by Bill Myers
Conrad had never seen Eli so impassioned. But it was working. The gloves were definitely off, and he was definitely making a statement. Next he grabbed a belt from the scrip-tural ties and belts rack and began whirling it over his head, driving back anyone foolish enough to try and stop him.
He stormed over to the book section unopposed. Display after display came down. A hundred different versions of the Bible— The Bible for Secretaries, The Bible for Athletes, The Bible for the Disabled, The Menopause Bible. A moment later he was in the self-help section, clearing off shelves of How to Make God Make You Rich, and Claiming Your Divine Health as well as the best-selling classics, How to Physically Please Your Godly Husband and Ten Steps to Raising Perfect Children. Finally he hit the Messianic section, pushing over row after row of books with multicolored charts and transparen-cies explaining how each prophecy of the Messiah’s coming would unfold.
Conrad heard more commotion and turned to see four security men hurrying through the crowd. He spun back to Eli, wanting to shout and warn him, but he knew that Eli couldn’t hear. Even if he could, he wouldn’t listen.
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The crowd parted as the men pushed through.
Eli had entered the Holy Health Section and was working on the Spiritual Vitamin display (the one with a different Scripture reference printed on every tablet). And that’s where they finally grabbed him. He put up no resistance, though the men might have worked a bit harder in restraining their force.
A moment later, sweating and breathing hard, Eli was escorted toward the back of the store. Conrad tried to follow, but there were too many people, and Eli was too far away. He could do nothing but stand and stare—and be impressed. For this was, indeed, a different Eli. This was an Eli of strength.
A conquering Eli. Finally, the time had come. No more hiding of his miracles or of his powers or of his passions. At last, he was emerging as the leader Conrad knew him to be. At last he had become a force to reckon with. Yes, Eli knew exactly what he was doing. This arrest would only add fuel to his cause. And from what Conrad had seen over the past seventy-two hours, that cause had suddenly become very, very formidable. Finally, it was clear. Conrad really had backed the right horse.
v
Instantly, the serene ICU came alive. The ICU nurse had shut off the alarm and was already administering CPR as a female doctor appeared from nowhere. She was accompanied by a male nurse, who hustled Julia and her mother out of the room.
Now mother and daughter stood just on the other side of the glass door, numbly watching. Despite the flurry of activity, the staff maintained an eerie calm, a testimony to their professionalism . . . or to the number of life/death situations they faced every week. For Julia, it was like watching one of those medical TV shows, real but not real. As on television, the first thing the doctor did was raise her fist and smack the man hard in the center of his chest. Eyes darted to the monitor above the bed. The erratic readouts continued.
“Defib,” the doctor ordered.
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The word was barely uttered before a third nurse rolled a small portable machine toward the room, nearly colliding with Julia and her mother. “You need to leave!” she ordered as she pushed past them. Julia and her mother nodded, but they did not move. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, maybe it was sensing that this was her father’s last few moments of life.
Whatever the reason, Julia remained standing at the glass with her mother.
Covers were thrown back and her father’s gown torn aside.
How odd it was to see a man once so modest (she had seldom seen him with his shirt off) and so full of life, now lying there naked and pale and gray. She felt her mother leaning more heavily upon her.
The male nurse squirted gel across two electric paddles and placed them on her father’s chest. Then, just as on TV, he yelled, “Clear!” The team stepped back. There was a brief click, and her father’s entire body jerked grotesquely.
Julia heard her mother gasp and turned to her. Her knuckle was in her mouth as she watched in horror.
“Mom—do you want—”
Her mother shook her head. “We need to stay.”
“Go to 300,” the doctor ordered.
The ICU nurse resumed CPR as the second adjusted the settings on the machine. Once again the paddles were placed on his chest.
“Clear!”
This time Julia felt her mother turn her head. She wished she had as well. The body convulsed, causing the right arm to flop lifelessly off the table. Again the team turned to the monitor. Again there was no response.
“360,” the doctor ordered.
The machine was reset. This time, when the paddles were placed on her father’s chest, Julia did look away.
“Clear!”
Once again there was the dull click and the sound of his body jerking on the bed.
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Julia turned back. The lines and numbers on the monitor made no sense to her, but the faces of those watching it did.
They were not pleased. She noticed her own face growing wet, her head feeling a little light. She leaned against the glass door for support.
The doctor shouted out a number, followed by something that sounded like “epi” and the word, “push.”
Immediately the male nurse produced a syringe and inserted it directly into one of the IVs leading to her father’s arm. He emptied all of its contents. Seconds passed as the first nurse continued CPR, as all eyes remained fixed on the monitor.
After an eternity, the doctor reordered, “360.”
Once again the paddles were placed on her father’s bare skin and once again the command was given. “Clear!”
Another click. Another sickening convulsion.
Eyes turned to the monitor.
Nothing.
“Go to lidocaine,” the doctor ordered.
Another syringe appeared in the nurse’s hands. He injected it into the IV. More seconds passed as everyone stared at the monitor. How strange, Julia thought. They were no longer looking at her father, only the monitor. It was as if the man, the human, didn’t exist. Only the machine.
Again the doctor ordered, “360.”
“Clear!”
Another jolt, another body jerk.
How long will they keep this up? Julia wondered.
“Another epi!”
More syringes appeared. More drugs injected into the IV.
And more waiting.
“Okay,” the doctor sighed, “let’s juice him again.” There was no missing the weariness in her voice.
“Clear!”
Another sickening click, and yet another convulsion.
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How much more of this could her father’s body take? How much more of this could she take? Besides the clammy dampness across her face, Julia noticed that the edges of her vision had started to grow bright, like an overexposed picture. And her mother? She turned to her. Her mother was as white as a sheet.
The doctor spoke again. This time too softly to hear. The ICU nurse looked over her shoulder at Julia. Others followed suit until the entire room was looking at her. What was going on? What did they want?
After another moment, the doctor spoke again, sounding even more drained. “All right, give me 375 milligrams of beryllium.”
Another syringe appeared and was emptied into the IV.
Seconds ticked by. Julia glanced down at her mother’s hand. It clutched her arm so tightly that it was leaving a bruise. How much longer? How much more of this would they have to endure?
The doctor stared at the monitor, her own face wet with perspiration.
Again the paddles were placed in position, and again the order was given.
“Clear!”
Another dull click. Another grotesque jerk.
By now, only the doctor
and ICU nurse watched the monitor. The others simply stood, waiting. Until . . .
“What’s that?” the ICU nurse asked.
The rest turned to the monitor.
“We’ve got something,” the male nurse said.
The doctor reached for Julia’s father’s neck, carefully feeling for a pulse. She shook her head. “It’s too weak, too slow.
Give me a push of atropine.” The male nurse nodded and prepared another syringe as the doctor, tendrils of damp hair dropping over her face, turned to the ICU nurse. “Attach the external pacemaker.”
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The nurse nodded and crossed toward another machine.
She quickly attached it to Conrad’s chest. As she did, the doctor finally stepped back from the bed and stood catching her breath, wiping her face with her sleeve. The episode had clearly taken a lot out of her. And when the machine was finally attached, she took another deep breath and simply said, “Call me if things change.”
The ICU nurse nodded. Without further word, the doctor turned and headed for the door. As she stepped through, Julia knew she should say something but could only manage a raspy, “Thank you.”
“For what?” the doctor asked as she briskly passed.
Julia turned. “For . . . bringing him back to life.”
The woman slowed to a stop, then turned to face her.
“That’s the last thing in the world you should want to thank me for,” she answered wearily. “Trust me.” With that she turned and continued down the ICU corridor.
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C H A P T E R
T H I R T E E N
“YOU GUYS ARE MISSING THE POINT,” CONRAD ARGUED. “THIS IS
good news.”
Brent frowned. “Eli lost it publicly, he’s been thrown in jail for assault and destruction of private property . . . and you call that good news?”
“What exactly is your definition of good?” Leon asked.
“Look.” Conrad rose from the edge of the bed and started to pace. The tiny motel room smelled of stale smoke, and there were far too many people crammed inside. It was another meeting, this time including Maggie, Suzanne, and everyone else in the group. Well, everyone except Eli, who was busy cooling his heels in the county jail. Conrad continued. “There isn’t a person in this room who doesn’t believe Eli is the Messiah, am I right? That he’s the chosen one of God?”
The group nodded.
“We’ve all heard his claims. We’ve all seen his miracles.
And not just us.” He motioned toward Suzanne. “The entire world watched him raise your brother from the dead.”
More agreement.
“Then do you honestly think, in your wildest dreams, can you honestly imagine that some jail cell is going to thwart his efforts?”
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No one disagreed.
“Don’t you see what’s happening? It’s unfolding exactly as he said.”
“What’s unfolding?” Keith asked.
“He’s coming into power. The very thing you and I have been banging our heads against the wall trying to accomplish, he’s accomplishing on his own.”
“Run that past me again?” Will asked.
“He’s finally rolled up his sleeves, Will. He’s taken off his gloves and is finally going after the big boys.” He turned to the rest of the group. “Isn’t that what the Scriptures say the Messiah will do when he comes? Conquer and rule the world? Well, how do you conquer and rule the world without getting into the fray and getting your hands dirty?”
“So you’re saying this is the beginning of him taking over?” Jake repeated.
“Exactly. You heard the crowd’s excitement when he entered this morning. And what did he tell security when they wanted him to stop them?”
“That the very walls of the place would cry out,” Keith answered.
“Precisely.”
“And this is how he takes over the world?” Brent asked.
“By getting arrested?”
Conrad answered. “Eli’s ways have always been unconventional. There’s no denying that, right?”
“‘My ways are not your ways,’” Leon quoted.
“Exactly. And now he has finally quit playing the meek little lamb. Now he’s getting down to becoming the warrior we always knew he could be. What did he say at the fountain about religion, about the City of God?”
“That it’s all coming down.”
“Right, the old system is coming down and it’s about to be replaced.”
“By what?” Maggie asked.
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“By Eli!” Conrad answered impatiently. “He’s been polite, he’s been the gentlemen, and now finally he’s going to start kicking butt!” He could tell some of the group was finally starting to come around. He reached into his pocket, making sure he still had the note. The one he’d just received. He wasn’t sure whether he should mention it yet, or just hang onto it. He decided to wait.
“But how do you kick butt from a jail cell?” Leon demanded.
Jake answered, “Like Connie says, if death can’t hold back Suzanne’s brother, no jail cell’s going to hold Eli.”
Conrad added, “And even if it does, it suddenly makes him the underdog. The great, raise-people-from-the-dead prophet, being picked on by the big, bad, three-piece-suit and double-chinned establishment. Talk about becoming the rallying point. This is genius; it’s absolutely perfect!”
More and more of the group were beginning to see his point.
“But . . .” Trevor coughed nervously. As the shyest member, he seldom spoke. When he did, it was always with difficulty. “What about everything Eli said about not returning evil for evil, and about turning the other cheek?”
“I don’t know about you, son,” Jake almost chuckled, “but I’ve about run out of cheeks. Wouldn’t you agree, boys?” The group’s agreement grew stronger. He continued. “I mean, I’m gettin’ real tired of having to keep hangin’ my head like some whopped dog. If what Connie’s sayin’ is right, then I say it’s about time.”
More agreement.
“Looks like the train is finally pulling out of the station, fellas,” Will said. “And if that’s the case, then I’m gonna be on board.”
“That’s right,” others agreed.
“Guys . . .” It was Suzanne. Conrad was pleased to see she was participating as well. “Guys?”
They settled slightly.
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“What Connie says makes a lot of sense . . . I mean, how can you be a conquering Messiah without conquering?”
They agreed. Conrad gave her a smile.
“But . . .” She hesitated, trying to find the right words.
“What about all of his talk about dying to self? All these Kingdom of God principles he keeps insisting we live by.”
“What about them?” Jake asked.
Suzanne frowned. “His upside-down logic of giving to receive, of serving to rule. Does this—what you’re saying, Connie—does it really fit in with that?”
Conrad’s smile faded.
“We can’t lie down forever,” Scott said.
“That’s right,” Brent agreed. “He expects us to do something.”
“Does he?” Suzanne asked. “If he’s the physical conquering king, I suppose you’re right. But hasn’t he always said he came to be the ruler of souls? Hasn’t he always said his was a different kingdom?”
“What do you mean?” Conrad asked, doing his best to hide his irritation. It wasn’t easy. After all the effort it had taken to sway the guys to his point of view, what was she doing trying to sway them back?
Suzanne shook her head. “I’m not sure. It’s just this business of rolling up our sleeves and attacking the world . . . I don’t think that’s what he wants.”
&n
bsp; “Remember . . .” It was Trevor again. “Remember how he always told us that we should die? That we should turn everything we have over to him?”
The group grew more silent.
He continued. “Couldn’t this be one of those times?”
“What are you talking about, Trev?”
“Shouldn’t our desire for him to be this big deliverer, the conquering king—shouldn’t we expect that to die as well?”
Jake shook his head gently. “Son, I appreciate what you’re saying, but you don’t want to take that type of thinking too far.”
Will agreed. “That’s like saying God has to die to be God.
It don’t work that way.”
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“It doesn’t?” Suzanne asked. All eyes turned back to her.
“Isn’t that what Eli has always said, that he’d have to die?
Remember?” She turned to Conrad. “At the prison with Ellen Perkins, remember all that talk about merging holiness with mercy? Remember how he said he’d have to shed his own blood to make that happen?”
“He said a lot of things,” Conrad replied. “And not all of them make sense, at least literally. A dead king? I don’t think so.”
“He could have been talking in metaphor,” Hector suggested, “or about some sort of spiritual death. I mean, who knows?”
“He also said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life,’” Leon argued. “Doesn’t sound like a dead king to me.”
“I know,” Suzanne sighed, “I know. But taking matters into our own hands right now just doesn’t feel right.”
A few more heads began to nod. If she didn’t make complete sense, at least Suzanne’s argument was enough to give the group some pause.
“So what do you suggest we do?” Jake asked. “Just sit around here, twiddling our thumbs?”
No one had an answer.
“I guess”—Suzanne cleared her throat—“we do what we’ve always done. What I did in Lebanon for all those days.”
“What’s that?” Will asked.
“We wait.”
Looks were exchanged. A few heads nodded. No one could refute her argument.