staying out of the way of Caligula's agents, we avoided having the Mark foisted on us.

But the other thirty inmates held here weren't so fortunate. One was executed by gunshot right here in this room. Then there was Emily, that lovely black woman who developed a motherly love for all of us. She was the only one who died naturally in our cell. The remaining eight from our group took refuge at a church in Egham before being arrested and brought here; they were all executed in the station's courtyard.

Yet, here we were, sitting in the very same room that witnessed the execution of autistic Robert Jones only weeks earlier. In a nearby drawer lies the weapon that was used: a handgun. Out of sight, out of mind.

Finally, twenty prisoners, all from different areas, were led out from their cells and taken to Trafalgar Square, where they faced a public execution. We watched it here on the widescreen TV. Hence our mixed feelings. We were shaken by the horror of the execution. Yet, at the same time, we felt a pang of envy of those now in heavenly glory, receiving welcoming praise from the Lord and enjoying a reunion with their long-parted family members and friends.

With this thought, I visualised dear Emily finding herself in Heaven. Across the most beautiful environment one could ever imagine, Emily sees her son, Richard, running towards her, his arms stretched forward in readiness to embrace, and a look of sheer joy spread across his face. Slow the motion down, and I watched in my mind's eye the two approaching each other, then with arms interlocking, to embrace as they are lifted into the air in utter joy. Never will the two ever be separated again!

Emily embraces her son Richard in Heaven.

The vision was stark and so realistic that it could have been shown on TV. I wondered whether the vision had Divine origins. I felt my throat tighten in response to my emotions. I wasn't far from weeping.

Across town, Phil Banks, with his friend, Tom Lawrence, was glad to leave the underground platform at Waterloo and step into the open air once again. There were crowds roaming around, and the two wondered whether they missed an event. They were both homeless. Tom's student apartment block was destroyed by an earthquake, along with some of the tall, glass skyscrapers in the City. Phil's Holloway apartment was still standing and occupiable, but with no trains running out of any London termini, he was stranded in the Capital.

Phil's hand wound has healed, but he has learned to be grateful for his three sixes, the 'Clover Leaf' tattoo. With it, he was aware of avoiding arrest by any passing agent of the Antichrist. But no scanner would allow him into any shop or any public facility. However, with a large number of Christian believers leaving and returning to the tube station, a rumour had started to spread about a watchmaker in London who fitted a special microchip into an ordinary wristwatch. Such a device would activate a scanner without sending a message to Central Intelligence. When news of this device reached Phil and Tom from behind the grapevine, both were as interested as any Christian would be.

The two eventually learned that the watchmaker lived in an underground bunker in the cellar of a townhouse on Belgrave Road, Pimlico. The bunker doubled as a bedsit and a laboratory. There were no adverts, no address published, but it was known only to a small group of believers.

A week passed. Another Saturday. Once again, crowds began to assemble at Trafalgar Square. The guillotine was prepared and made ready. A coachload of men and women, all handcuffed, were lined up behind the guillotine. At the appointed time, the show began. The priest climbed the short flight of steps and delivered the same speech. Then the process of beheading was underway amidst the loud cheering of the crowd. This time, as many as thirty stood in line until his turn to be lowered into the bracket and locked in place.

About halfway through the show, it was the turn of a lad in his teens. He took one look at the headrest with the bloodied tray behind it, and suddenly, he took fright, turned, and ran. A couple of officers chased him, and with the handcuffs hindering his pace, the officers caught up and seized him.

He began to plead, No! No! I'm not ready to die! Please, please let me go. I want to see my Mum!

One of the officers replied, You refused the Mark. You have betrayed our World Leader. For this, you must pay the price.

No! No! No! He cried. One of the two officers then asked, Will you take the Mark? If you will, we'll consider giving you a reprieve and letting you live.

The teenager protested, I, I can't! If I take the Mark, I'll end up in the Lake of Fire forever! I can't do it! Please! Can't you just release me without having to take the Mark? As he said this, tears rolled down his face as he began to cry.

The officer's stony face reflected his stony heart. Oh, what with the tears? Man up! You betrayed Caligula! Oh, crybaby. Diddums! Won't Mummy arrive with your milk pap? The officer said with a sneer. 

Together, the two officers forced the teenager's neck into the bracket and locked him into place, and the victim found himself gazing at the tray, made bloody by the severed heads of previous prisoners. Meanwhile, the crowd was shouting in unison, DIE, YOU COWARD! DIE, YOU COWARD! DIE! DIE! DIE! as they glanced first at the guillotine, then at the huge screen erected next to Nelson's Column.

The lad was wailing when the knife came down on its own weight and cleanly severed his head from his shoulders.

Back at the police station, I felt my own tears running down my cheeks as we watched the executions. Peter's eyes were also watering.

That poor lad! I said. By protesting like that, do you think he still went to Heaven?

I'm sure he is now with the Lord, as he managed to endure to the end. However, because he turned away at the last moment, he most likely forfeited all his eternal rewards, but through God's grace, by the shed blood of Jesus, he is now home with the Lord. Always remember, it's the shed blood of Christ that redeems, not the victim's bravery.

I assume that the rewards you're referring to are the Crown of Life, the Crown of Righteousness, and so on. I replied. If true, then this poor, frightened lad will suffer loss, but at least he will be saved.

Coming to think of it, I'm wondering what became of Phil Banks. I said.

Bill then turned towards us. Wasn't he the one who betrayed you to us in the first place? When Clive and Ted were here?

Yes. I answered. He was my college mate. We studied at Holloway College, annexed to the University of London. Phil studied Political Science. I studied Genetics. We were friends, but we had our differences. He was an atheist, and he had a hunch against all religions, especially Christianity. But after these recent months, I have wondered whether he is still as unbelieving as he always was, or whether he has given second thoughts.

It sounds to me like he had a tough childhood. Peter suggested. Family issues, I guess.

A special microchip fitted in a watch.

Meanwhile, across London and back at the underground platform of Waterloo tube station, Phil and Tom sat next to each other. Tom was cooking at the camping stove some dinner for the two of them. Food was scarce, so each ate with thankfulness. Somehow, fresh food was brought into the station, and everyone had a fair share. Tom believed that the presence of Christian believers was connected with the arrival of fresh stock.

Two uniformed officers suddenly walked onto the station platform.

Is there a Philip Banks residing here? One loudly asked.

Phil jumped up, startled. So, they found him at last. Without the implanted microchip. He heard about the guillotine at Trafalgar Square. Was he the next one to face the chop? And what about his friend Tom? And the others in this station who never took the Mark. There are quite a few of them here. He thought, Why me?

The two officers approached Phil. Are you Philip Banks, a political student at Holloway College in Egham?

Yes, sir, I am the one you are looking for.

Don't be afraid. One of the officers assures me. Gaius Caligula himself has sent us to collect you. You are not going to die. Rather, Gaius is in Israel, and he wants to meet you.

WHAT? Phil was startled. How did he find me? Does he know what I was studying? Will anyone else accompany me?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To be Continued.