What Would Satan Do? Read Free Page A

offering a variety of End Times-related services, the most successful of which was a planning business designed to help folks get their worldly affairs in order before Judgment Day hit.  A last will and testament is great if you actually die, but what is the legal effect of being among the Chosen – those the Lord takes up to Heaven during the Rapture, before all the really bad, fiery, end-of-the-world stuff happens?  Cadmon had experts standing by 24-7, ready to help figure that out.  Of course, that kind of service would really only work if you could convince people that the end of the world was near.  But he wasn’t worried about that.  He had inside information.
    He stopped and sat down at the end of a row, leaning back and propping his boots up on the seat in front of him.  Things were good.  Real good.  And now he needed to do some thinking; to figure out his next step.
    There is a strange kind of quiet that comes with being in a big, empty enclosed space like that.  It hits you in the pit of your stomach, almost like a touch of vertigo.  Cadmon took a deep breath.  What the Hell would Jesus do now?  Would he get the convertible?  Or would He just say, “Fuck it,” and go for the Turbo?
    He’d just closed his eyes to ponder this weighty inquiry when the giant speakers that hung from the ceiling erupted with a furious sound – a robotic buzz saw that tore through the cavernous arena.  At the same time, every light ramped up to full brightness, flooding the building with brilliant light.  One exploded in a shower of sparks. 
    The metallic racket worked its way down from a high-pitched static to a low rumble that shook the floor.  Cadmon jumped, startled by the blast of sound, and tried to stand, but his elephant-skin cowboy boot slid, and he fell awkwardly over the top of the chair, sprawling across the seats in the next row.  The noise was overwhelming, and he could barely think, but he had to get up and do something.  For a second Cadmon thought about Ray, the audio tech, wondering if the idiot was blasting his damned 80’s music again.  But then he realized that he recognized the sound.  Shit , he thought, disentangling himself.  It’s the middle of the day!  
    Then it was gone.  The light and noise had quit just as quickly as they had started, leaving the arena in total darkness.  The change caught Cadmon by surprise, but he grabbed a handrail and managed to avoid falling on his face.  He crept slowly down the steps toward the main floor, his eyes locked on the scene before him.
    Down on the stage, a glowing, white-orange light appeared, bobbing and hovering three feet off the floor.  In the center of the orb, Cadmon could see shapes and shadows moving as if through a window.  The light grew brighter and taller, and as the preacher arrived at the foot of the stage, the shadows resolved themselves into the shape of a very tall man.  The man stepped forward, and the light seemed to shrink and close behind him. 
    His eyes were shut and his hands clasped in front of him.  At last he looked up, letting his hands fall by his sides.  “William Cadmon,” the angel said, “I am Ezekiel.”
    Cadmon stopped, frozen – he couldn’t help it.  He shook the feeling off, and stormed up the steps to the stage, ready to tear the angel a new one. 
    “Yes, hello again, Ezekiel.”  The angel always introduced himself as if it were the first time.  What an idiot , thought the preacher.  The novelty of meeting someone who’d spent time face-to-face with God had worn off.  “Can’t you just come in the door or something?” He threw his arms up in exasperation.  “Do you have any idea how much it’s going to cost me to fix all those lights and speakers again?”
    The angel turned his head slowly, looking down at the little human.  He glowed with a light that pulsed and ebbed, making him look like he’d just spent some quality time inside a nuclear reactor.  His eyes narrowed and