The List (53 page)

“No.” The angel took her hand and lifted her up. “We, too, are here to serve our Lord, and he has assigned us to fight this battle alongside you.”

Agnes woke up. She put on her robe and went out to the back porch. The sky was clear and the night air cool on her face. As she rocked, she prayed, and as she prayed, she cut the heavens with a double-edged sword.

Renny called Mrs. Stokes as soon as A. L. Jenkins left. “Are you OK?” he asked, disturbed by the obvious weakness of her voice.

“I'm going to be better,” she answered cryptically. “I'm glad you called, because I'm going to lie down and rest in a few minutes.”

“OK, I'll talk fast. First, did you talk with Jo's mother?”

“No one was home when I called. Do you think I should try to reach her at the hospital?”

“There isn't a phone in Jo's room. Please leave a message on Carol's machine that I've been unable to reach them. I know they're wondering why I haven't called.”

“When are you going to tell them what's happened, Renny? You know they would want to help you.”

“You're right, but I need to wait. Thanks for calling Mama A. She contacted a lawyer who is a Christian here in Georgetown, and he came by to see me. He is going to pray the rest of the day and let me know what he thinks I should do.”

“Sounds like a good lawyer to me.”

“He is. One other thing. Upstairs on the coffee table in my living room is a sheet of paper with a list of names, bank account numbers, and dollar amounts on it. Could you fax it to my lawyer sometime today?”

“Yes. I'll do anything to help. There is a fax machine I can use at the church.”

Renny gave her Jenkins's fax number. “Thanks, Mrs. Stokes.”

With trepidation, Renny phoned the law firm. Surprisingly, Mr. Heywood was in and immediately took his call.

Without any pleasantries, Heywood started right in, “Renny, is it true that you're in jail on a burglary charge in Georgetown, South Carolina?”

“Uh, yes, sir. Well, no, sir, it's attempted burglary.”

“That distinction doesn't make a lot of difference to me.”

“Well, yeah. I understand. How did you find out I was here?”

“Obviously you didn't call me, did you?”

“No, sir, not until now.”

“Let's cut to the heart of the matter, Renny. I have one question. I'm a lawyer, not judge or jury, but I need to know the truth. Are you guilty?”

Unable to think of any other answer, Renny said, “Yes, sir.”

“All right. You understand the position this puts us in. We can't have someone associated with the firm who has a criminal record. Anyway, you'll probably lose your license.”

“Yes, but—”

“I'm sorry. You're finished at the firm. I'll do everything I can to get you a small severance, at least two weeks' pay. Janice will box up your personal belongings and deliver them to security downstairs. You can have someone pick up your things if you don't, uh, get out for a while.”

“Yes sir.”

Renny hung up the phone.
Mr. Heywood may not be judge or jury, but he makes quite a swift and efficient executioner.

Before Renny was taken to the cellblock, he asked one of the guards if there were Bibles available.

“Sure. A local church supplies them for every prisoner. I'll get you one.”

“Thanks.”

No one was in the cell when the guard slid back the door.

“Where are the two guys who were here this morning?”

“They work outside cleaning patrol cars in the afternoon. They won't be back until supper time.”

“How much are they paid?”

“Jailhouse wages, fifty cents an hour. Enough for cigarettes, candy, and stamps.”

“Oh.”

From fifty million to fifty cents.

Renny sat on an empty bunk and turned to 1 Kings 13, reading again the prophecy predicting the destruction of the altar built by Jeroboam at Bethel. What did Josiah of old do? How could there be a connection between the righteous king of Judah and Renny Jacobson? He read the prophecy of judgment and doom. It was obvious one of Josiah's purposes was to be an instrument of God's wrath against idolatry. But what would that mean today? How could it apply to him?

Flipping the pages to 2 Kings 23, Renny learned that three hundred years had passed from the time of the prophecy in 1 Kings 13 until the birth of the future king Josiah. Upon reaching manhood and assuming the throne, King Josiah renewed the covenant between the people of Judah and the Lord. Renny stopped. Covenant. Covenant List. Still unsure of the connection, he continued. Josiah then embarked on a campaign of religious cleansing that ended at Bethel:

Even the altar at Bethel, the high place made by Jeroboam son of Nebat, who had caused Israel to sin—even that altar and high place he demolished. He burned the high place and ground it to powder, and burned the Asherah pole also. Then Josiah looked around, and when he saw the tombs that were there on the hillside, he had the bones removed from them and burned on the altar to defile it, in accordance with the word of the L
ORD
proclaimed by the man of God who foretold these things.

The king asked, “What is that tombstone I see?”

The men of the city said, “It marks the tomb of the man of God who came from Judah and pronounced against the altar of Bethel the very things you have done to it.”

What Renny read stirred him, but he had no framework for understanding how to bring it forward. He knew the List had become an evil thing in the hands of LaRochette, but his only attempt to receive guidance from Scripture to destroy the List was destroying him instead. His mistake hadn't just burned his fingers; Renny felt as if he had third-degree burns over half his body. The account of King Josiah was harder to apply to his current problems than his idea of burning the List to destroy its influence. He prayed but didn't get any direction. Perhaps he should ask A. L. Jenkins. Already he missed the big man and looked forward to his return.

Jo's condition stabilized, but she continued to run a low-grade fever. Dr. Levy placed her in a “bubble,” a completely sterile environment created inside a plastic tent.

“She is going to need a bone marrow transplant to have a realistic chance of survival,” he told Carol.

“There is no possibility I could be the donor?”

“Unfortunately not. As you know, the best donors are siblings, but since Jo doesn't have any brothers or sisters, I'm searching a database for individuals who have expressed willingness to provide bone marrow for patients like Jo.”

“Like organ donors?”

“Not exactly. We need bone marrow from someone who is healthy; a transplant won't work from someone killed in an accident or a suicide. The donor must be willing to undergo the pain of a transplant to help save someone else's life. Not many people are willing to make that type of sacrifice. From those who are, we need a donor who is a match for Jo.”

Her voice trembling, Carol asked, “When will you know if there is someone suitable?”

“My staff is working on it now. I'm moving as fast as I can.”

Weakened by the fever and low blood count, Jo was not completely coherent, and to an outside observer her mutterings about beings of light and darkness in her room would be classified as delusions. Anne knew otherwise. Working a double shift to care for her friend, she sat by her bed through the night.

“There are more,” Jo said, turning her head back and forth.

“More what?” Anne asked.

“Of everything.”

Anne held Jo's hand and waited.

“Is it light or dark in here?” Jo asked, staring at the ceiling.

“Do you want me to turn on the light?”

“No, that's Renny's job. He has to do it.”

“He's not here now.”

“Renny!” Jo cried out suddenly. “No! No!”

Anne wiped the perspiration from Jo's forehead. The fever was rising again. Jo moaned. In spite of the best efforts of medical science and the sacrificial faithfulness of her friend, Jo still needed one thing above anything else—she needed a miracle.

The lights dimmed in the library. The three men sat across from one another in leather armchairs. The List lay open on a low table between them.

“I had someone call the hospital in Michigan,” LaRochette said. “She's slipping but needs a push over the edge.”

“I'm surprised she's not dead,” Roget responded. “There is much more resistance than with the others.”

LaRochette shrugged. “Her father, H. L. Jacobson, and Bart Maxwell were submitted to the authority of the List. The doorway was open. They were powerless against us.”

“But the result will be the same,” Roget said.

“Yes, she will not escape. I've seen the end from the beginning.”

“And Eicholtz?”

“We're not in a rush. First the girl, then Eicholtz.”

“And whenever we choose, young Jacobson,” Thomas Layne added, with a cruel smile on his face.

“Later. He needs to suffer at the hands of men before he learns the nature of true torment.”

“May I take the lead?” Layne asked.

LaRochette looked at Roget, who nodded.

“Very well. Find your place on the List, and we'll begin.”

31

Many there be which say of my soul, There is no help for him in God. But thou, O Lord, art a shield for me; my glory, and the lifter up of mine head.

P
SALM 3:2–3, KJV

R
enny and his cellmates finished supper—slices of bologna and processed cheese between two pieces of white bread, four bites of green beans, a square of orange-and-yellow Jell-O, and a red-colored punch of a vintage Renny hadn't considered fit for drinking since kindergarten.

“Where was the chef tonight?” Renny asked Winston Morgan.

“If you think this is bad, wait until steak night. At least you know bologna has been ground up by a machine in a meat-packing plant somewhere. The steak is shipped straight from the shoe recycling center and covered in gray liquid.”