* * * *
Everyone in the studio, paralyzed with awe and anticipation, focused on the television monitors throughout the station; the images were coming through and showing the rear of Rhonda's head as she moved through the foyer of the funeral home. The control room director commanded the cameraman via the wireless communications link to adjust the focus of camera view. The news team moved down a small hallway and entered through the side of two large doors leading into the memorial room while filming an aura of indescribable incandescence. Moving closer to the doorway, the white levels on the image transmitted by the camera began to wash out other objects in the video. The control room director instructed the control room team to adjust the contrast levels, black levels, gain, or other necessary settings to fine-tune the feed in order to attempt and transmit a sharper picture. Every time they modified the color balance level or contrast setting, the intensity of the aura on received video image counteracted the adjustment. As the camera crew moved within inches of the chapel entrance, the radiance from the angel magnified. Simultaneously, the angel in the studio that Stephen had stayed focused on incrementally brightened. He felt the need to stand again. Carson got upset when he saw him.
“Sit down,” Carson angrily whispered.
Stephen ignored him.
The news crew rounded the doorway. On the studio monitors, everyone observed at the end of the center aisle of the chapel was the image of an indistinct figure, bathed in white light, which washed out most of the screen. Mourners in the sanctuary of the memorial chapel were barely discernible from the background. Golden flames in the shape of a sword were visible in front of the upper torso of the angelic figure. The crew in the control room worked feverishly to clear the picture. They had some success when the image became visible for a little less than two seconds. A well-dressed older man walked backwards down the center aisle with his attention focused on the divine presence at the front of the chapel. No one noticed him holding his chest. During that same time, the angelic being spoke, its voice consisting of tonal harmonics, audibly ethereal and vague.
The video feed to the studio ceased. The studio shook with a small earthquake.
Stephen, still observing his angel, heard the exchange over the studio sound system. He heard others mumbling among themselves about the actual words spoken by the angel. In the next instant, his angel lurched toward Stephen, coming face–to-face, causing Stephen to duck down reflexively. The angelic figure faded, a voice echoed in Stephen’s ears saying, “Aurora.” His vision blackened as the sound like a massive rush of wind reverberated throughout the entire studio. Lights, cameras, computers, control boards, all illuminated devices dimmed; some of the electronic gear shut off completely. Another tremor rumbled through the studio. The production crewmembers who saw Stephen ducking for no reason were further startled by the menagerie of events. After a few moments of paralysis, Stephen's studio aide worked his way over to help him, ashen, back up and into his chair..
“Prepare to go to air. Carson, be ready to go live back to the feed,” the director's voice bellowed.
“How do we know they're all still alive? What’s if it’s Thomson and Thomson all over again?” a lighting specialist blurted out, forgetting his place within the hierarchy of the studio personnel. No one responded.
Stagehands, makeup specialists, and other crew members all hustled to their respective locations off set after several seconds of stunned silence.
Carson again straightened his tie while viewing his live guest, skeptical of his blindness. What if it’s another tragic event? This could be good for ratings, he thought. “Trish, do we still have a feed with Rhonda?” he asked.
“I need to go,” Stephen commented, his voice shaky.
“What the hell,” Carson retorted. “We still have an interview to finish.”
Stephen stood up. “I need to go, where's my aide?”
“Damn it Trish, what the fuck?”
“Don't worry about him; we have a bigger story with the angel. Just prepare to go live and discuss what happened when we give you playback of the event.”
“Shouldn't we keep him as the reputed expert witness of last week’s event?” Carson asked angrily.
Trish ignored him. Carson promptly thought she was an idiot.
The studio intern worked his way onto the set and helped Stephen off the raised interview platform and back to the green room where his sister was waiting.
“Guys in the control room ready with the playback? Set is clear; we're ready to go live,” Trish commanded.
A nervous, stuttering voice responded, “Uh, Trish... we got a problem... all the recording devices are empty.”
“Were we sending this to our local affiliates? They should have it.”
The nervous voice responded again. “Uhhh, we tried, we're coming up blank everywhere. I was just told viewers at home are calling the studio asking what we did to zap their digital recorders. Even someone with an old VCR claimed the video before and up till after the sighting is gone.”
“Bullshit,” Trish bellowed. “You better get a recording of what just happened or you're all fired!”
Crewmembers in the control room, grips, and stagehands on the studio floor, and anyone on the set who felt this circumstance might be a chance to set themselves apart from their colleagues worked frantically, vying to be able to claim they were responsible for restoring services. Personnel checked camera equipment, power lines, cables, circuit breakers, display units, sound boards, mixers, speaker cables, lighting assemblies, microphone boom setups--any electrical equipment or systems--everyone made sure nothing was overlooked that could have caused the brownout. Although most knew that whatever wiped out the recording must have been external to the studio. Looking busy was also a way to keep Trish from shouting at them for just standing around. With no one able to find a concrete cause of what happened, she digressed to the point of belittling nearly the entire crew on the set with the exception of Carson.
“Rhonda’s on the phone,” a voice bellowed over the PA system on the set.
The activity, most of it feigned by then, halted. After a couple of minutes, the voice continued. “She says they all appear to be alive.”
The studio erupted into applause.
“Hold on; she says that almost everyone looks sunburned and like they’re in shock; police and ambulances on the way.” The diminishing cheers accentuated the expletive “oh shit” from the voice over the PA system.