Absence of Faith (15 page)

"I know," he said almost tearfully.
"But whatever this is, it's scaring people like nothing I've seen
before. Not even death itself has frightened people like this.
There is something evil in all of this and it won't stop this
time."

C
arson drove
to Doctor Stokes' house feeling ambivalent - he wanted to believe
the Hellfire Syndrome was a disease of some sort, but then there
were questions, many questions. He had Doctor Stokes to back him
with the case from the 1980s, but Stokes did not have any details,
and Carson was still searching the records for the report. The fact
that several religious leaders had agreed to meet and discuss the
phenomenon suggested to him that maybe this was the work of some
evil force in the world - the rise of Satanism or the rise of Satan
himself. He had a hard time dealing with such a nebulous concept.
He was a doctor and he was taught to look for causes and effects to
determine truths. It would take a spectacle of some kind to
convince Carson that Satan was rising, and his power was getting
stronger in the world. He needed a clear-cut cause and effect. He
had the effect - the interdenominational meeting would be the first
to take place in many years. Holy men from the Roman Catholic,
Presbyterian, Jewish, Methodist, Baptist, Episcopalian, and
Lutheran followings would be there. The cause, however, was
untenable for Carson.

Carson drove into the Misery Hills
section of Ocean Village named because of the misery and grief that
befell the widows who lived there. The roads were lined with tall,
aging oaks, whose branches intertwined forming a tunnel of leaves
over the road. The gloom created by the trees seemed to creep into
his soul. He made a left turn and proceeded down Hickory Street.
Misery Hills was an older development with well-manicured lawns and
neat patches of multi-colored flowerbeds, and tall aging trees.
Some residents were descendents of the original inhabitants; others
were the highly successful professionals of the area.
Industrial-age sea captains built the massive, restored Victorian
homes during the 19th century, when nearby Shark River Inlet served
as a major delivery port for the fledgling coastal communities of
New Jersey. Many of the homes had widower's walks, tiny balconies
overlooking the sea, where the wives of the sea captains would walk
and search for their husbands' ships to return from the sea. The
area coined its name from the loss of many of ships that sank in
the treacherous inlet during bad weather and storms.

Carson pulled up to Stokes' house,
a multi-gabled white Victorian mansion that belonged to Stokes’
great grandfather. Stokes’ grandfather was instrumental in reviving
European trade at the inlet in the early 1900s. Carson walked up
the cobble stone walkway and rang the doorbell. Stokes opened the
thick mahogany door.

"Come in, Carson. I'll just be a
second," he said.

"Thanks."

Stokes disappeared up the steep
carpeted staircase that joined the foyer. Carson waited there and
noticed the dark oak wall panels crafted by a skilled carpenter
long gone. He could hear the ticking of a far-away clock and the
area smelled of aged wood - wood that had stood majestically for
many decades as a staircase, a wall panel, a newel post - the smell
one encounters in a fine antique shop...the smell of the past. The
staircase creaked and groaned as Stokes came down holding a light
jacket in one hand and a notebook in another.

"Let’s go," he said.

The two got into Carson's
car.

"I hope you are prepared for the
worse," Stokes said.

"What do you mean?"

"I have a feeling the clergymen are
going to tell us things we don't want to hear. I think they will
confirm our worst fears," Stokes explained.

They approached a major
intersection and Carson stopped. He looked both ways and waited for
the traffic to clear. He waited for one more car to pass, lifted
his foot off the brake, and then slammed it down. The car directly
across from them entered the intersection prematurely and was
slammed by an oncoming car. The moving car skidded and pushed the
other car to the side of the road. At first, it the cars appeared
to have minor damage, but when Carson and Stokes approached they
could see the cars had life threatening damage.

"There's one in here!" Stokes
shouted.

"I've got three here and one's a
kid!" Carson shouted back from the car that was struck. He pulled
the door open and put his fingers on the artery in the child’s
neck.

Stokes immediately pulled his cell
phone out of his jacket and dialed 911.

Carson gently pulled the young boy
out of the car and laid him on the pavement. He held his nose and
administered CPR. His parents rushed over to him. After several
attempts Carson found he couldn't blow into the boy's lungs. Stokes
joined him and pushed on the boy's chest with a closed fist. The
boy awoke, but had hard time breathing. Carson ripped his shirt
open and saw a metal tag attached to a chain around his
neck.

"He has asthma," Carson said
holding the medical alert tag so he could read it.

"He's having an attack!" the mother
said. "Here’s his inhaler!"

She frantically searched in her
large straw handbag for the inhaler and finally dumped all the
contents on the road. Carson picked out the inhaler among nail
polish bottles, makeup, and the pieces of her life. He put it on
the boy’s mouth and hoped he would respond. The boy had difficulty
breathing and his lips were turning blue.

"I don't think so, Doctor Stokes,"
Carson replied. "I think he has a collapsed esophagus. I had a hard
time getting air in!"

"No. I've seen these before! It's
an attack!" his mother insisted. "Give him his inhaler!"

"I think you're wrong. He needs a
tracheotomy or he’ll die," Carson said.

"Don't do it, Carson. Wait for the
paramedics!" Stokes shouted.

"I can't wait!" Carson yelled.
"He'll die!"

"I think you're making a
mistake!"

"I'll take full responsibility,"
Carson said. He ran towards his car to get his medical
bag.

A strange sensation instantly
washed over him and suddenly he was a member of his local first aid
squad again and they had received a call about a choking,
three-year-old boy. Carson had been on the squad only a short time.
When they arrived, the mother was hysterical and they couldn't
understand her. She kept saying he was having an asthma
attack.

"I think he's choking on
something!" Carson told the squad leader.

"It's an asthma attack. His mother
said so," the leader fired back.

"Who are the professionals here?”
Carson stubbornly shouted back.

"We’re not doctors! Now load him
into the ambulance! I've seen asthma attacks before and that's what
this is. Now MOVE!"

Carson followed orders. They
arrived at the hospital minutes later, but the boy had died.
Doctors found a piece of hard candy lodged in the boy's throat.
Carson never forgot the little boy as he watched his face turn blue
in the ambulance and slowly die.

"If only I had been forceful
enough. If only I had followed my heart," he once told his wife,
Linda. "I could have saved his life. It was what made me become a
doctor. I feel I have to save people to make up for it."

"That's not a good reason to be a
doctor. You should love what you do," she said. "Besides, it wasn't
your fault that the little boy died. You were just following
orders."

"I do love what I do, but I also
feel driven to do the best I can at all times," he said. "And I
guess that's good."

Carson found himself staring at the
struggling face of the little boy on the pavement. It twisted and
seemed to change form. The face was familiar and suddenly Carson
could see the three-year-old boy's face again.

"Follow your heart this time,
Carson. You tried to save my life once, but were not strong enough
to follow your convictions. Do it this time," the boy’s face seemed
to say.

Carson blinked in disbelief and
fear. Stokes and the parents were yelling, but their shouts were
muted as if they were shouting through a closed window. He slowly
cut a tiny incision into the boy's windpipe. Instantly, the boy
sucked in a large amount of air through the tiny cut. Carson
inserted a plastic tube into the cut and taped it in place. The
boy's natural color returned.

"You were right," Stokes said
wide-eyed. "You're a better doctor than I thought."

"Are the others
stabilized?"

"Yes. One has an abrasion on his
forehead and other has a broken arm and probably a couple of broken
ribs. We've done all we could here. Where are those damn
paramedics?”

* * *

Stokes and Carson arrived at Holy
Mary's Roman Catholic Church an hour late. They walked up wide
cement steps to the large black oak doors that made up the entrance
to the elaborate church.

"What do you think is going to
happen at this meeting?" Carson asked.

"I'm not sure. On one hand, they
strongly believe in good and evil and Satan. On the other, I
believe there is a scientific and pragmatic answer for the
symptoms. I'm torn on how to approach it," he explained.

"I felt the same way earlier and
then that accident sort of set me straight. I think it has to do
with the amount of fear and the amount of faith one has in their
religion and themselves. I still don't believe I went to hell and
came back to tell about it," Carson explained as they ascended the
steps. "I think if you really believe in yourself, your religion,
and you don't let fear take hold, then you will come to the same
conclusion as I have - that this has to be some type of new disease
that is undetectable."

"I think you’re right. But why are
all these religious leaders here? Do you think they are going to
interrogate us and try to determine that it's some kind of disease?
There is something far worse going on here and we'll find out soon
enough."

They opened the doors to the church
and the odor of stale incense greeted them. Their footsteps echoed
throughout the high ceiling like a flock of birds taking off. The
two doctors walked towards a figure in black at the
altar.

"Greetings, gentlemen," said the
figure. "We saw you pull up."

"Hello, Father," Stokes
replied.

Another priest walked up to the
group.

"Doctor Matthew Stokes, Doctor
Carson Hyll, this is Father Keith McDuffy of St. Mary's," Pastor
Millard said.

"Glad to meet you."

"My pleasure," Father McDuffy said
holding out a large burly hand that seemed not to fit that of a
priest.

"We apologize for being late. There
was a car accident and we had to assist," Stokes said.

"Were the injuries
serious?"

"Unfortunately," Carson said. "I
had to do a tracheotomy on a young boy with a collapsed
esophagus."

"Carson saved the boy's life,"
Stokes added.

"We'll pray for them tonight and
for you as well," Father McDuffy said. "We hadn't started yet.
We're waiting for Bishop Phulax from the archdiocese. Come,
gentlemen. We'll join the others in the conference
room."

The men walked across the altar,
went through a doorway off to the left, and entered a room with a
long oval conference table. Brown soft leather chairs with armrests
surrounded the table, and the soft off white light from the
overhead lights gave the room a warm, comfortable ambiance. Three
sweating glass pitchers of water each with several tumblers nearby
were evenly spaced on the table.

"May I have your attention,
please," Father McDuffy announced to the small crowd. "This is
Doctor Matthew Stokes, chief of staff at Ocean Village and Doctor
Carson Hyll, also of the hospital.

The crowd smiled and nodded through
a fog of gloom that seemed to hang in the room. The fog made
Carson's stomach turn slightly, but Stokes appeared oblivious to
it. Carson and Stokes were directed to seats near the end of the
table. Father McDuffy and Pastor Millard took seats on each side of
them. The head seat remained vacant.

"We’ll start as soon as the bishop
gets here. He should be here any minute now," Father McDuffy
said.

Several minutes later, Bishop
Phulax entered the room dressed in black.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce Bishop
Oino Phulax of the Archdiocese of Trenton," Father McDuffy
announced.

The religious leaders stood. Bishop
Phulax towered over them all, his frame measuring over six feet. He
looked more like a prizefighter than a bishop.

"Be seated," the bishop
said.

Father McDuffy directed him to the
head of the table, but he did not sit. The bishop placed a hard
black briefcase on the table and snapped the hasps open. The sound
and deliberate motions of the bishop suggested that his black case
held something ominous and evil and that it would be unleashed when
he opened it. The men in the room watched trance-like as the bishop
opened the case and took out a small stack of papers.