The End is Now Read online

  But Jeff didn’t care. He couldn’t think about it anymore.

  So he just unlocked the car for his family. When he got inside he looked at his kids in the rearview mirror. Emily was in her tattered homecoming dress and Will was wide awake and staring straight ahead. Jeff glanced at Amy and saw that she couldn’t help but look back at the cornfields. She needed to see what was about to happen.

  Jeff twisted the key in the ignition. The clock on the radio lit up with neon blue numbers. It was 6:10. Less than a minute until the end.

  And he was ready for anything at that moment. He was ready to float up towards the sky through the clouds, space, time, and different dimensions until he was standing in some heavenly realm for an eternity. Or he was ready to find some bacon and waffles, drink freshly squeezed orange juice, and see what the rest of the day had in store.

  EPILOGUE

  So, in the end, the question left is this: How does one define a successful test market anyway?

  By nature they’re risky. Most are prone to failure, and even if the test is a success, the person running the test can only hope that everyone else in the country (or the world in this case) reacts the same way the control group did. And that, of course, is never guaranteed.

  For instance, when Crystal Pepsi was tested, everyone loved it. They thought that having soda pop that was normally colored a dark brown, but then, somehow, through the miracle of modern science, that same soda pop became see-through, well, that was just wonderful. They enjoyed every sip of the clear Pepsi. They gave the good people at Pepsi two thumbs high in the air. And that gave Pepsi, who’d spent millions of dollars and months of time on the test market, the confidence to take Crystal Pepsi everywhere. When it was launched, everyone was pretty sure that colored Pepsi would soon be a thing of the past.

  But now it is only Crystal Pepsi that is a distant memory. Most people don’t even remember the doomed soft drink.

  So was the Goodland rapture another Crystal Pepsi? Surely not. Because first of all, unlike Crystal Pepsi, which was tested in Dallas near all sorts of major markets (and therefore gave Pepsi all sorts of false confidence because of media hype), Goodland is far more isolated and, therefore, the test gave much truer results. Kansas is smack dab in the middle of the country, perfectly close, yet perfectly far, from everywhere else. And even though the rapture could have gone better, even though it would have probably been seen as more of a “success” if people were actually raptured, that is just a cynical and pessimistic way to look at it. Most people thought that the tested rapture still gave God lots of answers and data to look at.

  Still to this day there is a lot of debate about what actually happened that night and morning of the Goodland rapture. Some say that God was ready to pull the trigger and begin Armageddon until the Realists and the police from Salina made such a mess of things. If the point of the Goodland rapture was for the town to be a signal flare and a sacrificial lamb for the entire planet, it was just too hard for that to happen in the middle of the police riot. How could God make a big grandiose gesture in the middle of all that? He is a gentleman and He isn’t going to upstage everyone else. The rapture is supposed to happen only when there’s peace and quiet and it’s barely expected, not in the middle of absolute chaos where it would hardly be noticed.

  Some say that the police and helicopters and the actual chaos was the rapture. It was a metaphor. They were there to show how crazy and hopeless planet Earth would become once the tribulation began. The rapture was never going to actually happen. Not just in a small town. That’s nonsense. It was more like a fire drill or a test of the emergency broadcast system. And what’s important in these tests is how people are going to react. That’s what God wanted to see. He wanted to see what was in their hearts. Because once Armageddon began, He would have to assume complete control. The time for human decision would be over. Hence, God’s intention from the start was to give Goodland a good old fire drill and warn about what was to come. He just wanted one more chance to let everyone know it’s not too late for you, but it will be soon.

  And inevitably there are some who say that the signs were misread. The real harvest was the one that happened only once every five years, and that harvest was in sync with the Mayan calendar. So when the boy said, “The rooster will crow at the harvest,” that’s what he was talking about. Even that interpretation caused debate, but the bottom line from that group was that they were sure the rapture was coming. There was just a sign or two that had been misread, and once they were figured out, everyone would know the true date of the rapture.

  And then there are the Realists, who felt both vindicated and embarrassed when Sunday came and went without a single soul floating towards heaven. They thought they were just as bad, maybe worse, for reacting like they did, strapping the Hendersons up on that billboard. Most never gloated about the rapture not coming. Most denied that they were ever there that evening watching the family on the billboard under the glow of the bonfires.

  Those who did admit to what they did said they got swept up in something and they felt the need to apologize to the Hendersons.

  One family even bought an expensive cheese basket loaded with a variety of cheeses and jellies and crackers. They weren’t sure if a cheese basket was an ample apology after having just strapped their children to the top of a billboard, ridiculing them, and then driving Jeff almost to the point of murdering a police officer and his best friend. But they thought a cheese basket was better than nothing.

  They came with their cheese basket early on that Sunday afternoon. They were the first family with the courage to face the Hendersons. To look them in the eyes and say, “We’re sorry.” They knocked on the door and waited in a cold sweat. Would the Hendersons scream at them and say, “How dare you show up here?” Or would they embrace them and admit that everyone had made some mistakes over the last week and it was time to move forward?

  The family with the cheese basket never got to find out.

  They knocked and waited, knocked and waited, but neither Will, Emily, Amy, or Jeff ever showed up at the door. The father walked around and opened the back door. Inside, the Hendersons’ house was messy, but lived-in messy; it didn’t look like they were robbed or like it had been invaded by spies looking for secret microfilm or anything like that. There were clothes strewn about but it was hard to tell if that was because they were doing some last-second packing or if Amy just hadn’t had time to keep up with the housekeeping. She was probably quite busy with all of the prophecies and what-not, but some of the clothes weren’t even in the laundry basket, and that’s embarrassingly messy. You never know when someone’s going to break into your house looking for you, so you should at least try to keep your house clean enough for those instances, the father with the cheese basket thought.

  When he walked into the garage he saw that both the Hendersons’ cars were nestled safely inside. “Jeff?” the father said as he shut the garage door, but the only sound he was met with was the ticking of an old clock. And that’s when the father called the police.

  Soon the police were all over the Henderson house, and by that night, they had officially declared Jeff, Amy, Emily, and Will as missing persons. Everyone all over Kansas was on the lookout for them.

  But no one ever found them.

  The Henderson family was never heard from again. Some said it was because everyone was looking in the wrong place. The Hendersons were the only ones who’d deserved to be raptured and there was no way anyone was going to find them because heaven was nowhere near Kansas. Others liked to think the Hendersons ended up on some beach in Mexico, spending the rest of their days basking in the sun, building sand castles, and watching the surf endlessly roll up onto the shore only to be sucked back into the sea.

  The Hendersons became a legend around Goodland — another exhibit in Miss May’s rapture museum. They became part of Goodland mystique. An outsider could every now and again hear the people of Goodland talking about the Hendersons. If outsiders waited
around coffee shops and diners long enough they would hear bits and pieces of the story about the family who’d created the apocalypse and then afterwards promptly vanished. And the outsider would occasionally ask questions once they heard the story. But they’d get different answers depending on whom they talked to. The people of Goodland could, and did, say whatever they wanted about the Henderson family. They shaped their own stories. Because at the end of the day, there was no way of knowing what was fact and what was fiction, and there was no way to prove what was a prophecy and what was simply a coincidence.

  ROB STENNETT

  I would like to thank in advance the actors who would be ideal to portray the characters in the summer blockbuster adaptation of The End Is Now. I’d like to thank Bill Paxton for playing Jeff Henderson because he’s Hollywood’s best everyman. Diane Lane will play Amy Henderson because she’s the type of actress who’s beautiful, sophisticated, and sympathetic when she’s trapped.

  I would like to thank Ellen Page for playing Emily Henderson. However, by the time this book goes into print, and certainly by the time it is green-lit by the Hollywood studio system, Ellen Page will be far too old for this role. Does she have any younger siblings with that spunky, know-it-all vibe?

  And speaking of younger siblings, I have no idea who could play Will Henderson. Macaulay Culkin would be perfect. So would Haley Joel Osment. But they are old and completely uncute now. Are there any Culkin kids left? Weren’t there like fifteen of them at one point? Maybe Macaulay will have a kid and he and his son will make Home Alone 5 where Macaulay’s family leaves him home around Christmas because he’s too busy at his office and flirting with the secretary. Then the whole movie will be about this thirty-seven-year-old man who has to battle through his alcoholism and childhood demons to find the true meaning of Christmas. There won’t be a single joke in it. It will be on the Hallmark Channel. And at the end, right when Macaulay is standing on the edge of a bridge and ready to take his life, Joe Pesci will show up and give Macaulay the perfect advice he needs to hear. I would like to thank the Hallmark Channel for making that movie.

  I’d also like to thank Andy Meisenheimer, my editor, for once again being Yoda and Captain Kirk rolled into one. Thanks for your friendship, advice, and pushing this story to what it needed to be. I’d like to thank Becky Philpott for making sure my prose snaps, crackles, and pops. I’d like to thank Marcy Schorsch and Karen Campbell for their brilliance in helping The End Is Now get out into the world. And I’d like to thank Chip MacGregor for his wisdom and guidance in the literary business.

  I’d like to thank all the author friends I’ve made along the way: Patton Dodd, Mick Silva, Steve Rabey, John Bolin, Glenn Packiam, Joel Kneedler, Matthew Paul Turner, and Michael Snyder. Processing writing and bouncing ideas off of you guys has helped immensely in shaping this novel and my career.

  I’d like to thank Kevin Beck and Tim King and Jason Boyett (to name a few) for their expertise on eschatology.

  And finally, I’d like to thank Sarah and Julianna and Claire for being so understanding whenever I snuck away to write and for being so loving when I return home. I hope I’m never raptured without you.

  The Almost True Story of Ryan Fisher

  A Novel

  Rob Stennett

  Meet Ryan Fisher — a self-assured real estate agent who’s looking for an edge in the market.

  While watching a news special late one night, he sees evangelical Christians raising their hands in worship. It’s like they’re begging for affordable but classy starter homes.

  Ryan discovers the Christian business directory and places an ad complete with a Jesus fish. His business doubles in a week.

  But after visiting an actual church, Ryan realizes that with his business savvy, he could not only plant a church — he could create an empire.

  The Almost True Story of Ryan Fisher is a hilarious, spot-on, and often heartbreaking satire in the tradition of Kurt Vonnegut, Tom Perrotta, and Douglas Adams.

  Softcover: 978-0-310-27706-4

  Pick up a copy today at your favorite bookstore!

  Read an excerpt from Rob Stennett’s next book, Fallen World. Coming in 2010!

  9 : 0 2 P. M.

  I’m locking myself in tonight.

  And no, I don’t mean I’m getting ready to snuggle up with a glass of wine and a good book on the bearskin rug by the fire or lying on the couch to watch a nice romantic comedy while I chow down on a pint of Cherry Garcia — no I mean I’m literally locking myself in.

  I live in one of those Los Angeles apartment buildings where all the paint is peeling on the outside, and there’s always a bright yellow sign hanging over the balcony that announces the “Move-In Special!” This is the type of place that will soon be condemned, the type of place where you never feel safe, where the door to one apartment is rattling with the thumping of hip-hop gangster rap while another apartment always has girls with fish-net pantyhose and way too much make-up coming and going.

  I live in apartment 517 B. If you walked down the hallway toward my apartment you’d notice the carpet is warped, green, and it smells like old people. The walls are constructed of synthetic wood paneling. The numbers on the doors aren’t metal or raised gold; they’re simply stickers and half are on crooked or partially torn off.

  I’ve seen a lot of strange things happen in this hallway.

  Which is probably why no one stops me as I return from Home Depot. I walk down the hallway with brown plastic bags full of everything I need: power drill, screwdrivers, deadbolts, chains, latches, and locks. I spend the next hour drilling and twisting and attaching them to the door of my apartment. One or two people glance at me funny as I work on my door, but most just walk right past me. They look at me like this is just normal apartment maintenance.

  It isn’t.

  I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never installed locks before. But now, here I am with seven of Home Depot’s most heavy-duty burglar-proof locks lining my front door — “the Kingston series” is what the bearded guy in the orange apron called them. The door’s a complete mess now. But it’s fine, it doesn’t have to look nice, it just has to work.

  It has to keep me inside.

  Once all the deadbolts and latches are in place, I stop this guy named Rick who lives just down the hall from me. We never really talk but I see him all the time. He’s always wearing a track jacket and running shoes, but I’ve never seen him looking all sweaty like he’s just returned from a jog or anything — come to think of it, I have no idea what Rick does. But that doesn’t stop me from asking him a favor.

  “Rick,” I say. He’s trying not to stare at my destroyed front door.

  “Jonah.” I’m amazed he even knows my name.

  “Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Uh — ” Rick says, all awkward and condescending as he inspects my door — “you screwed those in backwards.”

  “No, I did that on purpose.”

  “On purpose?”

  “Yeah, I’m going to shut the door. Then I need you to lock it behind me. All seven locks. Just bolt them shut.”

  “You know you’re going to be locked inside if I do that,” Rick says.

  I’m suddenly very glad I’ve never tried to become friends with Rick. “Yeah, I know, it’s just, I’m doing this thing, it’s nothing weird, it’s for my own safety really, so if you locked the door behind me it would really help me out.” Here I am trying to explain myself to Rick, the guy with the running shoes who never runs, and it makes me think to myself, wow, how low have you sunk?

  “Yeah, sure, I can lock the door,” Rick says.

  “All the locks.”

  “Yeah, all the locks.”

  “Thanks, I really appreciate this,” I say right as I close the door.

  Then I listen. I hear the latches start to fasten. I count each latch as he finishes up — four, five, six, and then there it is, number seven. I’m locked in now.

  That was kind of Rick, I admit. I sh
ouldn’t have been so hard on him. Even if I was only hard on him in my thoughts. Of course it might not have been me who was mocking his wardrobe, his lifestyle, and his haircut. Did I mention Rick’s hair? It’s also pretty hideous and embarrassing. It’s oily and long in the places it should be short and short in the places it should be long. But you see, it might not have been me who thought all of this, it might have been —

  How do I say this?

  I guess there’s no beating around the bush. You’re going to find out sooner or later so I might as well just come out with it: I’m demon possessed. I have been for much of my life, but then I was free and on the wagon and now I’ve relapsed. That’s the worst part. I’d beaten my inner demon (and just so we’re clear by “inner demon” I don’t mean some sort of tough feeling or really hard struggle. No, I mean an actual demon that can turn my eyes into glowing emeralds and speak through me) and now he seems to be back and worse than ever.

  So about an hour ago I called Pastor Martin. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who knows how to deal with my demon. Pastor Martin told me he was in his car and on his way, but it’s a six-hour drive from Tempe to Los Angeles. So he told me, until then, stay tight — and lock myself in. Hence the Kingston series outside my door. On my way to Home Depot I gave him another call and told him I didn’t know how much longer I could stay in control. He said something else but his voice was garbled like he was losing service. I didn’t know how much longer I’d have him on the line.

  “I can’t do this,” I said.

  “Jonah, you can. Center your thoughts.”

  “How?”

  “Maybe you should write your story.”

  “My story?”

  “Yeah. Write it down. It will take you awhile and it’ll keep you focused on something other than — ” and the line went dead.