The Journey E-Book

Frank Schwarz

• Herausgeber: Spines
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

In a deeply moving story, an aging man reflects on his life of selfishness and detachment. Haunted by memories and grappling with faith, he seeks redemption and struggles with spiritual warfare. Through encounters with spiritual guides and confrontations with his past, he, alongside six souls, faces the trials of faith and seeks meaning in a complex world. This tale explores the human condition, the quest for divine grace, and the enduring search for purpose and hope.

Leseprobe

Frank Schwarz

The Journey Book 2

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2024 by Frank Schwarz

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Published by Spines Publishing Platform

ISBN: 979-8-89691-013-8

THE JOURNEY

BOOK 2

FRANK SCHWARZ

MY DEVOTIONS

I have lived through trials and tribulations, and above all, I give thanks to my Lord. His protection and love have carried me throughout my life.

To my sister, Claudia, I express my love and deepest gratitude for always being there.

To my children, Isabella and Samantha Schwarz, I give my unconditional love and appreciation.

To a special friend and brother, Jason Kappery, I extend my love and gratitude.

Just as in the production of movies and the editing of books, there are always individuals working behind the scenes who deserve as much praise as the author or screenwriter. One such person is a young lady, Miss Kira Gill, currently working at Spines Publishing. Her dedication and commitment speak for themselves.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

2. The Revelation

3. The Pain

4. The Indecisive Decision

5. Fading Away

6. My Self-Indoctrination

7. The Warning and Vision of Michael

8. The Message

9. Can You Handle the Truth?

10. The Cardinal

11. The Unexpected News

12. Hidden from the Eye

13. The Storm

14. The Confession

15. The Truth Revealed by Angels

16. This Is My Lord

17. Christ Reveals the Truth

18. The Placing of the Lord's Crown of Thorns

19. The Crown of Thorns, Part Two

20. The Crucifixion, Part 3

21. Resurrection, Part 4

The Reckoning That Set Me Free

22. The Vision Changed

23. Woke Up from My Vision

Mikha'el Part One

24. The Truth of Unconditional Love

25. God's Inscrutable Love for Sinners Who Have Scorned His Glory

26. French Hospital

27. French Hospital Part Two

28. French Hospital Part 3

29. Come and Find Me: Ruach Ha-Kodesh - Part One

30. Come and Find Me: The Voyage, Part Two

31. Come and Find Me: Part Three

32. Come and Find Me: Part Four

33. Come and Find Me: Part Five

34. The Satchel

35. Dream or No Dream

Back at the Bishop's Chambers: Sister Ruth

36. Come and Find Me: Into the Heart of a Believer

Smyrna: The 7th Church of Revelation

37. Come and Find Me: Spiritual Encounter

38. Come and Find Me: He Denied Him Three Times

39. Come and Find Me: Jack and the Suffering Servant

Part of the Sermon – Reformation of the Church

40. Come and Find Me: Back from the Vision – The Sermon

Reformation of the Church

41. A Vision of Grace and Judgment

42. The Bishop's Chambers

43. The Return of Jack's and Jason's Father, Jonathan

44. The Bishop’s Chambers

45. The Return of Jack

46. Reflection

1

In my old age, I discovered that I had reached a point of no return; my egocentric behavior had driven away the people I loved the most. There are memories of happy days, but the murkiness of existence has deprived me of their vision. The Lord gives and takes away (Job 1:21). There was not a moment that I knew I should have followed my father's footsteps. I was willing but not ready; just confused, too young to reach a point of maturity in subjects that belong to skilled and God-driven men who have great courage in the face of danger, especially in battles of spiritual warfare.

Yes, without a doubt, I was the one who was entrusted with the words spoken by the commander of the heavenly hosts, St. Michael himself. It was Michael the Archangel who disputed with the devil. Satan himself sought to claim possession of Moses' body as that of a murderer, since he had killed the Egyptian guard (Exodus 2:11-12). And it was for this that St. Michael said, 'May God rebuke thee.'

But in the same moment, I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed. I am certain and persuaded that He is able to guard my deposit entrusted for that day to come.

I learned in my teenage years, as my father pounded these words into the inner core of my being, 'Son, remember,' my father motioned in his gravelly voice, 'if the Lord has given you much, you shall be called blessed. Why?' And then he paused with a half smile playing around his mouth as he continued, 'Because you have been found worthy and the heavens are aligned for your purpose. You must use it wisely.' Then he quietly sighed through his mouth and slid his dark brown eyes in my direction. He pointed his right index finger at me and whispered, 'From everyone who has been given much,' and then he paused for a split second. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and cleared the sweat from the deep lines of his forehead. He sighed quietly through his mouth and cleared his throat as he continued with his index finger still aimed at me, 'From everyone who has been given much, much shall be required.'

In this moment, I wondered if I had failed. I felt my throat tighten into a lump; I was unable to think, almost like something deep inside of me took me to a place where I was unable to feel anything but displeasure. I know from years of psychological courses that it was caused by unfulfilled hopes and expectations.

There are moments, especially now in my old age, when I think about the changes I could have made. In all these years, I have cowardly stood by as the churches were stripped of their fundamental values. Naturalism and doctrines of demons have become a new and desired clothing brand that has filled the shelves throughout the Christian communities.

Remember what the Spirit of the Lord has told the Apostle John to write to the angel that guarded the Ephesus church: 'Yet I hold this against you; you have forsaken the love you had at first. Consider how you have fallen. Repent and do the things you did at first. If you don't repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place' (Revelation 2:4-5).

Our Lord is the light of this world. The warning is clear in this case: the corrective was to remember the heights of the former love they had once stood by. They were hardworking but no longer had the drive and the same passion for Christ as when they first believed. Their work was no longer motivated by love. Jesus himself is not just calling for the repentance of the church; he is crying out once more to all who have fallen short.

In the same moment, as I peacefully positioned my ears towards the music of lush raindrops surging down my kitchen window, I noticed that my eyes became heavy and tearful. I slid my eyes slowly towards the kitchen window as the rain was gently dancing and skating on top of the windowsill.

I withdrew my mind from all the negative emotions, the doorbell rang. My ears were in a state of shock as I slid my eyes towards my father's old wristwatch, which was barely hanging on to my wrist. Before I was able to summon my thoughts, the bell of displeasure hollered through my inner ears once again. The sound waves were still buzzing in my ears as I straightened myself up as best as I could, ran my hand through my messy hair, and carefully pushed myself off my chair.

My hand was still resting on my kitchen table as I glanced towards the archway inside my kitchen. I collected my thoughts, I realized that nobody had come by in ages—not even the mailman had bothered to knock on my door. I removed my hand slowly from the table and walked towards the entrance of my kitchen. Just then, I quickly peeked around the arched opening into my foyer. Slowly, I shifted my gaze towards the massive historical London door, which stood proudly with its beautiful hand-carved designs in a wall dedicated to a gallery of pictures and accomplishments.

My focus began to shift as the doorbell echoed loudly throughout my foyer. Instinctively, I focused my eyes on my massive double doors, which stood strong between me and Mr. Mysterious. After all, it was too early in the morning. At that same moment, I heard the sound of footsteps vanishing into the far distance. Slowly but steadily, I dedicated myself to reach my massive front doors. Finally, I reached my destination and pressed my ear close to the door. Not a sound of human activity—just the raindrops pounding against my door, almost like an angry judge beating his gavel on top of a table. I slid my eyes towards the magic mirror and took a deep stare—nobody there. But hold on, I see the enormous pine tree wrestling with the northern wind. The oak tree, planted five years ago, was struggling just to keep up; its branches were no thicker than spider legs.

I reached out with my hand towards the door handle. As I turned it slowly, I reached my hand around the massive frame to tug the giant from its resting place. The high-pitched squeaking sound of the metal hinges could be heard throughout my foyer as the door opened slowly from its resting place to a world my father and Michael had warned me about.

I was welcomed by a group of naughty leaves as they forced themselves through the opening of my door. The freezing wind had become unfriendly as I shuffled myself through the opening. As far as I could tell, it was me versus the freezing rain. My ears were stung as the unbearable wind broke against my face, reminding me of my childhood years. We had huge boulders surrounding our fishing community as a barrier to protect our homes from the massive waves that came rushing toward our island.

I squeezed myself slowly through the opening of my door and walked carefully towards my patio. Just then, in the same moment, I glanced back towards the front door—no trace of that mysterious being who had rung my doorbell on this tempestuous day. I turned slowly, shielding my eyes from the freezing rain, my head slightly tilted as my eyes searched through the thickness of the misty rain.

The soporific landscape left me breathless. Heavy black clouds collided against the indomitable mountain tops, while sunlight fought its way through the small cracks that the specter had left unprotected. The landscape was a breathtaking sight; no artist could claim the prize of such a masterpiece, only the Creator of heaven and earth Himself. With the breath of His mouth, He paints a picture of luscious greens, brushed with the warmth of the Master's stroke.

“There is more to come,” I whispered gently as I turned my head slowly towards the front door. I searched carefully with my eyes one more time. At the same moment, I blew hot air through the cracks of my fingers, stiff from the frigid cold. The standoff had begun: man vs. cold and rain. My slippers barely clung to my feet; they were drenched, and as for my toes, they felt unyielding, unwilling to perform under these circumstances.

“I’m not the youngest anymore,” I muttered, as I embraced the thought of sliding my stiff fingers into my pants pockets. My mind is made up. I think I’m just advanced in age; my mind must have played a role in this, perhaps a role-play instigated by my own intellectual capabilities. Maybe deep inside of me is a burning desire that could not be met or discharged. As I took a deep breath, I felt a small whisper inside my head: “Jack, wake up.”

Before I was able to reach out for the front door, I felt a sting of pain penetrating my inner self. It was my inner voice, speaking in a fearful or anxious way. I knew my ego had driven me in recent years to a place of fear and apprehension. This voice that I’m hearing is the voice of a great force, captivated by valor and strength.

As I backed away from my reasoning, I reached my right hand towards the door handle and turned the knob as swiftly as I could. Suddenly, I felt a cold chill traveling down my spine. Before I could utter another sentence, I pushed the door open with my left shoulder. Finally, I positioned my right foot and ambled sideways through the door. As I struggled to remove my drenched slippers from my feet, I slid my eyes slowly towards the threshold. The door was slightly open, and a parched letter was pinned between my hardwood floor and the oriental runner I had purchased long ago at a bazaar in the Balkans. There were small marked places, consisting of multiple small stalls or shops, and the smell of fresh herbs and fruits filled the air all around us.

“Jack, wake up,” I heard the voice again, the one that seems so familiar to me. Suddenly, I had a déjà vu. I felt overwhelmed and sad at the same time. My memory wasn’t allowing me to identify this man-like image that stood inside a world far beyond human comprehension. Before I could summon my thoughts, I reached for the envelope. Right then, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the voice I was hearing belonged to Michael. I held on to the envelope as best as I could, and, I noticed the shortness of breath as I positioned my back against the door.

I felt incapacitated as I slid my eyes towards the parched envelope. I remembered it too well; it was a rainy night, and my father was broken and confused. The thunder was clashing in the distance as my father cleared his throat, and then he whispered anxiously in his raspy voice, “I am not a preacher anymore; why is God chasing me?” Then he paused as he put his hand on the ledge to close the door.

I remembered too well how Michael's appearance changed into a radiant light source, supplied by a force from the supernatural realm of immortality. Michael’s movements seemed slow as he faced my father. At that moment, Michael touched my father on the shoulder. My father’s body looked transparent as the tips of Michael's fingers released a supernatural light source onto my father’s shoulders. At the same time, I heard Michael’s voice in the depths of my soul: “Jack, wake up. Don’t be afraid. Your father cannot see what you see; his heart is hardened, and he cannot move freely in the supernatural realm.”

I paused for a moment as I cleared my throat. I felt nervous as I slid my eyes towards the envelope. My fingers were still shaking as I covered the writing with them. I couldn’t remember the last time I received a letter. “Now or never,” I whispered gently as I removed my index finger from the descriptive writing. Then I paused as I entered into a deep stare. I removed my eyes from the envelope, carefully folded it, and held it tightly in my hand.

2

THE REVELATION

The hours slipped into the past of no return. The thunder demonstrated its strength as it roared and crashed into the cliffs of Mount Helens. I made every step count to my advantage. Deep down in my heart, I felt my spirit, almost as if someone were squeezing my nucleus with their bare fingers. My hands were still nervously shaking as they were clasped behind my back. I squeezed the envelope to the point where my fingers had no circulation. I knew that my intellectual capability was sharp enough, despite my age, to understand that the information hidden inside the wrapper held a painful ransom.

Slowly but steadily, I trudged towards the kitchen table. I slid my eyes towards my gentle friend as she ignited the twilight in her breathtaking flared dress. I was still admiring the flares of my lantern, I rested my hands on the kitchen table. The envelope was still tightly clutched in my right hand. Nevertheless, I softly pushed my chair back and sat down.

The thunder had lost its muscle, and the rain was twirling deliberately on my window sill. The envelope was juggling back and forth between my fingers as I noticed its smooth, silky texture. This was an important factor. This type of material is called alkaline paper, and it has a life expectancy of over 1,000 years. The making of alkaline paper has several other advantages, such as longer preservation of printed documents. This means that whoever sent this letter ensured its preservation until it reached its destination.

I had mixed feelings crippling the inside of my stomach as I stared at the envelope. My eyes were heavy; they felt agitated. I was too exhausted, after all. I had no intention of hurling myself into problems. It wasn’t the problem itself that concerned me, but the responsibility it carried.

My eyes grew heavy as I felt the weight of the letter resting on my heart. I swiftly averted my eyes from the envelope, I felt the dry heat from my ember stove penetrating the dermis of my frozen feet. My toes were barely hanging on, stiff from the cold rain. “My mental state isn’t the best lately,” I exclaimed as I slid my eyes towards the stove. The logs showed an outburst of anger, like a dragon spewing sparks of fire at the night’s shining armor. This was definitely an exhibit of brilliance and animation. In the same moment, I caught myself staring at my brother’s old sideboard. I knew that deep down inside of me was a part that allowed me to recall and draw upon past events. But this time, I only heard voices; there were faces, but I couldn’t make out a clear image. Before I could clear my thoughts, I was overwhelmed by guilt and disappointment. The envelope was still resting in my hand as I felt sweat forming between the deep lines of my forehead. Carefully, I slid my eyes once more towards my brother’s old sideboard. The reflection from the fire inside my stove transferred a mild glowing shadow onto my brother’s graduation picture. For a moment, I felt transfixed as I gazed at my brother’s old picture, but my thoughts took me instantly to a place where time doesn’t exist. Everything seemed blurry as I gazed into the past.

1995. The Bellingham Bay Railroad was working around the clock as Christmas slowly but steadily approached. The Fairhaven station was slightly overwhelmed with people running around hysterically, trying to get to their chosen destinations. My eyes were still searching for a clue. What is the purpose of this vision? Why am I here? Immediately, my body froze; I wasn’t allowed to anticipate. But my vision was as sharp as the eyesight of an eagle. There was my father, with his strong, ashy-looking hair, having a deep conversation with my younger brother Jason. My father had his elbows reclined on top of a luggage trolley, his facial expression seemed nervous as he gazed at my brother with anticipation. Jason’s hair was thick and curly, but his height was tremendous. There wasn’t a day on the weekends that we missed playing flag football. Right then, my thought process was put on hold. Not a pin drop could be heard inside the station. All the people inside the station became like suspended animation. Not one person moved; they all froze in time as I watched everything unfold right in front of my own eyes. Right then, I found myself standing right beside my father.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” I mumbled quietly as I stared right into my brother’s face. He looked a bit disappointed as he continued his conversation with my father.

“Son, I am very pleased. You will make a fine priest,” my father exclaimed, pride written in his voice.

“Thank you, sir,” my brother interrupted as he nervously straightened his Sunday tie. He continued, “Father, my boxy coat is too uncomfortable,” he motioned, wiping the sweat off his red cheeks.

My father released his hands from the trolley. He took a few steps towards my brother and reached with his left hand towards his tie. “Let me help you, Son,” he whispered gently as a half-smile played around his mouth. My brother looked away from my father and stared straight into my face. I felt stuck inside the twilight zone. All the thoughts my brother had at that moment were telepathically transferred into my mind. My brother’s eyes were still fixed on me as I heard him whisper, “Jack, I hope you know that I love you.” Then he paused as tears ran down his smooth cheeks. He continued, “I was waiting on you, but I guess you had your reasons. One day, you will be called on, and this will be the cornerstone of your calling.”

As my brother finished his sentence, I was unwillingly stopped by a force that wouldn’t let me argue my case. Before I could summon my thoughts, I found myself standing in the same position as before. My father slowly removed his hands from my brother’s tie and sighed quietly. Carefully, he lifted his right hand towards my brother’s right shoulder.

“Son, you should have worn a different jacket; this one attracts all the dust.” Then he paused as he gently brushed his fingers over my brother’s shoulders. “Are you ready, Jason?” my father sighed as he took a few steps back.

“Yes, sir,” my brother uttered as he took one more hard look towards the entrance of the station. Before he could say another word, he moved swiftly towards my father and threw his arms around him, sobbing uncontrollably. I watched my father extend his arms towards my brother. Right then, I was awakened by the horn of a fast-passing fire engine. In that moment, I felt my fingers reaching for the edge of the kitchen table. My face started to break out in sweat. Right then, I knew I wasn’t awake. My mind was like a rotating spindle, almost like a huge tray with removable cards attached to it. But on top of the cards were pictures of detrimental events that happened in the past. Right then, the first card was taken out swiftly and cast with a propelling force right in my direction.

There was my second hand and partner, Michael Leets. I remember it well; he was my former operative for the Central Intelligence Agency. He was a different breed. The first time I ever met him was at the airport in 1982. He flew in from D.C. on another special assignment for the CIA. He walked up to me in desert-colored Rhino gear. His military PTs were tightly folded at the bottom and tucked into his boots, and his red T-shirt was tucked without a wrinkle into his pants. To top it all off, he wore a skater belt with a smooth-looking brass buckle. He was a stocky-looking fellow. All our agents called him “Buzzer” because of his extremely shaved head. I remember his fingers were so thick that he had a hard time inserting his 9mm rounds into his 17-round magazine. But don’t let that fool you; he was, and maybe still is, one of the best-trained marksmen I have ever laid my eyes on. There wasn’t one agent across the board who could match him.

Right then, another card appeared right in front of my face. But this time, the horrors of the past were provoking me with a playful smile. There was no way to hide. In this moment, I was trapped inside my memory. Slowly but steadily, I opened my eyes. They were welcomed by the noise of a 7-gun salute. Every time a shot was fired, I was reminded of another heinous event that took place in the past. It was Saturday morning, Christmas Eve. I stood right in front of my open locker as I slid a fully loaded magazine into my Glock 19. I glanced at my wristwatch and sighed quietly. At the same moment, my cell phone and work phone went off . I reached my right hand into my pocket and pulled out my personal phone. As I held my personal phone against my ear, my work phone went to voicemail.

"Yes, Father, I promise I’ll be there," I mumbled out loud as I heard my father’s deafening and raspy voice hollering through the telephone. But as I still heard my father’s voice on the phone, I suddenly found myself inside the federal parking lot, facing my black SUV. I slid my right hand into my left pants pocket. Before I could push the button on my remote, I noticed in the blind spot of my eyes a black SUV with squealing tires heading straight towards the opposite side of my vehicle. There was my partner Michael, with his head halfway hanging out of the driver’s side window.

"Showdown at the Bellingham Shipping Terminal, 629 Cornwall Avenue! You got it?" he screamed out loud right before his SUV came to a screeching halt. At this point, I knew I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye to my brother. I kept staring at my wristwatch as we raced down the turnpike with sirens blaring. Michael was full of energy, chewing his gum at record speed.

"Don’t worry, my old friend," Michael uttered out loud. "The reinforcement team unit should be there before we get there."

At that moment, all I could think of was my brother. I wanted to tell him face to face that I was proud of him. In a moment of despair, I reached with my left hand for my cell phone, which was stuck inside my tactical gear.

"That’s my luck," I hollered out loud as we flew through the narrow city streets. Michael hadn’t paid me any attention; he was too busy screaming into his walkie-talkie. I glanced at my cell phone one more time, but there was still no service. Right then, Michael slid his right eye in my direction.

"Boss man, get ready. Let’s lock and load. We’re arriving in 6," Michael paused with a half-smile on his face, his right eye still twitching and fixed on me as he sped through the traffic light. "One for all, all for one, until death has us all!" he yelled out loud.

Right at that moment, we came to a squealing halt. The streets were lit up in red and blue. The chaos was fully unfolding. Fire rescue trucks were blocking the streets at the same moment the armored vehicles moved into their positions, protected by incoming M706 portable light armored cars.

3

THE PAIN

The minutes passed into this unfolding event as I slid my eyes one more time towards my wristwatch. "Definitely too late now," I mumbled out loud. The only thing left to do at this moment was to protect my men and deal with the situation later. I had a full squad of agents and a bunch of contraband to account for. If this unfortunate event turned sour, we would have a bunch of narcotics floating around our cities.

I motioned out loud. Right then, Michael straightened himself up and reached for the door handle. He slid his eyes in my direction and sighed quietly. As he swung open his truck door, my ears were assaulted by the loud sound of high-pitched sirens. I reached for Michael's right shoulder.

"Don't play the hero, you understand?" I screamed out loud.

Before I could say another word, my partner jumped out of his seat, took a few steps back, and slung his AR-15 around his shoulder plates. He slid his eyes in my direction and held a shiny quarter in his right hand.

"Heads or tails?" he mumbled out loud, an unfitting snigger on his face. Before I could respond, he flipped the quarter into the air. "Heads for me," he uttered out loud as his eyes followed the quarter spinning through the air. Then he smiled as he watched the coin land on the wet pavement. He bent his knees slightly and took a hard look, still smiling. "This is not my day, boss man," he mumbled out loud. In the same moment, he straightened himself up and closed the truck door. Then he lifted his right hand and gave me a thumbs-up. As he looked through the foggy window, I knew right then he was hiding the truth about the quarter landing on tails.

My eyes were still fixed on Michael as the rain pounded hard against my windshield. As I reached to turn on the wiper blades, Michael disappeared.

"That quick," I mumbled quietly as I released air from my mouth. Right then, I reached for my walkie-talkie. I slid my face close to the windshield—the fog had robbed me of my eyesight. Just when I thought my eyes were done playing tricks on me, my walkie-talkie started going crazy.

"Operations Agent Schuller, broken arrow! Broken arrow!"

The rain was out of control, beating relentlessly against my truck. My windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. I squinted my eyes as best as I could through the moving wiper blades. Right then, I noticed Michael as he breached the compound under gunpoint. The weather turned for the worse; I couldn’t even see the hood of my truck. The only thing that kept me oriented were the flashing lights from the rescue vehicles. Streaks of lightning exploded out of the tempest sky, striking the box ships. The waters of the harbor had reached a record high, and its uncontrollable current was affecting our rescue boats. Some box ships were being pulled in by tugboats as the waves beat savagely against the strong wooden slipways. My eyes teared up as I squinted through my mega zoom binoculars.

I took a deep breath and reached inside my glove compartment. With my left hand, I threw my field glasses onto the driver’s seat. Right then, I heard a small explosion. I slid my eyes nervously towards the glove compartment, my mind playing tricks on me. My fingers weren’t cooperating as I searched for the tissue box. Just as I retrieved a napkin from the box, I was greeted by another shrill message from my transceiver.

"Explosion at the north wing, Building 666. Can you copy, Operations Agent Schuller? Can you copy?"

Suddenly, the sky over the harbor ignited into a fireball. I wiped my eyes as fast as I could. In the same moment, I retrieved my walkie-talkie from the dashboard.

"Agent Leets, can you copy? Michael, this is an order—copy!"

These were the last words before Michael’s radio went silent. I knew I had to keep my head straight; this was not the moment to make assumptions. I had only one choice.

"I’m going in," I whispered softly as I reached for my Ruger. I slid my eyes one more time towards the driver’s side and pushed my door slowly open. The rain was so strong that I couldn’t hear a thing. Right then, my radio went off in full alert. At the same moment, the rain kept beating me in the face as I reached for the fender.