The Hand of God (13 page)

“No!  Let me die!  Please!  Oh God!  It hurts!  Oh my God!  Kill me!  Please kill me!” he screamed.

I slid my hand back into his chest, this time his heart was beating.  I squeezed it firmly until he let out a final gasp and collapsed dead again.  I pulled my hand out and stepped away from his body.  What had I just done?

Chapter 22

I couldn’t get over the bizarre turn of events.  Having just cut a man’s skull apart and doing some sort of reading on his brains was new territory even for me.  The most disturbing part was what happened at the end.  I somehow brought him back to life, but in severe pain.  It was as if he was completely insane upon reanimation.  Kind of like I had some perverted way of resurrecting the dead. In a twisted sort of way, it was rather cool.

I suppose I was some sort of necromancer.  Necromancy was the manipulation or communication with the dead.  Such things were strictly prohibited in the Bible.  It was considered witchcraft or sorcery, either way it was of the devil.  Then again, the Bishop was raising the dead.  Although his wasn’t the aberration mine were.  I don’t imagine the arena full of people would be cheering at my version of resurrection.

Once I finished with Jesus, I disposed of him in my usual way and went along with my post killing ritual.  Even though I was supposedly not of God, I figured I would still praise him.  He at least gave me some cool powers, even if he hadn’t intended to.  Now that I knew my abilities, it would make things much more interesting.  I finished cleaning up at the chapel and poured Jesus down the drain.  After that was complete I headed off to the church.

Thankfully it was early evening and starting to cool down.  I loved the weather in South Texas, but sometimes it was too hot to bear.  Years ago I did a sermon on Hell.  I told the congregation to imagine standing on a hot sidewalk in South Texas while barefoot.  People have been known to literally burn the flesh off their feet from doing that.  Imagine that kind of heat, times a thousand, that’s how I pictured Hell.  Except in Hell you don’t burn up or die, the pain just goes on and on.  Though after what I had just put Jesus through, I was starting to get some other ideas on Hell.

As I pulled up to the church, I saw Lee sitting outside.  He was on the front steps crying.  No one else was around, not even another car in the parking lot.  I had never seen Lee cry before so I figured something must really be wrong.

“Lee?” I said as I approached him.  “You okay?”

“Hey, Pastor Charlie, no.  It’s not okay.  My mother died this morning.”  He stopped to wipe his eyes.  “She’d been sick for a while from cancer.  For the last few months, she’d been doing better.  But last few days she suddenly got real bad.  Early this morning she died in her sleep.”

“Lee, I’m so sorry.”  I sat next to him, placing my hand on his shoulder.

“Do you think the Bishop can bring her back?  I wanted her to go to one of his revivals to get healed, but she said it was nonsense.  He can do miracles, I’ve seen it.  Can he bring her back Pastor Charlie?”

If I’d had a heart it would have been breaking at that moment.  I could see the pain in his eyes.  I’ve lost family members before, but it never affected me the way it did most people. 

“Wow Lee.  I don’t know.  I’ve never seen him raise the dead before.   I’ve heard he’s done it, but never have been there when it happened.”

“I know he can.  He’s healed people with missing limbs and everything.  I bet he can!  Can you ask him?”  His eyes lit up as he looked at me.

“I don’t talk to him much Lee.  Especially now with all the attention he’s gotten.  He’s hard to reach.”

“Well I’m going to talk to the funeral home and have them bring her to his next service at the AT&T Center on Sunday.  What a sight that will be!  Mom won’t know what to think when she wakes up!  I’ll have my mother back!”  He jumped up and shook my hand.  “Thank you Pastor Charlie!  Thank you so much!”  He practically skipped back to his car and drove off.  I’m not sure what I had done exactly.  I was still in shock that he was going to cart his mom’s dead carcass all the way to up to San Antonio in front of all those people. 

I remembered what Jesus had told me about trying to get other pastors to join up with the Bishop.  I’m not sure what that was all about.  I figured I would swing by some other churches to see if they’ve heard anything.  I should have asked Jesus which ones were already on board, but then again, if it was in Jesus’ mind then it would come to me.  One church that came to mind was Frontage Road Baptist Church, one of the larger ones in San Antonio, but they had refused Jesus’ offer.  Go figure it would be the Baptists who weren’t interested in the Bishop.  Frontage had around 10,000 members.  They weren’t far behind John Hagee’s big church, also in San Antonio. 

When I arrived, it was late but there were cars parked outside.  I told the custodian who I was and he let me in.  He walked me up to the main office where Pastor Carl Humphries was working.  I knocked on the door which was part way open.  It swung open the rest of the way and Pastor Humphries was there just inside.

“Hello, can I help you?” He asked as he extended his hand.  Humprhies had the classic televangelist look, thick dark hair, perfect teeth and a suit that probably cost more than I made in a month.  I shook his hand.

“Hi, I’m Pastor Charlie Sims.  You don’t know me, but I wanted to talk to you about Bishop Hoover.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to his desk.

“Oh yes, the Bishop.  Go ahead and have a seat.”  I took a seat in thick, oak chair with leather trim.  The whole office was done in oak, lined with bookshelves and a Mac sitting on his desk. 

“I hear he sent you a visitor recently.” I said.

“Yes he did.  It felt more like a shakedown.  The little thug came in here saying it was in our best interest to align ourselves with his ministry.”  He threw his hands in the air.  “I don’t care what kind of parlor tricks or illusions he can pull.  We follow only Jesus Christ, not some charlatan.”

While many churches like my own had a Pentacostal or Charismatic bent to our faith, meaning we believed in miracles, healings, or supernatural events, most Baptists are what are called cessationists, meaning they believe all the miracles and supernatural happenings ended when the last of the original apostles died in the first century.  I often wondered if they were the smart ones.  Seems like a few times a year there’s some new “prophet” or someone coming along doing miracles.  The Bishop is the only one I’ve been sure is the real thing.  I’d seen enough supernatural in the past week to last me a lifetime.

“Did you see his revival last week?” I asked.  “Pretty intense stuff.”

“So I heard.  I don’t know what he is up to, but any minister who has thugs like that working for him is up to no good if you ask me. Talk about wolves in sheep’s clothing.” The Bible uses a lot of imagery and metaphor using a flock of sheep and their shepherd to protect them.  That’s why Jesus is referred to as the Good Shepherd.

“Did he say anything else?”

“Yeah he did.  He said if we refuse, then we will reap God’s judgment, and something about some wolves being stronger than the shepherd. I’m telling you, the Bishop and his ex-convict goons are nuts.  They’re not what they seem.  Why are you interested in all this?  They threaten you too?”

“Not in so many words, but yes.  I have a calling of sorts in this matter as well.”

He looked at me cocking his head to the side as he took a sip of coffee.

“Calling?  What sort?”

“God wants me to stop the Bishop.”

“Well good for you,” he said.  “Someone needs to.  Just be careful.  These guys look pretty tough.”

“I agree.  I’d step up your security around here just to be safe for now.” I said.  “I’ve had a few run-ins with the Bishop and his goons myself.  They mean business and I have no doubt they will carry out their threats.”

Carl looked concerned but not frightened.  He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down.

“What do you think he’ll do?” He asked.

“No telling, but I don’t put anything past him.  I know you don’t believe in his miracles, but I was there.  I saw them.  He’s for real, whatever he is.”

“You might be right about security.  It can’t hurt to be too careful.  You told me your name, but who are you exactly?”

“I’m a pastor, but I’m also the Hand of God.  And I will destroy the Bishop.”

Chapter 23

My years in South Texas Bible College were mostly uneventful.  I’d known I was special since I was a kid.  The pace at which I learned in school only confirmed it.  Many of my professors were impressed with my biblical knowledge and my skills at exegesis. I didn’t date or have much of a social life.  My focus was on my studies and pleasing God.

The college name was a bit of a joke to the local folks.  Many called it South Texas Bridal College since most parents sent their daughters there to find good Christian husbands.  While it had a lot of strict rules in force, the scene on weekends wasn’t a whole lot different than you’d see at a secular college.  Though students didn’t party at the dorms, they’d go into town and get a hotel room and drink until they puked or passed out, or both.  

Sex was just as rampant on campus as it was at any other college.  The administration would have parents believe otherwise and, of course, premarital sex was strictly against the rules.  Even having a girl in your dorm was cause for expulsion.  The rules didn’t keep it from happening, or stop kids from hooking up at hotels in town or wherever they could sneak away to.  Unfortunately since sex was strictly forbidden, so was any form of birth control.  So when girls did have sex, they would often end up pregnant.  This got them a quick bus ticket back home.

This brought out the injustice of the whole thing.  The girl usually would not say who the dad was.  So she would get sent home, but the guy was free to finish his education, since there was no way to determine who the father was.  Most girls figured they were already expelled, so there was no reason to rat anyone else out.

I took interest when it happened to one girl in particular, Irene Torres. She was a pretty Latina girl.  She had olive skin, deep brown eyes and long, dark hair.  Her major was elementary education.  Unlike most girls, she hadn’t found a husband by our senior year.  She had gone on some dates, but nothing serious.  For a few guys, she had become somewhat of a challenge.  Some men who took the Bible a little too literally, felt she was a rebellious woman who needed a man to tame her.  I never thought she was rebellious.  She was her own person, that was for sure.  We worked in some study groups together in a few classes.  I liked her because she was one of the few people in college who didn’t act like I gave her the creeps.
             
Everything for Irene changed a few months before graduation.  Irene went to campus security to report she had been raped.  She said it was her roommate’s boyfriend, Todd Sheffield.  Todd was the son of Hank Sheffield, a big-time pastor in Los Angeles. Hank had a church with thirty-thousand members, plus his own syndicated TV show.  Todd had been dating Irene’s roommate, Leslie since their freshman year.  Even though it was forbidden, Leslie had given him a key to their dorm.  Many around campus had also known that Todd had made a few passes at Irene over the years, all of which she turned down.

According to Irene’s report, Todd came by late on a Saturday night and let himself in.  Leslie was still out working her waitressing job while Irene was alone reading.  Todd came in and forced himself on Irene.  He was much bigger and stronger than Irene, so she said she didn’t fight too much because he threatened to really hurt her.  Security took her report, then took her to see the dean.  At first the dean tried to deny anything even happened.  After all, Todd Sheffield, the son of the great Hank Sheffield, who also happened to be a huge donor to the school, would never do such a thing.  After some pleading from Irene, the dean finally said he’d “look into it.” 

Two months later, Todd Sheffield was still enrolled at the college.  Irene hadn’t been the same.  She walked around with this dead look on her face.  It was as if someone had turned off the light in her eyes.  I had known something was wrong, but at that moment I didn’t know what exactly had happened.  I soon would, however.  A few weeks before graduation, word got out that Irene Torres was pregnant.   In her case, though, she once again stated who the father was.  She told the dean and anyone who would listen that it was Todd Sheffield.  This got her nowhere.  The dean basically called her a liar, and other students, including her roommate, Leslie, called her a whore.  Irene didn’t hear the insults for very long, though. She was on a bus home within a few days.