Cliff Hanger Short Story

Include and bold the words
lost faith
miracle
Happy New Year
strangers when we met



When a preacher's lost faith becomes the source of fury and contempt for the God he so blindly followed, and the people he once called brothers, nothing, in his mind, could get in the way of revenge.
         The snow was starting to fall heavily now. Columbus, Georgia was expecting 8-12 inches of snow over the next 12 hours.
It was New Year's Eve but that didn't stop the parking lot at St. Vincent's Chapel from being filled to capacity. The church that Jesse Gallagher had once been a prominent leader of for countless Sunday morning services, was finishing up its final service for the year. An 11pm service for the many Bible thumper's to ring in the new year instead of going out and putting the previous year behind them by drinking the past into oblivion.
Like sheep to the slaughter, he thought to himself watching them all through one of the many glass windows all singing in an off pitch unison as he unzipped his large black mountain duffel bag. His breathing was heavy from the stairs he had climbed to reach the rooftop of the dilapidated old high school building across the street from his old church.
What was once a prominent new school, Patrick Henley High School was budding with potential and well on its way to multiple awards for academic achievement and course selection until one day about 10 years ago, Josh York, a twelfth grade teacher, having been accused of sleeping with one of his students decided to take the easy way out and ended up starting the school on fire with himself inside. Two teachers and 6 students were killed in the fire.
         Jesse remembered it like it was yesterday, Josh came into St, Vincent's asking for forgiveness, not believing what he was hearing from this man as he confessed all his deepest trespasses. Although preachers are supposed to keep things confidential, when someone confesses to something outside of the confines of the law, they are obligated to report it to the police. Josh left note at his home which police made Jesse privy to following the fire. He had blamed his untimely demise on Jesse. In a way Jesse knew he had come unhinged but he couldn't stop blaming himself for the death of those students and those two teachers, One of which was his wife, Julia. How could God, in all his glory, let this happen to him, to her? He had done nothing but follow in the path of righteousness. He never missed church, he didn't drink or smoke, he volunteered to feed the homeless, he built houses for the poor during a mission trip in Chinautla, Guatemala where he met and married his wife. Although we were strangers when we met, Jesse looked at her with a bizarre familiarity as if they had loved each other for a lifetime already and they never looked back. Was that not enough? He asked himself that every day, after every bottle of booze, after every sleepless night, since her death.
Jesse wasn't taking the easy way out. He was going to make things hard for as many people as possible before he left this God forsaken world. He pulled out the Barrett MRAD 308 rifle he had won from a gun raffle at the weekly flee market 20 miles northeast of town, just passed Jack Ingram's turkey farm in Quincy at Wells park. He propped it up on the ledge of the roof, splaying out the tripod stand that he had purchased separately 3 weeks ago.
Jesse glanced down at his watch as the ushers were walking down the aisle to light candles for each row in the congregation for a special candle light rendition of "Oh Holy Night".
Another 5 minutes and all hell will break loose, Jesse thought. He rolled the sleeve of his jet black parka over his watch on his left hand and extended himself out behind the Barrett rifle as he dropped his head in comfortably behind the scope. He was about 20 feet above the window to the church, looking down at them like an eagle stalks it's prey, still, silent, waiting to descend upon the unsuspecting hare.
         Jesse watched as the congregation finished candling their hymnals and extinguishing their candle wicks. Jordan Harlow, the man who replaced him as the dignitary of St, Vincent's parishioners, stepped from behind his pulpit to center stage and faced the nave with outstretched hands. Jesse couldn't hear him but he knew what he was saying from year after year of the same old New Year's send off, "May you all have a Happy New Year and may the peace of God, which transcends all understanding guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."
         Jesse chuckled. He understood God perfectly well. A crutch for the weak, something rich people used to manipulate the destitute of society. A Trojan Horse to trick the superstitious. There was no God, he thought and today he would show these fools what real life was, start his own end of times, his own reckoning.
         He went over his escape plan one more time in his head. He would take out the preacher and then empty his 20 round magazine into the crowd and then throw everything in the duffel bag next him and high tail it down the same stairs he had climbed up, and escape out the opposite side of the building where his black 2016 Buick Enclave was sitting. He purchased the family car brand new last year when he started devising his plan for revenge, thinking this was as inconspicuous as he could get.
         His hands tightened around the grip and barrel of his Barrett 308, he took a long inhale to reduce the sway of the crosshairs as he centered it on Jordan's chest. "Death is no miracle, Mr Gallagher" he heard from behind him as he started to squeeze the trigger. The voice startled him as he fired through the half stained glass window. He missed. He glanced behind him and saw that no one was there. Had he imagined it? In a panic that he would miss his opportunity at revenge, he turned back towards the church and started firing as the terrified crowd scattered like ants when someone kicks the top off their pile of sand on the sidewalk. He fired four more times before feeling something cold press against his neck. He froze. He knew what it was, the barrel of a gun. How could this be?, he thought. he had been so careful.
Then, the same voice from before, spoke again, only it spoke more slowly and with a conviction that sent goosebumps up Jesse's arms, "Julia can see you, Jesse."
The grip on the Barrett loosened as if a force outside of his control were peeling his fingers from the polymer grip. His chance at retribution was slipping away from him. He could hear the sirens. His time was running out to escape but all he could focus on was the person behind him that had somehow tailed him up here.
His mouth was dry and felt like he was eating his own tongue but somehow managed to choke out the only words spinning in his mind.
"Who are you?" Jesse said. There was no answer. Did he just imagine he had said it? Just when he was going say it again,
the cold feeling pressing against his spine released, and Jesse's head spun around. Again, no one was there.