he figured that his explanation had lost something in translation. Johann Kepler did a much better job at explaining this sort of thing.
Upon arriving in Hamburg, Chris and Serena were faced with more thanthe usual problems in changing planes. They had to go all the way from the passenger terminal to the cargo terminal. They made it with less than an hour to spare.
As Will had promised, they were expected and got first-class treatment, such as it was. Their plane to the Kurdish Republic was not quite what they had envisioned. It was a 50-year-old, prop-driven, C-119, flying boxcar that looked like it was on its last engines. It did, fortunately, have three rows of wide, comfortable seats just behind the cockpit, first-class accommodations on a third-class flight. At least they wouldn’t have to sit on one of the crates.
The company wasn’t bad, either. The pilot, copilot, and engineer were true veterans of this run. They had been flying this route twice a week for the past eight years, and they had their share of stories to tell. Their tales ranged from dodging insurgent rockets to discovering a young woman who tried to get out of the country on their plane by hiding in a wooden crate.
When asked what they would be doing up at the oil field, Chris had simply said that they were guests of Will Reinhart and that they would be taking a tour of the operation. That explanation had sufficed until they were flying over the Black Sea. It was then that the flight engineer put it all together.
“Hey, wait a minute; I know who you folks are. Yeah, you’re the ones who wrote that book a few years back. It was a best seller, if I remember right.”
“That’s us,” confirmed Chris.
“Yeah, yeah, it was a book about a journey through Heaven and Hell,
The Tears of Heaven
, right?”
Chris nodded.
“My son read that book from cover to cover when he was in high school. He really loved it,” said the engineer. “It got him going to church again. I’m not that much into that stuff, religion and all. Still, I guess I read about a third of it.” There was a pause. “All of that stuff really happened to you?”
“It all happened,” confirmed Chris.
At this point, they had the attention of the whole flight crew, who suddenly realized that they had real celebrities on board.
“The Tears of Heaven,”
said the pilot. “I think I’ve heard of that book, too, a few years back.”
“Oh yeah,” replied the engineer, turning to Chris. “It sold a million copies or something like that, didn’t it?”
“One and a half million,” said Chris.
“That’s pretty cool,” said the pilot. “You’re about the most famous people we ever had on this plane.”
“Except for that House of Representative guy from Oklahoma,” said the copilot, glancing back. “What was his name?”
The pilot just shrugged.
The engineer’s attention turned to Serena. “The part I read was mostly about you, about Hell. It was like a vision, right?”
“Nothing like that,” assured Serena. “It was as real as being in this plane. Every sight, every sensation was real. I was actually there.”
“But it was a vivid dream, wasn’t it?” asked the engineer. “I mean, I read this book once, about a woman who traveled to Hell in her dreams night after night. She went though some pretty scary stuff too.”
“No, it wasn’t anything like that at all,” replied Serena. “I think I know the book you’re talking about. What she saw and felt wasn’t the same as what I experienced. You see, she experienced a vision, or a series of visions. I was actually there. For six months, I experienced the real thing, what it was like to be a damned soul in Hell. It seemed so much longer than that. Pain tends to make time drag out, and I could never have imagined that someone could feel so much pain for so long. Words can’t describe my time in that hot oily sea. I wanted to die, I wanted it to all be over, but it just went on and on. There was no
Upon arriving in Hamburg, Chris and Serena were faced with more thanthe usual problems in changing planes. They had to go all the way from the passenger terminal to the cargo terminal. They made it with less than an hour to spare.
As Will had promised, they were expected and got first-class treatment, such as it was. Their plane to the Kurdish Republic was not quite what they had envisioned. It was a 50-year-old, prop-driven, C-119, flying boxcar that looked like it was on its last engines. It did, fortunately, have three rows of wide, comfortable seats just behind the cockpit, first-class accommodations on a third-class flight. At least they wouldn’t have to sit on one of the crates.
The company wasn’t bad, either. The pilot, copilot, and engineer were true veterans of this run. They had been flying this route twice a week for the past eight years, and they had their share of stories to tell. Their tales ranged from dodging insurgent rockets to discovering a young woman who tried to get out of the country on their plane by hiding in a wooden crate.
When asked what they would be doing up at the oil field, Chris had simply said that they were guests of Will Reinhart and that they would be taking a tour of the operation. That explanation had sufficed until they were flying over the Black Sea. It was then that the flight engineer put it all together.
“Hey, wait a minute; I know who you folks are. Yeah, you’re the ones who wrote that book a few years back. It was a best seller, if I remember right.”
“That’s us,” confirmed Chris.
“Yeah, yeah, it was a book about a journey through Heaven and Hell,
The Tears of Heaven
, right?”
Chris nodded.
“My son read that book from cover to cover when he was in high school. He really loved it,” said the engineer. “It got him going to church again. I’m not that much into that stuff, religion and all. Still, I guess I read about a third of it.” There was a pause. “All of that stuff really happened to you?”
“It all happened,” confirmed Chris.
At this point, they had the attention of the whole flight crew, who suddenly realized that they had real celebrities on board.
“The Tears of Heaven,”
said the pilot. “I think I’ve heard of that book, too, a few years back.”
“Oh yeah,” replied the engineer, turning to Chris. “It sold a million copies or something like that, didn’t it?”
“One and a half million,” said Chris.
“That’s pretty cool,” said the pilot. “You’re about the most famous people we ever had on this plane.”
“Except for that House of Representative guy from Oklahoma,” said the copilot, glancing back. “What was his name?”
The pilot just shrugged.
The engineer’s attention turned to Serena. “The part I read was mostly about you, about Hell. It was like a vision, right?”
“Nothing like that,” assured Serena. “It was as real as being in this plane. Every sight, every sensation was real. I was actually there.”
“But it was a vivid dream, wasn’t it?” asked the engineer. “I mean, I read this book once, about a woman who traveled to Hell in her dreams night after night. She went though some pretty scary stuff too.”
“No, it wasn’t anything like that at all,” replied Serena. “I think I know the book you’re talking about. What she saw and felt wasn’t the same as what I experienced. You see, she experienced a vision, or a series of visions. I was actually there. For six months, I experienced the real thing, what it was like to be a damned soul in Hell. It seemed so much longer than that. Pain tends to make time drag out, and I could never have imagined that someone could feel so much pain for so long. Words can’t describe my time in that hot oily sea. I wanted to die, I wanted it to all be over, but it just went on and on. There was no
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