Pierced by a Sword (25 page)

Tommy hesitated
as if he couldn't believe his ears. Then he told Nathan his name.

Within fifteen minutes Nathan fished the whole sad story from him. He related in hodgepodge fashion how he had come to Nashville from Houston in the beginning of the summer with a thousand bucks and a guitar, looking to make a fortune in country music. But he didn't have the talent, contacts, and drive to make it. Within a month
he was out of money.

Someone had told him he could get work playing the honky-tonks up north. The naïve young man had been too embarrassed to return home to his mom, so he hitchhiked up to Gary in late June. There, he failed again at music and became disheartened. He began to pick up odd jobs bussing tables at bars. He began drinking for the first time. It had gone well for a few weeks, but his
increasing drunkenness had gotten him fired several times. Two weeks ago, as the first cold night air of Indiana autumn set in, he stopped kidding himself that he was camping out. Tommy Gervin was homeless.

"What you need, my friend, is to go home to your mom. You're lucky you got one. I don't have one. At least not on this earth."

"With what, man? I'm busted!" Tommy complained bitterly, his voice
cracking.

"Don't worry about that. I'll take care of that." Nathan turned to Becky and said, raising his voice, "I know it's late, Beck, but I'm going to drop Mr. Gervin off at the downtown Days Inn. It's on the way. Do you mind waiting an extra twenty minutes before you get home?"

"No, not at all," she said, her first words since Tommy Gervin had gotten in the car.

+  +  +

Nathan parked in the
covered parking lot at the Days Inn. Tommy got out first. Before Nathan could leave his seat he felt Becky's hand on his arm.

"Give this to him," she said, handing him the Miraculous Medal which Joe had put around her neck at the Log Chapel. She smiled. It was her way of saying "good job." Nathan looked at the medal and gave Becky a wink.

"I'll be back in a bit," he said to her.

It took less than
twenty minutes for Nathan to take good care of Tommy. First Nathan bought him a room for the night. Then he tipped the bellhop fifty dollars, telling him to make sure Tommy got a full meal from the kitchen even if the hotel restaurant was closed at this late hour. Using his credit card and a pay phone, Nathan arranged for a plane ticket to be held in Tommy's name for a flight to Houston on Southwest
Airlines out of Midway the following afternoon. At the front desk Nathan exchanged a bill for a roll of quarters and handed the roll to the dumbfounded Tommy, who was sitting on the couch in the lobby. He also gave him two hundred dollars in cash.

"Why ya doin' all this, man?" Tommy asked.

"Let's just say I'm making up for lost time. Or better, I made a bet yesterday and I'm trying to win it.
Here's enough money to buy yourself some duds. Even if you sleep late, you can still take the El from here to the Watertower Mall downtown and get yourself some clothes and a meal. Then you can take the train or a cab from there to Midway. Go to the Southwest desk. The ticket is in your name. You have a driver's license?"

Tommy Gervin nodded affirmative. "And what about the quarters, man?"

"You'll
need somebody to pick you up in Houston. I think you might want to call your mom."

Tommy looked at Nathan, nodded, then stood up. The two men shook hands.

"Thank you, man, thank you." Tears were welling in his eyes.

"You'll get a chance to make it up to me someday. You can call me when you get to Houston if you want, but you don't have to. Thank me by making up with your mom. This is a gift from
my friend in the car." Nathan handed Tommy the Miraculous Medal, his business card, and the "Marian Apparitions" CD Joanie had given him earlier in the day.

They shook hands again. Tommy put the medal around his neck as he watched Nathan leave the lobby. The big teenager turned and headed for the pay phone near the elevators.

Becky was back in the front seat and smiling so broadly that Nathan
couldn't help but smile back.

"Don't say a word about this to Joe or Joanie. Or Chet. Especially not Chet. Mind? What I just did never happened."

"The word is mum," she replied. After a moment Becky spoke again, "You're one of the good guys, Nathan. Chet's got good taste in friends. Two days ago I thought you were a self-absorbed jerk. Now I feel like the jerk. I'm sorry."

Nathan appeared uncomfortable
with her praise.

"No need to apologize," he said flatly, "two days ago you were right on the money about me. Still are, for all I know."

She could tell he meant it.

"You know that's not true," she said.

Nathan didn't reply.

Chapter Eleven

1

Tuesday, High Noon
10 October
Highway J-22, California

Lee looked at the King James Bible that Randall Knott had between them on the bench seat of the Buick next to a yellow legal notepad with the words "Samaritan" and "Faith" written in what was apparently Randall's husky scrawl.

Randall noticed Lee looking at the Bible.

"You called me brother, Brother Lee. Are you a believer?"

Lee smiled broadly. "Yes I am."

"Bible believer or otherwise?" Randall asked, looking back at the highway.
These hitchhikers will say anything to get a longer ride.

"I believe every word in that book, if that's what ya mean."

"I read the Good Book every morning and every night, Brother Lee. Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior?"

Lee laughed hard. He hadn't laughed much
in his life before the visit from the dark-skinned woman and the angel with red hair.

"More than you know, Brother Randall! More than you know!"

After a minute, Lee added, "Can I take a look at your Bible?"

"Sure thing."

Lee took the well-worn leather-bound book, opened it to the Gospel of John, Chapter 20. After a few minutes he began to explain verse 21, 22, and 23 to an amazed Randall Knott.

This boy can preach! He's soft-spoken, but there's power in his reasoning. Too bad he's a Catholic.
It was clear from the context of the younger man's explanation that Lee believed in confessing sins to priests.

He's making sense, though,
Randall thought.
I always kind of skimmed over those words of Jesus before.

"So you're a Catholic, Brother Lee?" It was more a statement than a question.

"As
a matter of fact, Brother Randall, I'm not. I was hopin' you could drop me off at a Catholic church somewhere so I could become one."

"You kiddin'? You never been baptized, boy?"

"My mom might have baptized me," Lee replied. "I don't remember. I'm new to all this."

"Sure you don't want to join up with the Baptists, Brother? I know the Rev at First Baptist in McFarland. That's my church," Randall
said more out of obligation than hope.

Lee shook his head slowly.

At least I tried,
Randall thought.

"Is there a Catholic church where you're going?" Lee asked after a while.

"Yeah, there's a tiny mission near the Chief's house up at Tule River. We'll be there in about an hour."

He took another look at Lee.
This boy's a mess. Can't be getting baptized looking like that, Catholic or no Catholic.

"Let's see, there's a surplus store outside of Tule River..." Randall muttered to himself.

"Huh?" Lee asked, confused.

"Nothin', son. You sit tight. I'll get you to church on time."

A big smile came over Randall's face. There were crow's-feet around his eyes from driving in the California sun over thirty-five thousand miles a year for more than three decades.

The Samaritan was the wrong religion,
too. Maybe this boy wantin' to be a Catholic is God's will, and the Lord wants me to help him. Okay Lord. You were a-naked and I'm gonna clothe you.
Impossibly, Randall's smile grew wider.

2

Tuesday Afternoon
10 October
Tule River Indian Reservation, California

The priest found himself staring at the picture which his eyes had passed over hundreds of times during the last four years. The image
of Our Lady of Guadalupe had been in Father Juan Rivera's family for generations. It hung on the wall between the window and the front door of the little house that passed for his rectory.

Father Juan had "retired" to Tule River Reservation to minister to the Indians four years ago. He was in his seventy-eighth year. Before coming to this place of desolation, he had served as a parish priest in
the barrios of Los Angeles for over fifty years.

Retirement?
he thought bitterly.
More like exile.

Father Rivera preferred Tule River over the retirement home.

No one had much wanted the old-fashioned priest in LA. And no younger priest had wanted the Tule River mission. Juan's way of doing things had gone out of style. At least Juan was able to say the Tridentine Mass out here. Those few Indians
who came to Mass seemed to prefer it, too.

I drink too much. I smoke too much. I live much too much,
the old priest chastened himself.

These things were not true, but Father Juan was still very lonely. He had outlived his only brother, Diego. Diego's children didn't have much use for their old priest-uncle, except for a niece in La Jolla who sent him "Season's Greetings" cards with no references
to Christmas in them.

He muttered a quick prayer for the Chief's daughter, Alisa, who was dying of leukemia. He offered his daily aches and pains for her, but he didn't have much hope little Alisa Roundrock would pull through. Chief Roundrock wasn't a Catholic, so Father Rivera didn't think he would be allowed to baptize the seven-year-old, much less administer last rites to her.

His mother had
given him the Guadalupe image of Mary.
She looks so young!
he told himself.
She was one of us, a Mexican. You gave your life to her, and what have you to show for it, Juan?

Very much, very much indeed, Juan! You have baptized. You have heard many confessions. You have said the Mass with devotion!

And so the almost daily dialogue the faithful old priest had with himself went on. He shook himself
from his dreams when the tea kettle started to whistle and looked out the window next to the image. Rivera saw a young black man wearing chinos and a red checkered shirt getting out of a Buick in front of the rectory. The driver got out and embraced the young black man.

The young man smiled and waved at the older black man, then walked toward Father Rivera's door. Father Rivera wondered if he
could get the tea kettle off the stove before the visitor knocked on his door.

3

Early Tuesday Morning
10 October
Salt Lake City, Utah

Long before dawn, the moonlight reflecting off the snow-covered Wasatch Mountains made it seem as if one could read a newspaper on the deck of the house. Lanning was fast asleep.

He was not unhealthy. Like most Mormons he observed the prescriptions of the so-called
Word of Wisdom. He led an active life, completely avoided alcohol, didn't smoke, didn't drink caffeinated beverages, and rarely ate red meats. So when the attack struck him, waking him from his sleep, his first thought was that someone had put his heart into a large vise and tightened it suddenly and
hard.
After opening his eyes and realizing that there was no one in his bedroom except for his
sleeping wife, his first emotion was surprise.

Heart attack? Me?

Then sharp pain added to the odd collapsing pressure he felt in his chest. He tried to scream but couldn't.

Elena, his wife of thirty-six years, woke up when John grabbed her nightgown with his right hand and the handle of the night dresser with his left. He violently pulled each end of his cardiovascular cross in a desperate attempt
to "open" the walls closing in on his heart. His heart was pounding at over three hundred beats per minute and sounded like a stampede in his ears. Adrenaline from fear was downloaded into his system so quickly he felt it roll down his spine like mercury on an incline. The surge gave him hope in the darkening closet of his pain.

Elena screamed. Her sacred garment was now exposed underneath her
torn gown. She frantically dialed 911 while John died.

John Lanning's soul floated out of his body. The pain was gone. His soul was hovering near the ceiling. His emotions were oddly flat–considering how fearful he had been a minute before–as he watched Elena's tears streaming down her face as she shouted into the phone. He saw the top of her head; he noticed a bald spot beneath the thinning hair.
He had never been one to spend much time looking in full length mirrors, so he noticed that his empty body appeared smaller than he had imagined while "in" it.

Hmmn. Now I get to find out what's real. I wonder if there really is a tunnel of light? Is Joseph Smith going to judge me like I was taught as a child? Good-bye Elena. I loved you.

Just as Lanning finished his thought, a searing light blotted
out his view and he discovered the truth.

4

Early Tuesday Morning
10 October
Chicago, Illinois

Before Nathan dropped Becky off at her apartment on Estes Avenue, he stopped at the Food Mart to stock up on milk and coffee, and to grab a snack. He had the munchies and was sure that the party had cleaned out his apartment of everything except for a bottle of beer or two.

He didn't notice the woman
with the jet black hair behind the potato chip section (always the largest section in any convenience store). He got back into the Mustang and offered Becky a bite of his Slim Jim and a sip of his Sport Shake.

"Yuck!" she cried, smiling crookedly. Becky was very tired.

"What? This stuff is the best!" he protested. She was still shaking her head as Nathan held the junk food in front of her.

"Suit
yourself," he said finally.

He started the Mustang and headed toward Estes.

+  +  +

Inside the Food Mart, Jennifer Gower squinted her eyes at Nathan offering Becky the snack in his car.

Nathan Payne, my old friend,
she thought sarcastically.
So you've found yourself another pretty girl to abuse. Bet you're going back to your apartment right now, you slime, after another night of wining and dining
Little Miss Sports Illustrated Model...

Jennifer encouraged the bitterness and anger growing in her breast. She hated Nathan Payne. She still lived only five blocks away from Nathan's chic residence on the lake. She shared a shabby two-bedroom apartment with two other women.

Jenny had been one of the only girls to ever see Nathan more than a few times. Three weeks after graduating from high school
in Oshkosh, Wisconsin, Jennifer Gower, prom queen and aspiring spokesmodel, had come to Chicago to become famous.

Two years later, around the time of Thanksgiving, she met Nathan in Hang Ups on Rush Street. It was the first time she had fallen hard for a man. The four weeks she spent with him had been the most blissful she had ever known. He told her that he didn't want to get seriously involved
with anyone. That's what all the boys in Oshkosh had said, too. Nathan was different. He was rich and self-confident. She loved his eyes. He would come around to her way of thinking eventually, she was certain of it. Jennifer was used to getting what she wanted.

When Nathan abruptly stopped calling her ten months ago, after frankly telling her to get lost, Jennifer Gower had taken it badly. She
became depressed and sought professional help. She joined a feminist therapy group after spying a flyer on the bulletin board in her therapist's office. There she learned that Nathan was just like her father and that she had to stop letting men walk all over her.

Some of the girls in the group were lesbians, which was fine with Jennifer. Although she wasn't attracted to these women, she appreciated
their insights about men. Feminists did make a few good points. Men used power to dominate women. Women had to fight back. Jennifer was discovering a compelling philosophy. She was also discovering that she had a mind of her own.

Nathan represented the worst kind of man, the "archetype," according to the feminist literature. He was a predator.

With her newfound self-esteem, Jennifer got back on
her feet and landed a few commercials and a part or two with experimental theater productions. She was quite pretty and paid her rent by working as a spokeswoman for hire at McCormick Place. She also held down a nice job as a waitress in an upscale French restaurant on weekends.

The week before spotting Nathan Payne in the Food Mart, Jennifer had discovered she had a chance for a great role–a
real
femme fatale.
The part was for a character in a feminist play being written by a friend. The character's first name was Jane.

Jane needs a little practice. Maybe I could work on Jane and at the same time have some fun with Nathan the Predator Payne. Give him a little of his own medicine. I bet he still lives on the lake. This will be good for me. I'll check with the group. I'm sure they'll
say it would be good to act out my feelings. And my horoscope said I would meet someone from my past today!

A plot formed in her mind.

5

Early Tuesday Morning
10 October
LDS Hospital
Salt Lake City, Utah

Lanning had been dead for over twelve minutes by the time the ambulance arrived at LDS hospital, which was only a few minutes away from his home. Paramedics had already begun standard revival
procedures while taking him off the bed. Both paramedics and the doctor in the Emergency Room were Mormons. The doctor who treated him was aware of the identity of his patient; Lanning was the bishop of the doctor's ward on the hill across the way.

+  +  +

Lanning entered the tunnel of light traveling at speeds that seemed faster than any jet on earth. A peculiar light, which appeared as a dot
at the end of a tunnel, careened toward him. He saw a being standing in the light at the end of the tunnel; the being was a shape of light outlined by even more fantastic light behind it. Lanning was surprised when the shape took on the form of a woman as he floated toward her. She was wearing a seamless hooded garment. It was black.

He was anxious to see her face as he approached her. When he
did see her face he began to scream. There were dark holes where her eyes should have been and giant warts on skin as old and dry as the desert floor. Lanning knew her name. She was Death.

Death cackled a sentence, beckoning him toward her with long skeletal fingers,
"Contraception, my sweet."

She favored him with a ghastly smile.
"Contraception has made you mine!"
Death laughed with high-pitched
wicked humor.

The light behind her became undulating–flames licking up from a lake of fire. Behind her he saw grotesque creatures covered with the flames and heard surreal wailing and screaming. Terrified, Lanning realized that the beings were men and women under torture by demons.