Author: Jerry J. K. Rogers
Category: Thriller
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/jerry-j-k-rogers/page,20,23159-the-fallen-and-the-elect.html
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“Ready on the set!” The director roared. “Two minutes to air.”
A stagehand led Stephen from the green room and then seated in a comfortable lounge chair perpendicular to the host, who was already sitting in his chair. The host's name was Carson Stewart. Both men were submitting to the final hustle of tie straightening, hair adjusting, and makeup application. Stephen only heard hurried stagehand activity around himself, working hard not to get startled each time someone touched him to prep him. Through all the activity, Carson attempted to discuss last-minute notes, comments, and instructions with Stephen on how to act during the interview. Stephen listened as best he could through all the distractions. He hoped he wouldn’t make too many mistakes.
“One minute!” he director hollered. “One minute to air.”
Carson quieted. Stephen sensed the bustle of activity ebbing. The noise abated with an occasional command or instruction being softly woofed out with the obligatory acknowledgment between stagehands, crewmembers and production staff. The show was about to begin. Stephen suddenly smelled a strong odor of roses and almonds. Since going blind, he’d been acutely aware of the heightening of his other senses. He couldn't believe how intense they’d become, much stronger than the stories he’d heard about what happens when people go blind. There were times he thought he could understand people who were talking in different languages but he dismissed it as auditory anomalies.
“I think one of your crew members is wearing too much perfume,” Stephen commented to anyone who might have been listening.
“What? What are you talking about?” Carson answered. He was annoyed that airtime was approaching and Stephen had started to talk indiscriminately.
“Your stagehands, someone is wearing a lot of perfume.”
“Don't worry about it,” Carson quipped while giving Stephen a quizzical look and realizing that the only crewmembers working the last couple of minutes were male.
“Five, four,” the director whispered and then transitioned to the finger motions of three, two, one, signaling Carson to begin.
“Hello San Gorgonio Valley cities, we welcome you live this Sunday morning with me, your host, Carson Stewart. Today we're here with Stephen Jamison, the only survivor of the Thomson and Thomson funeral home event from a week ago. Welcome Stephen.”
Stephen found himself being distracted. It wasn’t because Carson had stated his last name incorrectly; that was done in an attempt to hide his identity to keep fanatics from showing up on his doorstep, as if he were some sort of religious icon. It was because not being able to smell so acutely most of his life, suddenly the aroma of roses and almonds became pronounced. “I'm sorry,” Stephen, answered to end the pregnant pause following Carson's introduction. “Thank you for having me,” Stephen continued as he recalled the instructions given to him just before the start of the show.
“So Stephen, a lot of our viewers have questions regarding what happened that day at Thomson and Thomson. Why don't we begin there? Tell us,” Carson paused for added effect, “what did happen?” Carson was proud knowing he had trumped the national news interview shows. His was the only news talk show to get an exclusive interview with Stephen after the initial investigation was over and Stephen could now talk to the press. Amazed by the clarity of his memories, Stephen recounted the event.
Carson continued. “So why do you think everyone died that fateful morning, or do you think they were killed?
“I don't know.”
“Well, do you think the angel killed everybody in the funeral home?”
“I don't know.”
“Well, you described very vividly what you thought you saw and what you heard as you were leaving; the angel mentioned that all those in attendance were being, I think you said you thought the word was, ‘judged’? Why do you think you were spared, or do you think you were being jud …”
Stephen interrupted. “Like I said, I don't know...”
“Ummm hmm,” Carson noted with a tone of substantial skepticism. “So Stephen, tell us about your blindness and the fact that the doctors can't find anything physically wrong with you? How do you explain that?”
“Look, all I know is that I could see but now I’m blind. Yes, they told me it might be psychological due to the trauma of witnessing what happened. I just know that I don't have an answer for you.”
“OK, and now what about the speculation that it could have been something natural like carbon monoxide or some other noxious gas in the building. I mean, come on; the initial police report said there was no trauma found on any of the bodies, nothing unusual, and nothing supernatural.”
“What about the angel? That looked quite weird to me,” Stephen chimed in.
“So there was an angel?”
“Yes. You think I'm making that up?”
“Come on, isn't it possible that nothing religious, nothing supernatural, nothing extraordinary happened? I mean we know that yes, many have been claiming to see angels at funerals, but there aren’t any pictures that we know of, and many others rule out the religious aspect. I mean, remember after the disappearance of millions ten years ago? According to the remaining religious leaders and the Bible,” Carson flashed air quotes in sync with the word Bible, “we were going to enter into seven years of hell on earth. It’s been ten years. Isn't that something other than what most were led to believe? And if these are angelic visits, isn't it in contradiction to what supposed believers think in reference to their religion?”
“I don't have an answer for you. I’m sorry, I don’t know too much about religion.”