Finding Satan

Prologue The amplified sound of fall leaves crunching under boots was followed by a downpour of blood soaking him. The images woke Christopher Drew so abruptly that his upper torso jerked forward. Fortunately, he was restrained by the safety belt in the airplane seat. He felt like someone who had just tried to escape his own body. The woman beside him immediately recoiled against the side of the plane. She looked as if she was on the verge of screaming for help. Her lips writhed and seemingly bubbled the collagen recently injected into them. The remainder of her face, which had been tightened and screwed to recapture some period of her lost youth, was unmoving. However, nothing could prevent the clear revelation of fear from shouting through her eyes. The moment Christopher had sat beside her, he had speed-read her life. In moments he knew she was in her early sixties, widowed, essentially deserted by her self-centered children, who had inherited the characteristic from her. She was now in pursuit of some sort of rebirth, hopefully as a result of a prospective marriage produced through a friend acting as a matchmaker. She had money, but lived a lonely life on an island of her own vanity. Christopher had little to say to her. He was far too absorbed in his mission and riddled with impatience. From the moment of takeoff, he squirmed in his seat like a six-year-old boy bored with the journey, and he was frustrated by the strict admonition not to turn on his cellular phone. The only way he could calm himself for the trip was to meditate for a while and then afterward drift into as restful a sleep as possible. Unfortunately, he had just experienced what had recently become a recurring vision, and although he still made no sense of it, he was positive it had to do with his present mission. He pressed his fingers against his temples and then took a deep breath. "Sorry if I startled you," he told the woman. He had been sitting beside her for nearly two hours and had yet to introduce himself. First, she showed no interest in getting to know him, and second, from the moment he sat, she buried her attention in a recent issue ofGlamourandStyle, concentrating on the advertisements as though they were psalms and she was in church. He could feel that sort of religious involvement with the promises in the text and the doctored photos of the models. She relaxed, but said nothing, her eyes still radiating with distrust. It had been seven years since 9/11, but paranoia still boarded every commercial jet alongside the passengers and paraded up and down the aisles. Men, and even some women, were primed and loaded like cannons personified, their bodies set to explode and leap up at a moment's notice so they could subdue a would-be terrorist. Christopher was positive the woman beside him had those sort of misgivings about him. Her fear was palpable. Her nervous energy flowed into him, disturbing his own heartbeat. He had no Middle Eastern heritage as such, but he had a dark complexion, coal-black hair, and ebony eyes. He liked the way his Hemingwayesque beard framed his face, even though he recognized that he was falling into a physical profile most security personnel likely targeted. It did no good to point out that his ancestry was English and he could trace his lineage back to a sorcerer in the employment of King Henry II. These days everyone judged a book by its cover, and it was hard to blame anyone for doing that, especially with what he now was convinced he knew. He looked at his watch. His companion's eyes shifted to catch the action. He could hear her thoughts as if they had been broadcasted over the plane's public address system.Is he checking the time to see if it isNeiderman, Andrew is the author of 'Finding Satan', published 2006 under ISBN 9781416516835 and ISBN 1416516832.