Sneak Preview of REVELATION the Novel

FORWARD by Michael Tornillo

Historically there must have been someone who touched Jesus Christ but we do not know who.  History could be based on historical fact or made up of pure fiction but, it does not matter.  Belief is an act in spirit; it touches each of us deeply.  In the words of the great Mahatma Gandhi, “Just as rain water irrespective of the place where it falls, ultimately reaches the ocean, the worship rendered to all deities of whatever description name or form, ultimately reaches the Supreme Reality (God).

The epic battle between good and evil is endless.  It resides in each one of us and is an inseparable part of being human.  Each of us contemplates both choices countless times each day; thousands of choices in a lifetime that, on some level, make us who we are.  Our choices define us and our spirit and they impact the world and people around us.  Who is to say which is good and which is not?  Debates are endless and opinions are boundless.

The following long winded, and sometimes wandering words compiled in the novel to follow are based purely on this author’s perception of reality.  It in now way reflects on Christianity or any other religion, nor was it created to evoke emotional outbursts from devoted and spiritual people.  It was written in an effort to amuse, captivate, stimulate and liberate the mind, body and spirit.  For all of those who truly believe that there is much more to life than what meets the eye, this book was written.

After all, if one believes the story to be so, who else’s opinion matters?

 

 I dedicate this book to Victoria, the culmination of all that is good in humankind.  Daddy loves you sweetheart and I am with you always.

Chapter One

Boys Night Out

Sporting a spotless white service jacket, the wine steward poured the deep ruby colored wine as if liquid gold flowed from the neck of the open bottle.  Cesari Amarone was Michael’s favorite and to him, the 2007 vintage was supreme.  Four spotless crystal goblets spaced perfectly on the white linen tablecloth were soon filled with ample portions of the smooth elixir.  The steward placed the cork elegantly down inches away from Michael’s right hand seeking his approval.  As he squeezed it between his thumb and forefinger inspecting it for dryness and mold Michael slowly raised the glass in his left hand to his nose, flared his nostrils, and breathed in deeply.  An orgy of earthy and sweet fruit scents danced in his nose sending his olfactory senses into overdrive.  Not the slightest hint of decomposition could be detected.  He determined that the wine was perfect and nodded his head in approval.

As he fondled the cork a feeling of warmth came over him.  He knew not from whom, or where he acquired the knowledge, but somehow he knew how to enjoy the finer things in life.  Without experience or formal training, Michael acted instinctively and almost always was correct.  As he grew from childhood he learned how to make these instincts part of his exterior personality.  As he did so he found himself becoming more and more desirous of the finer things in life.

To Michael everything in his world had to please to the eye.  The clothes he wore, the home he lived in, the automobile he drove, all of the things he could see and touch had to be beautiful.  Although superficial by nature, his desire to surround himself with beauty came from a traumatic and often ugly childhood.  Oblivious to his inner nature and desire for all things lovely, Michael waded through each day almost always looking forward.  He rarely dwelled on his past or things he could not change.  He focused on the brilliant taste of his wine and the lively company at the table.

The restaurant was full of life.  The aroma of dry aged beef roasting over an open flame melded with roasted garlic and brick oven baked bread drenched the air.  The four men were dressed fashionably, each wearing a crisp open collared white shirt with dark colored dinner jackets and matching pocket squares.

As his eyes drank in the ambiance of the lower Manhattan steak house they dined in, he raised his glass for a toast.  The gold cuff link holding his French cuff tightly to his wrist glistened as he extended his arm over his plate holding his glass high.  He held the fine crystal wineglass by the stem and not the globe to avoid heating the expensive and coveted elixir it contained.  One of his greatest pet peeves was watching someone palm the fine crystal staining it with food, finger prints and saliva.  He could barely keep his opinion to himself when he witnessed the defiling of a perfectly clean and innocent glass of wine.

“A toast”, Michael paused and extended his arm further, “To the greatest four guys alive.”

They clicked their wine glasses over the center of the square, white linen covered table and smiled.

“Here…here.” The others responded exuberantly as the candle light danced through the luscious ruby red liquid that sloshed in their glasses.  Each sipped the deliciously crafted wine carefully sampling the many nuances it offered.

The mood light was and alive with good cheer.  Sitting with Michael and Shaw were Shaw’s brother Patrick and their brother-in-law, Desmond.  Shaw glanced at the gold medallion depicting the figure of Saint Christopher that dangled around Michael’s neck.  They had been friends since childhood and Shaw had never seen Michael remove it.  He wore it always.

Mike Shawhan, “Shaw” for short, was Michael’s best friend for as long as he could remember.  A lieutenant in the New Jersey State Police, Shaw entered the academy directly out of high school.  Patrick, Shaw’s brother and the oldest by two years was a gifted surgeon and Des married their sister.  Des was more of a close friend than a brother-in-law to the Shawhan brothers and was grandfathered in the relationship between Michael and the Shawhan’s through marriage.  The four men spent so many exciting and adventurous times together they grew to become one cohesive unit when out together.

Every three or four months they found an excuse to enjoy a night on the town.  Manhattan was the destination of choice.  The concentration of pubs and endless diversity facilitated their quarterly “pub crawl”.  Several of which made the “must visit” list securing a brief visit each time the boys landed on the island.

Their respective families were close and spent most of their holidays together, gathering frequently to enjoy each other’s company.  The long summer days were spent at Michael’s beach house on Long Beach Island where they would gather each weekend wasting the day away drinking and eating on the beach enjoying all the amenities the Jersey Shore offered up each summer.

Although Michael had no blood ties to the Shawhan family, he felt as he did.  By design, he remembered little from his childhood past, and used any excuse he could to escape his home life and spend time with the Shawhan’s.  They were Michael’s way of creating his own reality.

Tonight, the men dined at Angelo & Maxie’s Steakhouse.  One of the finer steakhouse’s in the city and Michael’s favorite.  He especially enjoyed stopping across the street at the City Crab for fresh oysters prior to dinner at the steakhouse.  He was of the opinion that the City Crab had the best oysters on the East Coast, perhaps another of his manifestations.

Shaw grabbed the oversized steak knife into his left hand and surgically sliced the twenty six ounce, medium rare Ribeye steak that dominated the white oval dinner plate sitting before him.  As he plunged the pink hunk of flavorful meat into his mouth he chewed with delight.  The complex flavors melded delightfully on his pallet.  After a sip of wine to wash down the bite, Shaw inquired,

“So, where is our first stop after dinner gentlemen?”  The sparkle in his ice blue eye hinted at his intention to have some fun.  The boys liked to blow off some steam in the city where a little misbehaving was rarely noticed and often expected.

Des chimed in, “I think we should head uptown.  Let’s visit Cormack at O’Brien’s first.

“Good idea.” Michael approved.

Patrick quickly swallowed a chunk of steak and muttered, “Absolutely.”

“Good.  Now that we are all in agreement let’s skip the espresso this time and buy some of those tasty looking cigars I saw on the way in.”  Shaw smiled as he gnawed on another bite of steak.  “It’s a beautiful night and the cigars should be just the thing for our walk.”

“Great, my espresso is voted out again Michael moaned.  Do we really have to walk twenty-five blocks before I can have my coffee?”

“You love to pad the bill Mike” Patrick said sarcastically.

“Can I help it if I like a nice cup of coffee after a great meal? So kill me.  Besides, what about the after dinner drink Leonard always offers us when we eat here?”

“True that.” Des added.  “Since when do we turn down free alcohol?”

Shaw conceded, “Fine, I’m in no rush, we can have the drinks while “ginzo” over here pretends he is in Italy.  He motioned toward Michael with his thumb.  “Then cigars?”  The rest agreed.

Dean Martin’s rendition of “Ain’t That a Kick in the Head” played softly in the background as Michael allowed the last drop of Sambuca to drip from the lip of the large snifter into his double espresso. He gently placed the glass on the table and took note of Shaw, Patrick and Des each finishing up a healthy pour of Grand Marnier Liqueur Centenaire.  Leonard approached the table dressed in his signature tuxedo jacket and white trousers.  He graciously thanked the men for stopping in again and offered refills on the cordials they enjoyed on the house.

“Dinner was terrific as usual Len but we have to decline the drinks.  We have a lot of ground to cover tonight buddy.”  Michael smiled and shook his hand.  The others paid their respects to Leonard and made their way to the front door.  They stopped briefly perusing the cigar selection on display next to the bar.  Each of them selected their smoke of choice, Michael finding the last maduro wrapped Montecristo torpedo in the case, asked the bartender for the cutter.  As he paid for the cigars the others waited outside on the sidewalk.  Michael grabbed a box of matches that had the Angelo & Maxie’s logo embossed on the cover and walked outside to meet them.

Standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, the men went to work lighting their cigars.  The city streets were bustling.  Saturday evening was especially busy in New York.  Michael glanced at his watch.  “Wow, only 8:45.” he said aloud.  “The night is still young boys.  Lets get moving.”

The evening had begun auspiciously and they were in the best of spirits.  The sun had recently set and a beautiful blue hue fell over the city from the fading light in the sky.  The group enjoyed the sights, sounds and smells of lower Manhattan as they walked.  The sweet smell of roasting nuts mixed with the rustic aroma of soft pretzels permeated the air like a mosaic of odors randomly designed to titillate the senses.  The melody of aroma was distinctly New York.

The small group waked in pairs two behind the other chatting.  Each restaurant they passed with outdoor seating and open storefront windows gave off their own unique aromas.  One readily mixed with the next creating an orgy of scents in Michael’s nose.  Having visited several of the nation’s larger cities, Michael always loved the sites and sounds of New York the most, it was his favorite city.  They walked, hands in their pockets, as they strolled closer to Times Square enjoying their cigars.  Michael and Shaw chatted about the litany of pubs on the agenda for the evening while Patrick and Des discussed the bartender at Angelo and Maxie’s making comment of her amazing body and flirtatious attitude.

Taxis, buses, cars and the occasional motorcycle headed quickly up Sixth Avenue as they made their way towards 46^th street.  The distinct odor of the NYC subway wafted up from the sidewalk grating as Michael passed over.  The distinctive squealing of train breaks were muffled buried deep beneath the concrete sidewalk.  The sound snuck out through the grating as the train came to a stop at the station below.  Shaw looked at Michael and asked, “How are Keeks and Vixy doing?”

Kiki, was the nickname Shaw gave Michael’s wife Kalina.  Keeks was a nickname for her nickname.  Somehow, organically, Shaw’s nicknames for his friends evolved over the years.  It was always interesting to see how far they migrated from the original.  In turn, Vixy was a nickname given to Michael’s 2 year old daughter.  This nickname was short for Victoria but was her mother’s invention not Shaw’s.

“Shaw, they are the best thing that ever happened to me”.  Michael looked soberly into Shaw’s eyes.  “I thank God every day I have with them.”

“You deserve it Mike.  After all the shitty things that you’ve been through, you deserve it buddy.”  Shaw slapped Michael squarely on the back and smiled at him.  “Jeez, I figure if you are going to live under a black cloud all your life, it might as well have some kind of silver lining.”

“Amen to that brother!” Michael laughed.

Michael’s cigar had been smoked to the nub when the group turned right from 6^th Avenue onto 46^th street.  They avoided walking trough Times Square for now as it was always an adventure.  The lights lit up the area like it was daylight and they would certainly find the naked cowboy singing for the tourists and the “tin man” standing on his silver painted milk crate scaring the kids with his antics as usual.  But for now a quiet walk and a cigar suited the men just fine.  While they waked towards O’brien’s Michael’s mind wandered recalling the way Times Square used to look in the 1980’s when he was in high school.  He reminisced about the “good ole days” in his teens when they would visit Time’s Square to look at the hookers and peep shows before Disney “cleaned up” 42^nd Street.  Back then, things were much more colorful, albeit much seedier.  He felt a twinge of melancholy which quickly dissipated as the sign for O’Brien’s came into view.  He perked up quickly as he saw Cormack standing outside the front door talking to a couple of smokers as they approached.

“Sheez, look what the cat dragged in!”  Cormack proclaimed in a thick brogue accent as he laid eyes on the four men.

“How are ya, ya fukin’ Mic?”  Michael exclaimed in his feeble but best Irish accent.

“Just great, ya Guinea ya”!  Cormack replied.  He looked at the rest of the crew. “How are ya lads?”  “Looking for trouble eh?” “Night on the town tonight?” He smiled and gave handshakes and hugs to each of the guys, genuinely happy to see them.  Cormack and Michael had met over ten years ago when Cormack first came to the United States from Ireland.  He worked as a bartender in the famous Langan’s just one block north and the two became friends almost instantly.  Every time Michael was in the city he made it a point to visit Cormac, even if just for one pint.  Their friendship was longstanding and always in good order.  Michael admired Cormac for progressing from bartender to manager, then part owner of the pub.  It solidified that the American dream was still alive and well in the States and paid to the rewards of hard work.

Cormac escorted the group into the pub.  The space was long and narrow, dominated by a long wooden bar running the full length of the right hand wall.  Behind the bar from waist height to the ceiling were mirrors lined with glass shelves and every kind of liquor imaginable.  The bar was smartly decorated.  Large framed black and white photos hung from the exposed brick walls to the left.  The images were vintage photos and depicted some of the greatest moments in boxing history.  The millwork was rich, luxurious and well detailed.  The smell of Guinness permeated the air and the four were up to the challenge.

Cormac summoned the young, attractive bartender over.  She stood about 5’ 3”, had long dark hair tied up into a bun, and brilliant blue eyes.  Her body was toned and she was well built.  Her bright eyes sparkled from the reflection of light cast by the many decorative blown-glass light shades hanging over the length of the bar top.  When she smiled, her brilliant white teeth lit up her face.  She, like Cormac, spoke with a heavy Irish accent and said, “Well, you lads are looking dapper this evening.  You’ll have to beat them off with a stick!”  She looked at Michael, “How are ya Mike?” “How’s the fam?”

“Great, they’re doing great thanks Stella.” Michael replied with a smile.

“Brilliant.” She said.  “What’l it be then?” She asked referring to the drinks.

Cormac graciously interjected, “Set the boys up with their first round on me love.”  He looked at Michael and Shaw and asked, “A sip of the breast?”

“Absolutely!” Michael replied, “And four pints of Guinness please Stella.”

Stella reached for the bottle of Redbreast Irish whisky and four glasses.  She also started the pours for the Guinness.  Michael walked to the end of the bar close to the entrance door and inserted a crisp five dollar bill into the juke box hanging on the wall.  Seconds later, “Roxanne” by The Police echoed throughout the bar.

The traditional “pub crawl” had officially begun.  The rules for the crawl were simple, they would start at a familiar place and catch a buzz, and then they would walk through the city and stop at each pub they passed for one beer.  O’Brien’s was their kick of point for this evening and they intended on starting strong.

Little more than a half hour had passed when “Annie Get Your Gun” by Squeeze began playing loudly on the jukebox.  Michael had selected the song last on the play list which reminded him to head out.  With the exception of Des, the group had removed their jackets draping them over the barstools directly in front of them.  Four, half filled pints of beer sat on the bar with eight empty pint glasses behind them.  The boys were into their third beer each and two Redbreasts later they were saying their goodbyes to Cormac, Stella and the couple from Denmark that happened to be sitting next to them at the bar.  It was the young couple’s first visit to the US and New York City.  Michael provided them a verbal list of his favorite places to visit over the next few days as the man jotted them down quickly on a bar napkin.  The Museum of Natural History, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Jazz at Lincoln Center and Madam Tussaud’s Wax Museum were at the top followed by several local pubs.  He had also mentioned that if they had time, to visit the South Street Seaport and witness the Bodies Exhibition which had been a staple in lower Manhattan for the past several years.  Michael explained that the exhibit struck him deeply no matter how many times he has seen it.  After the friendly advice the visiting couple insisted that if he ever got to Amsterdam, he would look them up.  Hurley and his girlfriend were very friendly.  During the conversation, Hurley explained to Michael that he was the proud owner of a smoke shop in Amsterdam and that he held a graduate degree in pagan theology with special focus in the occult.  Hurley’s girlfriend boasted about how he was published and quite an expert on the topic.

“He authored a book called Paganism and the Occult which just recently translated into English.  You should buy a copy to help us pay for this trip!” she teased as the three of them laughed.  The couple was quite interesting to Michael and he could go on for hours with them, but time was short and the conversation had to end.  Without much more than the trading of contact information and the promise to meet again, Michael entered Hurley’s information into his cell phone.  He hugged Hurly, barely able to get his arms around his large and grossly overweight torso.  Then he kissed Hurley’s girlfriend lightly on the cheek and said goodbye.  Somehow deep inside Michael felt he would run into them again.

As the four walked out onto the sidewalk, Shaw turned to Michael and said, “I have a perfect buzz and a perfect buzz takes a professional to maintain”.

“Well let’s do our best to keep it rolling my friend.” Michael smiled and wrapped his arm around Shaw’s shoulders as they walked singing the lyrics to “Roxanne” in falsetto scarcely akin to that of Sting but it didn’t seem to dissuade them.  Des and Patrick joined in singing back up as they flanked Michael and Shaw on either side.  The four walked abreast screaming the lyrics without a care in the world.  Their sophomoric behavior attracted the attention of a few onlookers who pointed mumbled to each other.  The sight of four grown men in dinner jackets hugging each other singing was hugely entertaining to most of the sober people taking in the view but to Michael, this was what boy’s night out in New York was all about, male bonding and blowing off the world.

They walked towards Sixth Avenue on their way to 47^th street towards Langan’s which was the next stop on the list.  As they arrived in front of the pub Michael figured he would send Kalina a text professing his love for her and to let her know they were alright.  He often did so when he was away from her and she loved it.  She told him it was his romantic side that kept the love fresh in her heart.

Shaw opened the front door to the pub as Michael reached into his breast pocket for his cell phone but it was missing.  He realized he must have dropped it in O’Brien’s when he took his jacket off.

“Shit. I lost my cell phone. I must have dropped it in O’Brien’s when I took off my jacket.” He said as he checked all of his pockets.  “Order me a Guinness guys, I will be right back.  I’m just going to run over to O’Brien’s to see if it’s there.”

“You think Cormac found it?” Shaw asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure I dropped it there.” Michael replied. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay but don’t get lost Mike.” Shaw teased him.

Michael made his way quickly back to 46^th street to grab the phone.  He knew of an alleyway between 46^th and 47^th streets he used as a shortcut between Langan’s and O’Brien’s many times before and took it in an effort to save time.  The alley was long and narrow that spanned the distance between the two streets.  It passed directly beneath the tall building that spanned the width of the city block.  It was a little known and rarely used short cut except for the locals that knew the landscape.  Most tourists were reluctant to use it unless they were familiar with this particular section of the city but Michael had managed the construction of several high rise buildings in the area and knew the location quite well.  He casually turned down the long dark passage way quickening his pace hoping not to miss too much at Langan’s before his return.

The passage was long and shady with no visible signs of anyone present.  A small dot of orange hued light flickered in the distance where the end of the passage opened onto 46^th street.  He walked scratching his head trying to figure out how he could allow himself to so carelessly misplace his phone humming “Roxanne” quietly to himself.
          As he reached the midpoint of the tunnel he thought he heard what sounded like muffled screams.  Michael instantly stopped walking.  Silently he listened aching to discern the source of the noise.  The hair stood up on his arms as he identified the noise coming from farther down the ally.  He hesitated to move forward but could barely stop himself as he instinctively inched forward.  His heart began racing when it felt as if someone else was moving his legs.  He was instinctively drawn in as if there was little he could do to avoid the situation.  As he inched closer, the noise grew in volume as he listened to the scuffling of shoes on the concrete beneath his feet.  The sounds were distinctively female and sounded as if she was in horrifying distress.  Michael rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers as he squinted to see through the veil of darkness.  Slowly all became evident as he witnessed two figures wrestling in the darkness.  Michael’s brown eyes bulged and widened as he witnesses the sickening display unfold before him.