crossed into the kitchen, seven steps. He wondered how little Joshie from the restaurant was feeling, having learned such
a valuable life lesson from Uncle Quinton. Fortunate little punk. Better now than on the streets, where it might be a sledgehammer
to the head rather than the soft side of a hand doing the teaching.
But the real winner now would be Melissa, the flight attendant who would discover her true purpose in… he glanced at the clock
on the wall… two hours and twenty-one minutes, when the clock struck 2:00 AM .
His nerves sent a shiver of anticipation through his tailbone, then up his spine. For a moment he felt like he was standing
on the edge of a bridge with a bungee cord strapped to his ankles, ready to launch himself fearlessly into the void. But he
had found a better way to fly.
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.
The rules. Always the rules. Beauty is defined by God, who determines the most beautiful. True, so true.
But there was more. There was another rule, rule two. Because what Quinton had learned only recently was that God had favorites.
God loved some more than others. He was passionate about his creation and would bend over backward to impress those that he
favored.
Even more than that, there was
a
favorite. A single human who was so favored, in fact, that by comparison the rest didn’t even rate on God’s list of things
worthy of his attention.
The Creator was fixated on one.
Quinton opened the door to a pantry lined with precise rows of canned baked beans made by Hornish, his favorite because of
all the sugary syrup. Brain food.
He withdrew the Hitachi electric drill case, then closed the door. He’d boiled the half-inch bit in water to sanitize it for
Melissa. Not a germ to be found around its twisting edges.
Yes, God was obsessed with one, like he’d once been fixated on Lucifer. All of heaven and hell had peered down from their
lofty, unobstructed view and watched the one courted by God. The rest of creation had existed only as a stage for his courtship.
All other humans were extras.
Heaven and hell wanted to know: Would the chosen one love God in return?
He placed the drill in a black suitcase next to the sedative. The rest of what he would need was already neatly packed. He
clasped it shut and looked around the room. How long before he returned depended on how cooperative Melissa was. A day, maybe
three days.
Satisfied that all was in order, Quinton turned off the lights and headed down to the garage where the green Chevy pickup
waited.
He slid onto the seat and grinned at the inaudible debate raging inside him, between himself and an unseen adversary.
Imagine that, you insane freak. Imagine for a second (and I know this is difficult because your intelligence is less than
mine) but imagine for even a few moments that it’s all about you.
You’re at the center of it all. Your choices are the only ones that count. Like Neo from
The Matrix,
Quinton’s favorite movie, you wake up one day and learn that
you
are the chosen one.
Insane, but so true. You are his bride. God’s favorite.
But here’s what’ll really tweak your gourd, Neo. You blithering idiot. This is rule two: In God’s infinite character he can
have more than one favorite without any of the others losing their status.
That’s right, Neo. You are the favorite one, the chosen one. But so am I.
And so is every living soul to walk this cursed earth.
And the rules are the same for all of them. Unfortunately, most are too insane to realize just how critical they are in the
game called life.
Until recently, Quinton had hated all humans because of their utter worthlessness. Then he’d learned that the exact opposite
was true. That to a man, woman, and child they were all infinitely valuable. This had caused him to immediately hate them
for being as important as him.
But now he no longer had to dwell on such mysteries. He had a role to play. He was God’s angel. A
a valuable life lesson from Uncle Quinton. Fortunate little punk. Better now than on the streets, where it might be a sledgehammer
to the head rather than the soft side of a hand doing the teaching.
But the real winner now would be Melissa, the flight attendant who would discover her true purpose in… he glanced at the clock
on the wall… two hours and twenty-one minutes, when the clock struck 2:00 AM .
His nerves sent a shiver of anticipation through his tailbone, then up his spine. For a moment he felt like he was standing
on the edge of a bridge with a bungee cord strapped to his ankles, ready to launch himself fearlessly into the void. But he
had found a better way to fly.
Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.
The rules. Always the rules. Beauty is defined by God, who determines the most beautiful. True, so true.
But there was more. There was another rule, rule two. Because what Quinton had learned only recently was that God had favorites.
God loved some more than others. He was passionate about his creation and would bend over backward to impress those that he
favored.
Even more than that, there was
a
favorite. A single human who was so favored, in fact, that by comparison the rest didn’t even rate on God’s list of things
worthy of his attention.
The Creator was fixated on one.
Quinton opened the door to a pantry lined with precise rows of canned baked beans made by Hornish, his favorite because of
all the sugary syrup. Brain food.
He withdrew the Hitachi electric drill case, then closed the door. He’d boiled the half-inch bit in water to sanitize it for
Melissa. Not a germ to be found around its twisting edges.
Yes, God was obsessed with one, like he’d once been fixated on Lucifer. All of heaven and hell had peered down from their
lofty, unobstructed view and watched the one courted by God. The rest of creation had existed only as a stage for his courtship.
All other humans were extras.
Heaven and hell wanted to know: Would the chosen one love God in return?
He placed the drill in a black suitcase next to the sedative. The rest of what he would need was already neatly packed. He
clasped it shut and looked around the room. How long before he returned depended on how cooperative Melissa was. A day, maybe
three days.
Satisfied that all was in order, Quinton turned off the lights and headed down to the garage where the green Chevy pickup
waited.
He slid onto the seat and grinned at the inaudible debate raging inside him, between himself and an unseen adversary.
Imagine that, you insane freak. Imagine for a second (and I know this is difficult because your intelligence is less than
mine) but imagine for even a few moments that it’s all about you.
You’re at the center of it all. Your choices are the only ones that count. Like Neo from
The Matrix,
Quinton’s favorite movie, you wake up one day and learn that
you
are the chosen one.
Insane, but so true. You are his bride. God’s favorite.
But here’s what’ll really tweak your gourd, Neo. You blithering idiot. This is rule two: In God’s infinite character he can
have more than one favorite without any of the others losing their status.
That’s right, Neo. You are the favorite one, the chosen one. But so am I.
And so is every living soul to walk this cursed earth.
And the rules are the same for all of them. Unfortunately, most are too insane to realize just how critical they are in the
game called life.
Until recently, Quinton had hated all humans because of their utter worthlessness. Then he’d learned that the exact opposite
was true. That to a man, woman, and child they were all infinitely valuable. This had caused him to immediately hate them
for being as important as him.
But now he no longer had to dwell on such mysteries. He had a role to play. He was God’s angel. A
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