by Bill Myers
“What happened?”
Eli was about thirty yards behind them, talking to one of the officers. By his side stood what must have been the homeless woman, the demoniac. But instead of rolling around or writhing and screaming, she remained calm, listening as Eli spoke.
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“What happened?” Conrad repeated as the men arrived.
“The cat lady back there—” Jake jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “She had a bunch of those demon things inside her. Some of the locals wanted Eli to come over and help her.”
“It’s the same old thing,” Leon said, pretending to be bored.
“The usual screamin’ and swearin’. But finally their leader or whatever it was inside her, he begs Eli to throw them into a bunch of the woman’s cats. She has like a hundred or so.”
“And Eli does,” Jake explained. “But the cats, they suddenly start leaping off the road like a bunch of lemmings, right down onto the highway, hitting some of the cars. None of the people were hurt, but there were definitely a few fender benders.”
Conrad glanced over the railing at the dead cats below, then up at Eli who had just shaken the officer’s hand and was turning to leave with the woman. “Is she okay?” he asked.
“Oh, sure,” Jake said.
“But here’s the thing,” Leon added. “Soon as the local police get word, they come up here and threaten to throw our rear ends in jail if we don’t leave.”
“Why?”
“Seems Eli has caused too much damage.”
“But,” Conrad stammered, “he just healed that woman, he just gave her back her life.”
“That’s what I mean,” Leon said, shaking his head. “One life completely healed in exchange for a couple accidents.
Now you tell me what’s more important.”
Jake shrugged. “Guess everybody’s got their priorities.”
The similiarity of the phrase to Suzanne’s caught Conrad off guard. “What did you say?”
“I said they had a choice between Eli and some busted autos—so they voted for the autos. Go figure.” Jake shook his head, and the two moved past, heading toward the campsite, leaving a bewildered Conrad behind, trying to digest what he’d just heard.
“Connie!”
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He glanced up as Eli and the woman approached. Though it was the end of June, she was dressed in the usual multi-layered clothing and heavy, worn coat of the homeless. Something about seeing the two of them together, their smiles and friendliness, increased his resentment. And the closer they approached, the greater that resentment grew.
“Connie,” Eli called again, grinning. “I want you to meet Elizabeth Warden.”
Conrad did not return the smile. His mind was still back with Suzanne, still back with her tear-filled departure. And Eli’s words to her still rang in his ears. Before he knew it, his own words came. Before he could stop himself, he demanded, “How much more do you want from us?” The intensity in his voice surprised even himself.
The joy in Eli’s eyes faded.
“How much more?” Conrad was practically seething.
“To follow me?” Eli asked.
“How much more do we have to give up?”
“You already know that answer, Connie.”
“How much!”
Eli paused a moment, searching Conrad’s eyes. But Conrad would not back down. Finally, ever so gently, Eli gave his answer. It was very mild and yet absolutely firm:
“Everything.”
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C H A P T E R
T E N
“IF YOU ASK ME, THIS WHOLE DISCUSSION IS A WASTE OF TIME.”
“Why do you say that, Mr. Lazlo?” EBN anchorperson Karen Deutsch asked. She looked directly into the camera’s prompter where she could see the video image of Herbert Lazlo, the father whose son had been murdered eight years earlier by Ellen Perkins. He and his wife sat in their darkly paneled living room some three hundred miles away in the tiny community of Kirby, while here at the Women’s Correctional Facility in Gatesville, Texas, Karen Deutsch sat with Ellen Perkins, Eli Shepherd, and the rest of the EBN remote video crew. It was the video conference that Gerald McFarland had agreed to set up—the interview that Conrad had pleaded, had begged Eli to avoid at any cost.
Lazlo’s answer was husky and to the point. “There weren’t no fancy TV people and preachers around when she was butchering my boy. I don’t recall nobody here discussing whether or not he should get to live. And there weren’t nobody offerin’ to give him a second chance when she was hacking off pieces of his body and he was screamin’ for mercy!”
Conrad stood just out of camera range, watching as Ellen Perkins closed her eyes and quietly lowered her head. At 201
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202 twenty-five, she looked like the girl next door: shortly cropped auburn hair, freckles across the bridge of her nose, and a smile full of personality. But she was not smiling now.
Nor was Eli, who sat beside her.
It had taken most of the afternoon for the EBN crew to set up in this large conference room of beige cinderblock walls, yellowed linoleum, and white acoustical ceiling. It was at least a four-camera setup—three stationed around the newly finished oak table here at the Correctional Facility, and one, maybe two, over at the Lazlos’ home in Kirby. One hundred yards outside the barred windows and wire-meshed glass sat the network’s finest remote—a semitrailer full of state-of-theart audio and video equipment. It hummed quietly, pumping electricity through thick black cables to a half dozen glaring quartz lights strategically placed around the table. In exchange, another set of cables carrying the meeting’s sounds and images snaked their way back to the truck’s control room, where the director called the angles and beamed them across the country for the live telecast. EBN had spared no expense on this shoot, and Conrad certainly understood why. A trap this elaborate and thorough called for only the best equipment and crew.
Karen Deutsch responded gently to the father’s accusation. “Your son’s murder was eight years ago, Mr. Lazlo.
People change. You can see that Ms. Perkins is a different person. Look at all the good she’s done. Would demanding justice by putting an end to that goodness make things any better?”
Suddenly Mrs. Lazlo blurted out, “How much good would my son have done if he’d been allowed to live?” She was a frail, bony woman who, until now, had been able to keep her emotions in check. “He was a God-fearing boy, always helping others and wanting to do good. But we’ll never know how much good he could have done, will we?” Her voice began to tremble. “Will we!”
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It was the perfect dramatic moment, and Karen Deutsch used it to its fullest potential. Slowly, she turned to the young woman sitting across the table. “Mrs. Lazlo has an excellent point, Ellen. If you showed no mercy to their son, why should you expect any in return?”
Ellen remained staring at the table. “I can’t,” she answered hoarsely. “Not if people are looking for justice.” She began to slowly shake her head. “I can’t.”
Conrad cringed as Eli reached over and discretely took her hand. It might have been the right thing to do, but not with twenty million viewers watching.
Karen Deutsch turned to her camera. “That’s really the question, isn’t it? Justice or mercy. That’s the dilemma in a nutshell.”
Conrad glanced across the room at McFarland. Those were the exact words he’d used on Eli at the park in Tulsa, back when he’d first presented the challenge. Obviously, Deutsch had been thoroughly briefed and carefully coached.
She continued as if thinking through these observations for the very first time. “Does one embrace justice and capital punishment . . . or oppose justice and plead for mercy? The two really are incompatible; they canno
t exist side by side.”
Then, turning to Eli, she asked, “I was wondering, Eli—I mean, it’s never really been clear. Which of the two positions do you hold?”
There it was. Subtle, smooth. Perfect in its simplicity. The entire interview, the video link, the millions of dollars of equipment, it had all been positioned for this one question.
Conrad knew that the answer didn’t matter. It was the perfect no-win setup that would expose Eli’s inconsistency. One that Dr. Kerston and the boys back in Georgia must already be celebrating over. Since the beginning of his public ministry, Eli had stressed these two opposites: holiness and mercy, holiness and mercy. McFarland had been right. It was a paradox; the two could not possibly coexist. And now, finally, he hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 204
204 would have the opportunity to discredit Eli in front of the entire nation.
“Eli?” Deutsch repeated.
Eli smiled quietly. “I’m afraid you’re asking the wrong question.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re giving me two options, ‘A’ or ‘B.’”
“Is there a problem with that?”
“Not unless the answer happens to be ‘Three.’”
“What?” Deutsch asked. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”
“I’ve come to heal souls, Karen, to save lives. I’m not here to play politics.”
“But surely this is a valid ques—”
“Let the person who is holy, the one with no sin, be the one to give Ellen the lethal injection.”
Silence stole over the room. “I take it that means you’re opposed to capital punishment then?” Deutsch asked.
Eli shook his head. “The issue is not capital punishment.”
He turned to Ellen. “The issue is whether you have sincerely turned from your sins and have earnestly asked for God’s forgiveness.”
Ellen looked deeply into his eyes and swallowed. “I have, Mr. Shepherd, with all my heart.” Her voice grew thicker as she continued. “I have turned from my sin, and a day doesn’t go by that I don’t ask God Almighty to somehow forgive me.”
“Then”—Eli broke into his famous grin—“you are forgiven.”
“And what about our son?” Mr. Lazlo demanded over the video link. “What about the Scriptures demanding blood to be shed for blood! What about God’s justice?”
Deutsch nodded, and being the calm voice of reason, asked, “That’s true, Eli. Doesn’t the Bible clearly state that, except for the shedding of blood, there is no forgiveness?”
“Yes, it does,” Eli agreed. “And the Bible is always correct.”
“But you just said she was forgiven.”
“Yes.”
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“You can’t have it both ways.”
Eli nodded, “Yes.”
The anchorperson shook her head. “‘Yes’ is no answer. If Ellen here is forgiven, then where’s God’s justice? Whose blood is going to be shed for her crime?”
“Mine.”
“Pardon me?”
“The blood of God will be shed, instead of hers.”
“The blood of—what are you saying?”
“I’ve forgiven Ellen’s sins.”
“You? You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“What about the Law of Moses? The Scriptures?”
“They are being fulfilled.”
“How?”
“Through me.”
Karen Deutsch hesitated, unsure how to continue. “Eli, only God can forgive sin.”
“That’s right.”
“Are you . . . are you claiming to be God?”
He leaned toward her slightly. “Listen to me very carefully, Karen. Before the Scriptures were written, before the Law was given, before Moses or anyone else existed . . . I am.”
“Eli . . . are you saying you’re God?”
Eli paused just long enough to make sure his answer was clearly understood. And then he repeated the words: “I am.”
Conrad, Karen Deutsch, Ellen, McFarland, the crew, the entire room stared in absolute astonishment and stunned shock.
v
Julia’s eyes had barely closed before the early morning sun was blazing into the room. Disoriented, she bolted up and looked around as reality slowly filtered in. She was back in the bedroom of her childhood—that warm, safe place that had been the center of the universe for so many years. It had hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 206
206 gone through several transformations since she’d left . . .
sewing room, TV room, rec room, and depending on whom her father was married to at the time, the bedroom of various step-siblings. But, first and foremost, it was hers. It would always be hers.
She eased herself back down onto the pillow, snuggling between the sheets, hoping for a few more moments of peace.
But peace did not come. Instead, she remembered that today was the day. Today was the day she would decide if her father lived or died.
Wearily, she rose from the bed. In record time she showered and slipped into the same business suit she’d worn the day before. She shuffled into the kitchen and rummaged around the cupboards until she found a box of snack bars.
She took two.
“I’ll do the dishes when I get back.”
“You’ll do no such thing, young lady.”
“Mom . . . they’re waiting.”
“Then they’ll have to wait just a little bit longer.”
“I’ll do them when I get back.”
“Julia . . .”
Ignoring her, Julia started out of the kitchen.
“Julia!” Her mother grabbed her arm.
“Let go!”
“You will not leave this house until you do those dishes!”
She whirled around at her. “You can’t tell me what to do!
You don’t own me!”
There was no missing the surprise on her mother’s face.
“Julia!”
“You’re not my boss!”
“Jul—”
“That’s why Daddy left! Isn’t it? All you did was boss him around! Well, I’m not being bossed around. Not by you. Not by some stupid old cow who—”
Her mother’s slap came so fast that both of them were shocked.
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Julia was the first to recover, her eyes brimming with tears. “It’s you!” she blurted. “You’re why he left! It’s not me, it’s you! You’re why he doesn’t want to come home!”
Suddenly her mother’s face filled with understanding.
“Oh, Julia . . .”
Julia took a step back. “It’s not me, it’s you! You made him leave. You’re why he doesn’t love us!”
“Julia . . .” Her mother was reaching out.
She pushed her hands away. “It’s you, it’s you, it’s—”
“Julia . . .”
“It’s you, it’s you—”
At last her mother grabbed her hands, pulling them down, wrapping her arms around her. “Oh, Julia . . . Julia, Sweetheart . . .”
The fight had drained from her, and she melted into her mother’s embrace, sobbing.
“It’s okay, Sweetheart,” her mother soothed, “it’s okay.”
“Why, Momma?” she wailed . “Why did he leave us?”
“Shhh, baby. It’s okay.”
“How could he leave—” She took a shuddering breath .
“How could he leave and make memories with someone else!”
“I don’t know.” Her mother was crying too.
“How could he—”
“I don’t know, baby.”
“How could he . . . how could he . . .”
Julia leaned against the kitchen counter a moment longer, lost in the memory. Then, cursing herself for her softness, she straightened and headed out of the kitchen to gather her things.
It was time to leave. Time to make a decision. And the soon
er the better.
v
“I just think you made a mistake when you asked me to come along.”
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“Why’s that?” Eli asked.
“Every time you turn around, I’m disagreeing with you.”
“That’s all part of the process, Connie.”
“Process?”
“The dying process. You heard me say that the first day we met. Unless a seed falls to the ground and dies, it cannot bear fruit.”
“But does it always . . .” Conrad took a weary breath.
“Does it always have to be so difficult?”
Eli chuckled as they continued traipsing up the Arkansas mountain. Actually, to call it a mountain might be an exag-geration; it was more like a very large hill near the base of the Ozarks, not far from Fort Smith. Once again, the air hung heavy with humidity, causing Conrad to drip in perspiration while struggling to catch his breath. Then, of course, there were the insects. A recent bout with chiggers had left his ankles raw and itching. Today’s specialties seemed to be flies and mosquitoes. But Conrad was not complaining. He was glad to be here. Jake and his brother, Robert, followed several steps behind. They were the only ones from the group who had been invited. For whatever reason, Eli had felt the need to spend special time with the three of them this afternoon.
Eli continued. “All your life, you’ve been taught to think with fleshly logic. And, admittedly, you’ve become quite good at it. But you’re more than flesh, Connie. You’re spirit. And to understand things of the Spirit, you must die and be reborn in spirit.”
“You’re not suggesting that I crawl back in my mother’s womb and start at the beginning, are you?”
Eli smiled. “Not physically. But in many ways you have had to start at the beginning.”
“Learning these ‘Kingdom of God’ principles,” Conrad said.
Eli nodded.
“That’s what I’m talking about. It seems I no sooner get a handle on one of those principles than you turn around and hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 209
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raise the stakes on me. I mean, first there’s this business of you being the only way to the Father. Then that our method of doing things is all backwards compared to yours, then this business of losing our lives to find it. And now your claims of actually being God?”