James Anderson - The Altar

“It’s the altar,” he said. “From the other side. Hurry up. We’ve got to get through quickly before it closes.”

The opening felt like a magnetic force that was repelling them rather than attracting them.

“It’s trying to keep us in,” he said. “We can’t let it. Todd, hold the baby tight.”

Erik dragged his son to the edge of the opening and forcibly pushed. The opening pushed back for a moment, and then something seemed to pop, and he and the baby slipped through. He picked up Vickie in his arms and walked deliberately towards it. It was like walking into hurricane force winds, but he closed his eyes and walked on, determined.

“Did you see a glimpse of heaven?” Vickie asked softly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just a tiny corner. It was beautiful.”

“Yes. It was,” she said.

Then they were outside, standing on the top of the altar stone surrounded by a hundred soldiers with rifles leveled at them.

Pastor Mark walked forward and hugged them both. “Boy, am I glad to see you,” he said.

“And I am glad to see you,” Erik said. “It is so good to be home.”

AUGUST 2003

Erik watched as the backhoe dumped the last of the fill into the yellow dump truck. The altar had been blown into a million pieces by the military, and now it was all being gathered up, collected, and shipped somewhere. Erik didn’t know where, but he hoped it was somewhere safe. Knowing the military, it would wind up in a government lab somewhere where it would never be seen or heard of again. If you wanted to really lose something, he thought, just put it in a government file.

July had been the worst month of his life. His home had been turned into a battlefield. He’d lost his cat, and now had no desire for a new one. He’d lost his new friend, Johnny Dovecrest, whom he would have liked to have spent more time with. He had seen his wife and son tortured, and had endured the worst despair and torment that hell could possible dish out this side of judgment day. He’d seen more death, destruction, and anguish in just one short month than most people would see in two lifetimes.

He just hoped and prayed that it was over and that he could pull his life back together.

There had been some positive things, though. His daughter, Faith, was doing well. They hadn’t intended naming her that, but somehow it seemed appropriate for what had happened. Faith the cat was in heaven, so it was time for a little more Faith on earth.

He had been to hell and back, but he’d also caught a glimpse of heaven, just a tiny, miniscule corner, but it had been enough. He knew that’s where he belonged and where he wanted to be. He’d tried to explain the things he’d seen to Pastor Mark, but the words just wouldn’t come. He couldn’t describe the glow or the peace or the joy that had emanated through. Finally, he had given up trying.

“They have cats there,” he said finally, as if that could capture it all. Mark was more of a dog lover, though, so Erik didn’t think he would ever really understand until he went there for himself.

Erik smiled and waved at the truck driver as he backed up and pulled away. They’d planned to level this site completely and turn it into a nature walk and a bird sanctuary. This would be a small picnic site, a peaceful contrast to what it had stood for in the past. Erik didn’t think he’d use it himself, but it would be nice to have other families come here and help mend the ground of this place.

Erik turned away and began the short walk home. Vickie and Todd and Faith were waiting for him. They were going to take a short vacation north, to the mountains in New Hampshire. After that, maybe he’d think about his next book.