Prologue

Sand blew across the road, stinging the flesh and grinding underneath the

sandals of the walker, whirling around the stones that dotted the course. It crunched

underneath the sole as it lifted and fell in even, focused steps. The traveler shifted

the leather satchel slung across one shoulder, while the water skin on the other

tapped a steady rhythm on his hip. As it hit, the sweating leather left a dark stain on

his robes. He was focused inward, intent on the serious work ahead. He ignored the

incessant babble of his companions behind, listening to the sound of his feet on the

stone.

The next moment the entire world was bathed in a brilliant light, which

poured over every surface. The walker wrapped his arms around his face, covering

his eyes in a vice grip to block it out. He cried out in pain as his eyes were pierced

with it, then as soon as it had come, the light was gone. The satchel lay on the

ground, flung carelessly aside. The only trace of the walker was the water skin laying

on the stones, a steady stream of water flowing from the mouth. It ran down the

sand, drawing a dark stain on the Damascus road.

Chapter 1: Fall from Darkness

Slamming into the metal and glass of the emergency room doors, he slid to the

floor as his legs buckled. The world spun in a maddening darkness, of sounds, sirens

and insanity. Groping for support, he clawed at his eyes. They burned, but would not

open. The disorientation was total. He curled up in a ball, lost beyond words or

touch. Hands under his arms lifted him and reassuring words flowed into the buzz in

his ears. The darkness overcame him and he fell into the void, words flowed past like

the soft sounds of faraway insects.

He awoke to the smell of antiseptic and a gentle slap of sun on his eyelids. He

lay in bed, afraid to move or open his eyes, a light played across his lids, demanding

hands to cover them. Raising a hand to shadow them, his eyes fluttered slightly,

finding a sparse hospital room visible under his arm. Turning towards the source of

the warmth, he found a large picture window sliced by blinds that cast shafts of the

sun light over his bed. Foreboding clouds marched across the sky, the sun obscured

periodically by their darkness. As he sat up on his elbows, a huge gust of wind ripped

through the trees in the parking lot, lightning ripped the sky and a rumble of thunder

announced the onslaught of rain.

Feeling an uncomfortable twinge, he turned to scan his new

environment. The room was typical for a hospital, set up only with a bed, bathroom

and a small closet in the corner. The hospital tray held a large plastic

drinking bottle. He stretched his head to the left and right,

then drew his hand through his sandy hair. His body was sore and

stiff and there was a burning in his eyes. He then

squeezed the tip of his nose between his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

The burning flared up, and he began to rub at his eyes once more to find relief.

Right at that moment, the door swung open and a mid-sized man swathed in a white

medical coat entered. The man wore a bristly, graying beard and as he peered up at

the patient from a chart, a pair of kind, intelligent blue eyes bore into him. “Well,”

the man smiled, “you’ve woke up. Good. You’ve had a nice long sleep, so how are you

feeling this morning?”

He shifted higher up in the bed, “I’m fine, I guess. My eyes burn some. I’ve got

a headache, but otherwise, fine. Who are you and where am I?”

The doctor grimaced, “My name is Dr. Ben Judas. I was on duty last night

when you fell into our emergency room door. To answer your second question, you

are currently a patient in Mercy Memorial Hospital in Parker Woods, Iowa. You’ve

been here two days. You apparently dropped out of nowhere. You couldn’t see and

passed out almost immediately. We brought you in and now here you are.” He waved

broadly and a chuckle escaping his lips.

He opened the chart, “You have a slight eye infection, which we treated with

antibiotics. It seems to be getting better. You’ll have a slight burning for a few days,

but that will dissipate over time. My question is, who are you? We found your

driver’s license, which only shows your first name.

He perked up, “My name?” Nothing came to him. “I don’t remember, ok? I

don’t remember anything.”

Dr. Judas stared at him, “Nothing? A city. A friend’s name. What happened

before you got here?”

He squeezed his eyes, trying to find the smallest memory. He shook his

head in disgust, “Nothing,” he said, his shoulders sagging.

“Don’t try too hard now. The harder you push, the harder it will

be for you to pull anything out of your mind. You may have been through a traumatic

event that caused a temporary form of amnesia. The only part of your driver’s license

that was readable was your first name: Paul.”

“Paul,” he repeated. The name seemed to fit. He rolled it around on his lips,

“Paul,” He said it again, acceptance settling in.

“Well, that’s a place to start.” Dr. Judas patted Paul gently on the shoulder.

“I will be sending a nurse in soon with instructions for your antibiotics. Other

than your eyes, we have no real need to hold you here. We’ll monitor you for another

few hours, then let you go. I’d like to have one of our staff psychologists speak with

you, to maybe help with your memory and to suggest some local services to help you

find out who you are and where you’re from. I have also contacted the local

authorities to send someone by to speak with you as well. They’ll be by later.”

Paul’s eyebrows raised, “Am I in some kind of trouble?”

The doctor smiled, shaking his head, “No, no, nothing like that. The police

have the resources needed to investigate where you’re from, who you are and help

us to help you. They are simply another form of assistance. Nothing to worry about.”

Paul’s shoulders slumped, still unsure, “Oh, ok.”

“Any questions for me?” the doctor asked.

Paul shook his head, then quickly added, “Thank you, Dr. Judas.”

The man bowed dramatically, “Not a problem, just relax. All will heal in

time.” He closed the door with a small whoosh.

Paul sat back in the bed, his head leaning against the wall. He searched the

scene outside. Black clouds moved in, and a sharp crack of lightning jabbed the

earth. At the crack of thunder, the door burst open and a harried nurse tussled in,

“Paul?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Dr. Judas asked me to give you directions on your antibiotics.” She scanned his wrist strap, compared it to the computer screen, and then scanned a bag. In the hallway, a buzzer shrieked. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she muttered.

She looked back at Paul, her irritation fading, “I’m sorry, I just came on duty; three people have called in sick and only two of us for the whole floor. Here,” she handed him the bag, “you take one per day for five days. You need to make sure you take them with food and drink plenty of water.”

She slapped a sheaf of papers on his tray, “You will need to fill these out for us before you leave. Also...” An alarm sounded down the hallway.

“Oh, alright, I’m coming for pity’s sake.” She hustled out the door, leaving a whirl of energy in her wake.

Paul blinked, then stared down at the paperwork and the medicine. Shaking his head, he turned from under the covers and let his feet dangle to the floor, wincing as the cold tile hit his bare skin. He padded over to the tiny closet, opened it and found a worn leather jacket on a hook, a weathered knapsack and a pair of well-worn hiking boots. Bundling them in his arms, he carried them to the bed, and spread them out neatly. The army surplus knapsack was buckled tight. He opened it and saw what must have been all his worldly possessions.

His clothes were clean, but tattered. He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, then stood there in his socked feet, flexing his body at different areas. The clothes were comfortable, but felt strange, as though they were his, but not really his at the same time. He shrugged and lace the boots up. He pushed the knapsack aside and sat on the bed, pulling the jacket onto his lap. He searched the pockets, finally locating the wallet. Thumbing the few bills in the main compartment, he pulled out the driver’s license the doctor had mentioned. Dr. Judas had been right. The face that stared at him from the photo had a smile, but didn’t seem to be his own. The name glared out at him, meaningfully, but not giving up its secrets.

He stood and went over to the mirror above the sink, comparing his face to the one in the picture. They were undoubtedly the same, but the living image had a growth of beard and the eyes were lined and red with irritation. There careful study provided no further clues of his hidden existence. He felt as if he were standing on the edge of a boat, ready to fall over in the water if he didn’t steady himself. He started back at the name, then decided if he had to hang onto something, then his name would be his anchor. “Paul,” he stated firmly to his reflection in the mirror, stubbornly nodding, but his face fell slightly, the confidence not totally there. Then his eyes flickered back to the reflection of the bed, where he saw a pile of paperwork laying.

His sighed and turned, going over and picking up the sheets. They were filled with blanks for name, address, phone number, insurance and on and on. He dropped them back down and sat on the bed, dread filling his mind. He had no way to fill any of this out, and he didn’t want to have to talk to anyone about his past, something that he couldn’t even remember. He then began to have dreadful thoughts run into his head: what if they wouldn’t let him leave, how would he pay for the hospital visit, what if they thought he had done something wrong… He shook his head and made up his mind- he couldn’t stay. Without thinking too much about it, he pulled on the leather coat and then gathered up the paperwork and medicine, stuffing them in the knapsack and buckling it shut. He also pulled on a weathered Cardinals cap that he had found in the bag.

Making sure he had left nothing behind, Paul slung the pack on his back and headed for the door. Pulling it slowly open, he peered out in the hallway. Lights above the rooms were going off in several places, people were bustling around, but no one seemed to be paying to his particular spot in the hall. He took the advantage and slipped out, but paused when he caught sight of the chart sticking out of the clear holder by the door. Smiling, he pulled it out, folded it, and stuffed it into his back pocket. No paperwork, no trail. He walked quickly past a few rooms, avoiding the nurse’s station, then found a sign directing him to the stairs. Once in the stairwell, he breathed easier and began to work his way down, not sure how far down he had to go to leave.

The walk down was quiet as a monastery, no traffic or people crossing his path, just the sound of his own footfalls as he traveled. He finally came to a large metal door with an exit sign above it and pushed. He fell out of a world of silence into one of chaos and noise. People were streaming back and forth everywhere, gurneys were being pushed by staff with patients laying on them, some bleeding profusely and heavily bandaged. Others rushed in through a far door as cries rang out for help as EMT’s pushed in a gurney with a patient who was struggling and bleeding profusely.

As he pushed his way out, Paul felt as if a wall had slammed up in front of him. Despair, desperation, anger and focused concentration flooded around him. Voices ran in and out of his ears, some angry and others professional.

“I need a nurse over here!”

“Where’s my son, please, where is he? We lost track of him after the wreck when the ambulance took him?”

“We need to get this one into surgery now.”

“I need a doctor!”

Sirens blared from the double doors as another ambulance rolled up to unload more misery and injuries. A nurse pushed past him and ran to the doors. Paul froze as he watched a gurney roll in, his eyes following the small patient on top, covered in blood and unconscious. An EMT was pushing on a bag to put air in the child’s lungs through a mask, while the other worked to stem a fresh stream of blood coming from underneath a bandage. The nurse ran over and began to check the child. At that same moment, a scream erupted from near the doors and a mother ran over, grasping at the child.

“Please, my baby, please.”

The nurse held her back, explaining that she couldn’t be with him now. The mother collapsed in tears to the floor. The nurse turned back to the child, who had begun to seizure violently. A staff member helped the mother up, leading her aside as they rushed the child into an exam room. Her wails and arms reached out towards the child, pleading. Paul shook his head and turned, not able to watch anymore. He began to push through the crowd, trying to get to a set of exit doors that were stationed to his right. The crowd was so thick, though, that he was forced left and out of the emergency room area. He staggered down the hallway, still overwhelmed by what he had seen, eyes darting for another exit sign. He wanted nothing more than to get out of this place at all costs and into the open air where he could breathe.

His eyes darted back and forth as he went down the hallway, which suddenly branched out into a waiting room. He searched, his eyes spotting exactly what he needed: a set of exit doors on the far side. He went right for them, but found the turn into the waiting room also opened up onto the emergency room entrance, where another mass of people were waiting to hear about loved ones and trying to check them coming in. Wheelchairs, beds by the wall and a new crush of people pulled him away. He breathed, calmed himself and then felt a nudge of inspiration to go to the left. He turned that way and found a sudden opening in the crowd as a family raced to the emergency room when their son was brought in from an ambulance. He began to walk in earnest toward the exit doors, but found that a pressure had begun to build up in his back, and he shifted his pack to remove the discomfort.

As he worked his way through the chairs that were neatly arranged in squares, he felt a sharp pang run through his stomach. It was so sudden and sharp that he gasped. Grimacing, he put his hand over his stomach. He was coming closer to a group huddled near a set of chairs, which was not near the exit doors. He kept working toward the doors but the pressure from his back and the pain in his stomach grew so that he gasped louder this time, feeling himself almost pushed slightly to the left. As he walked, he heard a frantic voice near the point of hysteria asking, “Please, he’s hurting terribly. Can you please help us?”

Paul turned suddenly and his boot caught on a chair leg. He tried to catch himself, his right hand folding around the edge of a chair, but it wasn’t enough. The knapsack and his momentum toppled him over. He landed unceremoniously on a table, magazines splattering all over the floor. He felt the air rush out of his lungs as he landed hard, then felt a pair of strong hands grasping his shoulders and pulling him up. When he steadied himself, Paul was met with a pair of bloodshot eyes encased in a dark skinned face. The man was short, muscular and clothed in a greasy mechanic’s shirt, which hung limp and loose over his stout frame.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, thank you,” Paul gasped.

The man’s eyes suddenly lit up, “You can understand me?”

Paul paused, confused, “Of course I can. Why shouldn’t I?” The man grabbed his arm, pulling him over to a spot nearby where a woman clutched a child in her lap. She rocked him, stroking his pale face. The child’s hair was matted with sweat, and he suddenly doubled over in his mother’s lap in pain, giving a small cry. Next to her stood a harried nurse, who kept looking over at the people in the hallway.

The man dragged Paul up to the nurse, gesturing at her emphatically, “Tell her, tell her my son drank something in the house. He got into the sink when his mother left the room for a minute, and became sick. We don’t know what’s wrong with him, but we think he drank something poisonous. Tell her, please!”

The desperation in the man’s eyes was compelling, and Paul, though still perplexed, turned to the nurse, “He says his son drank something at home from under the cabinet when his wife left the room for a moment. He then got sick and they don’t know what’s wrong with him.” The nurse’s eyes widened, “Ask him what was under the sink.”

Paul turned and relayed the question, which the small man answered after a short conversation with his wife, “We keep cleaners and dish soap under the sink. That is all I know of.”

Paul told the nurse, who swung around and called to an orderly coming out of the emergency room, “We need a gurney now!” The orderly ran back into the hallway, returning quickly with a bed. The child was lifted onto it, rolling him quickly towards the back. As they went, the nurse sent the staff member ahead, “Tell them we’ve got a possible poison ingestion.”

The mother went off with the staff member as they headed towards the back, but the father stopped to hug Paul, “Thank you, thank you.” He had tears in his eyes as he turned and hurried off after his son and wife. Paul smiled, “No problem.” He turned to leave, finding the exit doors beckoning to him again when he felt a tug on his sleeve.

The nurse released it as he turned, “Thank you, I’m so glad you came along. I couldn’t understand him. Thank you for interpreting.”

Paul drew back, “Interpret what?”

She studied him for a second, “I meant I’m glad you can speak Spanish.”

Paul’s eyebrows raised, “Spanish? I spoke Spanish?”

Now it was the nurse’s turn to be skeptical, “Yes, Spanish, what did you think you were speaking?”

Paul’s mind began to spin. A voice from across the room broke in between them, “Colleen, we need you!”

“Coming!”

When she turned, Paul melted away, lost in the crowd. When she looked back, he was gone.

He finally reached the exit doors, stumbled out, his mind on fire. He breathed in sweet, fresh air drenched with a drop of moisture. His main consolation was that his stomach had calmed, but questions still rolled through his mind about what had happened back in the waiting room. He had understood the man, but couldn’t figure out how he had actually spoken Spanish, or had ever learned it. Then he couldn’t figure out why his stomach had hurt so badly, then suddenly was fine. Then a picture of the pale boy in his mother’s arms popped into his head. He shook it to clear the assumption that rolled into his mind as nothing more than an absurd coincidence and an impossibility.

A sharp wind cut through his hair and filled his nose with the smell of rain. Nearby, a ‘BOOM’ shook the sky as the storm he had seen earlier in his hospital room window came finally onto the scene. The emergency room door behind him to the right hissed open as a frantic husband rolled his pregnant wife by in a wheelchair. Sirens blared as another ambulance pulled up and lightning flashed, but none of this was noticed by Paul. His mind and insides were reeling. He closed his eyes, took three deep breaths and let them out slowly. His mind calmed and he felt his pulse slacken its pace closer to normal. He opened his eyes, looking around at the street. He picked the left, hefting the pack to more comfortable position and took off up the street.

He wondered as he walked what everything meant and how he had spoken to that man in a language he was sure he didn’t know. As he walked, he searched his mind, but found only an empty hole where his memory should have been. Paul shook his head as if to clear away the cobwebs that blocked his view into the void. They only seemed to grow thicker.

Title: Damascus Rising: The Missionary Chronicles

Genre: Fiction

Age Range: Adult

Word Count: 36,9999

Author: Erin Steeley

Project: This project I feel is a good fit because I wanted to explore how Paul, a well known figure from the New Testament, would deal with our world if he was dropped into it at a time in which he is totally unfamiliar with and has no memory of who he was. What would happen if he came across ordinary people with problems that don't seem to have an easy solution. What would he do? What if he had some extra assistance from outside our physical experience? This story takes a well known individual from the past and throws him into the world with a unique twist that I think will engage readers from a variety of backgrounds.

Hook: Taken from his time and dropped into the future, the apostle Paul has no memory of who he is. He now walks through our time in search of himself, guided by something he cannot see; drawn to others with problems that seem impossible.

Synopsis: The apostle Paul, is taken from his point of conversion and brought to our time, with no memory of who he is.

Target Audience: Adult readers that enjoy spirituality with a touch of science fiction

Bio:

I am currently a teacher that currently works with special needs students. My writing is based from my personal interest in monasticism, various religions and history. I am currently working to take my writing to a higher level, wanting to introduce readers to work that is outside of the current box and from a perspective that walks outside of the ordinary.

Platform: Instagram erinsteeleywrite

Education: Bachelors: General studies / Art Minor

Masters: Special Education

Experience: Self-published one book "The Soldier and the Storyteller"

Article written for Missouri State Teachers' Association Magazine

Personality / writing style: I like to write primarily in prose, choosing to pursue unique topics, characters and circumstances that are unique and have a twist to them. I prefer to keep my writing open so that a variety of people from different backgrounds, cultures and opinions can access my writing and hopefully gain something positive from it. I try to read broadly, bringing both my learning and personal experience to what I write.

Likes/hobbies: Writing, reading, biking, history, weight lifting, educating others, outdoors

Hometown: Joplin, Missouri

Age: 48

Today, I realized that I need to flip the monster - my monster - fear. It often takes a hero to just do some of the daily things: getting out of bed, facing traffic, work challenges, conflicts and people in general. The greatest monster, though, is the mind. My mind can tip over into the monster when inner fear rises and doubts emerge, buying a ticket on a train ride into an abyss of conjectures. This is a monster that can freeze me in an instant, making me doubt, second guess and endlessly run the odds. This is when courage comes in to halt the advancing shadow, causing me to yell, "Wait!" I realize, slowly, that I can flip the monster by flipping the perception. Just like tossing a coin - there's another side. I can shed light on the shadow. Then, instead of fighting, running or hiding, the monster and I can dance.