Seventh Dimension - The King - Book 2, A Young Adult Fantasy (4 page)

A man came up to me and handed me blankets. “Give
these out to those who need them.”

“Yes, sir.” I handed out the blankets to anyone who
asked. I looked into the eyes of the hurting—I wished I could offer
hope. Did God even care? If he did, why did he allow this to
happen?

I felt a tug on my pants and looked down at a young
boy. He held a small teddy bear in his arms. “Do you know where my
mommy is?”

I crouched down to his eye level. “No, I don’t. When
did you last see her?”

The young boy
looked away. “I don’t know. It was a long time ago.”

“What about your dad, do you know where he is?” I
asked.

“He died,” he said unemotionally.

Did he
understand what that meant? “How do you know that?”

“The man put a sheet over him.”

I embraced the boy in my arms. How could I find his
mother?

Then a young woman approached. “David!”

The little boy let go of me and ran into her arms. I
rejoiced over their reunion before I looked into the eyes of
another victim.

“Thank you,”
his mother said. She appeared too overwhelmed to say more, covering
her face with her hair. I watched as she carried the boy out of the
synagogue.

The wounded kept arriving.

“Help me,” a voice cried.

I rushed over
to an elderly man on a cot. His face was cut and pieces of shard
glass clung to his matted hair. His bandaged hands crisscrossed his
stomach, which appeared distended from internal injuries. I
crouched in front of him as his arms and legs shook.

“My wife and daughter, do you know where they are?”
he rasped.

I shook my head. I laid a blanket over his body to
keep him warm. “Can I get you anything?”

He closed his eyes. Was it from pain or did he die?
If only I were a doctor.

He reopened his eyes and said weakly. “My
wallet—pocket. Picture. Please find my wife and daughter.”

I dug into the man’s pocket but came up with
nothing.

“Other one,” the man said.

I went around
to the other side of the makeshift bed and stuck my fingers inside
his front pocket. I pulled out what appeared to be a wallet. When I
opened it, several credit cards fell out, along with a photograph.
I stared at it. “Is this your daughter, Lilly?”

“You know her?”
He asked.

I nodded.
“Where should I look first, like—where do you live?” The man didn’t
respond. I felt for a pulse. I didn’t want to leave him. I looked
around for help. I didn’t see any medics except for a young woman
dressed in a white coat.

I ran to her. “Can you help? A man is severely
injured.”

I pointed to the back row where he lay.

The nurse shook her head. “All the patients are
triaged. Those at the back are not deemed salvageable.”

My heart sank at her unsympathetic words.

“We are
concentrating on the ones we can save. We’re just trying to make
those souls comfortable.”

“No, you must come,” I pleaded. “He’s—he’s a friend
of mine. This is his family.” I showed her the photograph from the
man’s pocket. “They will be looking for him.”

The nurse
sighed. “I’ll be with you in a minute—after I start this
IV.”

She pointed across the room. “Someone started a wall
up towards the front where people are posting photographs of the
missing.”

Then she
returned to the patient in front of her, a young girl not much
older than me.

I bolted to the
front. Dozens of photographs had been hastily hung—of children,
mothers, fathers, grandparents, brothers, and sisters—of someone.
Many had scribbled notes with names, emails, and phone numbers to
contact. There were even a couple of pictures of dogs and one cat—a
black and white one that reminded me of the nursing home
mascot.

I stole some scotch tape and tacked the picture of
Lilly and her mother among the others. I wrote on the top—father is
on a cot in the back.

I hurried back
to find the nurse leaning over Lilly’s father. She was checking his
blood pressure and temperature.

“This man needs a doctor if we are going to save
him.”

“So there is a
chance?” I asked.

“If you’re the
praying type, I would pray. I’ll find a doctor.” She brushed past
me.

I knelt beside the man and spoke gently. “I posted
the picture of your wife and daughter on the front wall. Hopefully
they will see it and be here shortly.”

The man nodded. “I’m an Arab,” he said.

An Arab? Lilly had given me a Christian Bible. How
could she be a Christian if he were an Arab?

The man closed
his eyes. Guilt over my sudden lack of empathy for the man
convicted me. An Arab kidnapped my father. I couldn’t leave him,
though—not now. I’d stay with him for Lilly’s sake.

A few minutes later, the nurse reappeared with a
doctor. I moved out of their way.

The doctor did a quick assessment. “I examined this
man when the medical team brought him in,” the doctor said. “I felt
his injuries were too severe. Is he your father?”

I shook my head. “He’s the father of a friend.”

The doctor felt the man’s abdomen. “Keep him warm,
and we’ll schedule him for surgery. We have a van with supplies on
the way. If he can live a few more hours, he might make it.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The doctor turned to the nurse and gave her some
orders I didn’t understand.

Then he spoke
to me, “Through that door are some stacked cots that were brought
in earlier. Set them up wherever you can find room. Another bomb
exploded and more casualties are on the way.”

“Yes, sir.” I
hurried towards the back. The door opened into a dark hallway lit
only by emergency lights. A few cots remained, stacked along the
walls. I gripped one but something caught my attention.

An old door
appeared in the hallway. Rough-hewn wood framed it and the door
seemed out of place in the recently rebuilt synagogue. The studs
beside the door were loose and unattached. A cool breeze blew
through the square opening at the top.

I leaned on the
cot, suddenly feeling weak. Resting to catch my breath, I peered
through the window of the door. Beyond it, a bright light shone
through the darkness. Could this be an illusion, the work of the
enemy, attempting to break into the synagogue?

I edged closer.
I expected a barrage of bullets, but the light drew me. I pushed
open the door and the harsh light temporarily blinded me. I blinked
a couple of times. When my sight returned, I saw a wooden chair
floating about a foot off the marble floor. I had never seen a
chair quite like it—cubical and plain with severe edges, a straight
back, no arms, and a solid wooden base.

In slow motion,
I edged towards it—drawn to it because it was all I could see.
Where was I? I felt that I was stepping out of my familiar world
and entering another. I touched the floating chair and it remained
stationary, as if glued to an invisible floor. I climbed into the
chair and once seated, vibrations filled the room. The green light
faded into darkness.

The vibrations
stopped almost as swiftly as they began. The thickness of
nothingness wrapped invisible tentacles around me. I couldn’t see
my hands and I dare not make a sound. Had I been captured? Who had
this kind of technology? My eyes adjusted as the blackness lifted.
I felt as if I were leaving a movie theater and walking
outside—except this was an otherworldly light tinged with
bluish-green effervescence, the kind of hue seen in icy artic
waters.

A voice said, “Daniel G. Sperling.”

I jumped at the
sound of my name. Goosebumps crept up my arms. A very large man
wearing a black robe appeared. He approached me carrying an open
book that looked ancient. “I don’t see your name.”

“What book is that?” I asked. “And who are you?”

The man glared, “Prisoners are forbidden to ask
questions of their captors.”

Another very
tall man appeared. His robe was a different color. The shimmering
reflection varied between white and gray-blue—a strange color I had
never seen.

“The book is
incomplete. Not everyone’s name has been written in it
yet.”

The first man shook his head. “He’s a Jew.”

“Their time has not yet come. You are too soon,” the
second man replied.

The two argued
back and forth. I couldn’t perceive if they were good or evil or if
they were even human. I decided the men were Israel’s enemies that
had just attacked us. Didn’t they have better things to do than
play mind games with me?

The man in the
lighter-colored cloak said, “Each man is entitled to a fair trial,
and he hasn’t had his yet.”

Those were the
last words I heard before something happened that I could not
explain.

*~*~*~*

The outline of
familiar objects—like trees and bushes panned into view. Further
away people that looked like trees were walking on a dusty road.
Then my eyes adjusted. A crow perched on one of the stone columns
of the overhanging portico screeched loudly.

Had I been
exposed to a hallucinogen? I couldn’t remember what had happened,
nor did I recognize my surroundings.

I saw no
synagogue or anything resembling the Old City. Instead, I appeared
to be sitting in a small portico on a stone walkway that led to a
stone building. The Hebrew sign at the front entrance said “Jacob’s
Inn.”

Sitting beside
me were two men. One man appeared to be slightly older. Their
clothing was similar to what the Bedouin wore—a tunic with an outer
cloak. They were speaking in Aramaic.

I glanced at my
clothes. I was wearing a tunic and cloak like theirs—of earthen
colors. My sandals were also strange.

One of the two
men sitting near me said, “You don’t look so well, fellow. Are you
all right?”

I blinked. “I don’t know. Where am I?”

The two
exchanged glances. The older man knelt in front of me, examining my
face. “I think you need a doctor,” he said. “You have a cut on your
forehead.”

“I do?” I put up my hand and felt blood. “I don’t
remember cutting myself.”

“Let me get the doctor.” The man grabbed his walking
stick and hobbled inside Jacob’s Inn.

The younger man
who had been sitting with him made idle conversation. “My name is
Ami.” He reached out his hand.

“I’m Daniel.” I shook his hand back.

“The doctor will be here in a minute,” Ami said.

“Thank you.”

“So who do you
think the man is?”

“What man?”

“You didn’t hear our conversation?”

I shook my head.

“Oh, I thought
you were listening.” He calls himself Yochanan the Immerser. He is
down by the Jordan River telling the people the kingdom of God is
near. Ami waved his hand. “‘Repent, repent,’ he says. He immerses
followers in the Jordan River.”

Where had I heard something similar? I shook my
head. “Sorry,” I said, “I don’t know him.”

Ami squinted. “How could you not have heard of him?
Everyone has been talking about the strange prophet who lives in
the wilderness and eats locusts and wild honey.”

I heard
footsteps and turned to see a middle-aged man approaching. His
white outer cloak and intelligent eyes reminded me of a
twenty-first century doctor. He clutched a small leather bag in his
hand. When he placed it on the bench, I noticed the instruments
looked like antiques. I winced at the thought they might possibly
be used on me.

The man smiled warmly and reached out to shake my
hand. “Hello, I’m Doctor Luke.”

“Hi,” I said. With those garden tools, what kind of
doctor was he?

“Looks like you cut yourself on your forehead. Can I
take a look?”

I nodded.

Dr. Luke leaned
over and wiped the blood away. He then examined the wound. “Does it
hurt?”

“Just stings a little.”

“It’s not bad. I will clean it and put a bandage on
it. You’ll be as good as new.”

“Thank you.”

“What’s’ your name?”

“Daniel, son of
Aviv.”

“How old are
you, Daniel?”

“Seventeen.”

“Have any family around here?”

“No. They all live in Jerusalem.”

“Oh. So you’re visiting?”

I nodded.

“Jacob, son of Aviv, owns the inn. Not related to
him?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

He applied a salve. “All done. Let me know if you
need anything else.”

“Do I owe you anything?”

Dr. Luke shook
his head. “I help those I can. If people want to do Tzedakah, I
appreciate the almsgiving.”

“That’s kind of
you,” I said. I was still trying to remember what I did to cause
the cut.

He put his instruments back in his bag. “You should
probably change the bandage tonight to keep it clean.”

I nodded. “Thanks again.”

He walked back inside Jacob’s Inn. The others gave a
respectful wave as the doctor passed. He exuded the air of a
physician. His garb was far from anything kosher for an Israeli
hospital in 2015, but his demeanor was a cross between a scientist
and a priest.

I glanced
around the rundown building. He must not have cared for worldly
pursuits to hang up a shingle in this two-star inn—a place
apparently frequented by the lowly and the poor. The other men near
me were either infirm or old.