The Devil's Game

by Daniel Patterson

  He walked to the other side of the bed, took Nancy’s hand and extended his other hand to John across her prone body. John took James’ hand and gently picked up his wife’s other hand. The men bowed their heads, and James felt stronger and more connected than he had all night. The three formed a circle of faith that energized and invigorated him.

  “God of all comfort, we come to You for the assurance of Your presence and blessing. We thank You that Christ has assured us that our life is precious. Look graciously upon Nancy, Your servant. Let her rest in the sense of Your love and goodness. Bless the means by which are used for her cure. Give skills to the physicians, and compassion to all of them that shall assist in the work. Restore her quickly so that she may go into Your house, and praise Your name for Your wonderful goodness, in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

  He had not needed to look at the book to recite the familiar words, and he was filled with a glowing feeling that grew in intensity as he had delivered the message to John and his wife.

  John echoed, “Amen.”

  From her sickbed, Nancy murmured, “Amen.” Her face was beaded with sweat from her fever breaking, but she looked more alert. Her eyes were open, and there was even a hint of a smile at the edge of her mouth.

  Something shifted. The weight upon his shoulders that had been steadily growing since Simon came to town was beginning to lighten. The hospital itself appeared less gloomy, the patients and staff alike seemed energized and more alive. There hadn’t been a death in hours, and there was even a tinkling laugh of a nurse in the hall.

  The laughter was welcome after the stresses of the day, and James finally felt that he might be able to take a break. There were a few rooms he had yet to visit, but even those patients he hadn’t seen were improving. It was as if the air itself had grown pure, and all the pain was being replaced with hope and courage.

  John was shedding silent tears and stroking his wife’s hair. His joy at her improvement warmed James, and he moved to leave the room so that they could be alone. He passed by a chair where Nancy’s purse sat open with its contents in full view and froze in his tracks.

  In the purse was a bottle of S’Wellness brand medicine.

  “John . . . where did you get this?” He tried to keep his rising panic away from his voice. Seeing the bottle had shaken him right when he was feeling so confident about the results of his work. He saw Simon’s face in the swirling green, but when he blinked, it was gone.

  “Oh that? Philip Falcone gave it to us. Why?”

  “Did you give this to Nancy? When did she last have a dose?”

  “Yeah, she was taking it at home, but didn’t seem to help at all. I can’t remember the last time she took it,” he said, sounding confused. “I can’t remember. How ‘bout that?”

  James steeled himself against the revulsion that bubbled within and grabbed the bottle. He threw it in the trash and tied up the otherwise empty bag that lined the bin. He took the bag with him and said, “You won’t be needing this anymore.”

  In the hall, he finally looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly five, Monday morning. He had prayed with everyone in the ICU and all the other patients on the floor they had set up as a makeshift quarantine for the flu. There was only one more thing he needed to do before he could go home to get some rest.

  The door to Amy’s room was still ajar, and she was still fast asleep. He pulled a chair up to her bedside and bowed his head. He thanked God for showing him the way, and for the opportunity to share the strength of his faith with His other children.

  PART FOUR

  and that they will come to their senses and escape from the trap of the devil, who has taken them captive to do his will.

  — 2 Timothy 2:26 (NIV)

  Chapter Forty-One

  JAMES DIDN’T REALIZE HE had fallen asleep until late that morning when Georgette arrived to take over the vigil at Amy’s bedside. She pressed a cool hand to his forehead to wake him. He had fallen asleep in a chair in Amy’s hospital room. An uncomfortable chair, he noticed as he sat up, yawning and stretching. His head was swirling with the remnants of dreams and thoughts of a new tactic to deal with Simon’s machinations.

  “Good morning,” said a familiar voice.

  He looked up to see Amy smiling at him over a tray of breakfast. The smell of coffee and eggs helped bring him fully to his senses. “Good morning,” James said, patting all his pockets, looking for his phone. “What time is it? Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Almost eleven o’clock. You looked so peaceful sleeping there,” she said over a bite of toast. “Want some coffee?”

  Georgette was positively beaming. “Look at her, Reverend. She’s eating.”

  “And hospital food too,” James said. “She must really be feeling better.”

  She certainly looked better. There was still a slight grayish cast to her skin, but Amy’s eyes were bright and her voice was stronger. He gave silent thanks to God.

  James painfully unfolded himself from the hospital lounge chair, wincing as each cut and bruise on his body made itself known.

  “You need to rest,” protested Georgette.

  “I’m fine,” James said, and that was partially true. Seeing the improvement in Amy’s condition gave him strength . . . and a burning curiosity to check on the other people he had prayed with on the ward last night.

  “At least eat something,” Amy said. “I’m never going to finish all of this.” She pushed the bedside tray toward him.

  James glanced at the half eaten scrambled eggs on her plate and his mouth watered. He must be starving to salivate over hospital food. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Positive,” Amy smiled. “And have this,” she said, holding out a sealed cup of apple juice. “I’ve never been a fan.”

  “Thank you,” he said and eased back down into the chair, balancing the plate and cup of juice on his knees. He downed the slightly rubbery, but still edible eggs in three bites, and washed it down with the juice.

  The doctor he had seen looking so flustered the day before entered Amy’s room. He was clearly tired but seemed much more at ease. James stood, feeling slightly guilty about eating Amy’s food.

  The doctor smiled wearily at him. “I can ask the nurse to bring you one of your own,” he offered.

  “Thank you, but I’m good.”

  “You truly are,” the doctor agreed. “You brought a sense of peace to the ward last night. The patients rested easier after your visits, and their fevers broke, each and every one of them. If I were a believer I’d say it was a miracle . . .”

  “You can say it even if you’re not,” said Georgette.

  “I believe in the power of science,” said the doctor. “And the power of the human mind.”

  “Those powers come from God,” James told him. “They are His gifts.”

  Amy smiled. “It looks like you are a believer after all, doctor.”

  “Maybe I am, then,” he said. “And right now, I’d like to use the power of medical science to give you a short exam to see just how much better you are this morning.”

  James took that as his cue and stood to make an exit, remembering to pick up the trash bag containing the bottle of noxious S’Wellness fluid.

  Georgette and Amy exchanged puzzled looks.

  “You ladies will have to excuse me. Georgette, you’ll keep an eye on Amy, right?”

  “Oh sure, I’m happy to!” She did look like she was in her element as she fluttered around the room opening the curtains and tidying up the already tidy space.

  “Amy . . .” He looked at her and was suddenly overwhelmed. It was not just her he was trying to protect, but she represented the good people he was charged with caring for. He quickly turned his eyes away. “I’ll be back in to see you later, okay?”

  “Maybe you could bring me a cheeseburger?”

  James looked at her and then at the doctor.

  “Maybe,” the doctor said.

  Out in the corridor, James could truly fee
l the sense of peace the doctor had mentioned. Without a doubt that it was the love of God. Medicine might help, but the minds that create it would be guided by God’s hand. The power to fight this evil disease was bound within the pages of the Good Book. The power of God’s Word carried within fueled James.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  AS JAMES BREEZED PAST the nurse’s station, a nurse he hadn’t seen yet poked her head out over the counter.

  “Pastor Buchman?”

  “Yes?” He looked at her again closely but didn’t recognize her.

  “You’re the one who stayed up all night with the patients, right?”

  “I am.”

  “I’d like to show you something.” She stood and motioned for him to follow her to one of the rooms. They stood in the open doorway and peered in.

  It took James a moment to recognize the person he saw in the first room. It was Willie Bowlish, the first man he had prayed with the day before, and he looked like an entirely different person. He was eating as well, and was sitting up. He smiled and waved when he saw James in the doorway. James waved back, with his heart in his throat. The nurse took him into the hall.

  “Can you believe this? He looked so bad yesterday, and today he’s eating and drinking. He even walked a little bit. His fever broke last night.” She crooked her finger to beckon him.

  They looked in the next door, and James saw another patient sitting up and looking alert. Her family was with her, and they were all smiling and happy. Faint laughter was coming from the room. Laughter where the night before there had been only misery. They continued through the hall, checking in on all the patients.

  “Their fevers started breaking, all of them almost at once. They started getting better. It’s a miracle we only lost one patient last night.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “If we hadn’t gotten this under control, I think they would have quarantined the whole town.”

  One death.

  “What was that patient’s name?” He asked.

  One death. One too many.

  “Patrick Chandler. He was pretty bad off when he got here. But then again, they were all looking pretty bad yesterday.” Her smile faded and he could tell that she felt Patrick’s death keenly, despite the positive results for the other patients. He patted her on the shoulder.

  “I’m so glad to see that you nurses and doctors were able to help everyone. We are all grateful for your efforts.” He meant it with all his heart. He may have played a part in breaking whatever spell or disease Simon had unleashed here, but the folks at the hospital had handled the crisis like a well-oiled machine.

  “It’s our job,” she said graciously. “Probably not much different from your job, I think.”

  “I shared the Word with them, yes. That’s my job.”

  “Well, I think what you do is just as important as what we do.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. A phone rang back at the nurse’s station. “Duty calls. Bless you, Pastor.”

  She couldn’t know the impact her words had on James. Yesterday, he had been so near to giving up. He was helpless in the face of all the suffering.

  With the light of the new day had come a change, a sense of peace and a lessening of the burden shouldered by himself and his parishioners. He had God to thank for that.

  Still, the loss of Patrick’s life darkened his joy at the miraculous recovery of the patients. He wanted to save all of them. Had his prayer come too late? Had the man doomed himself by refusing to take James’ hand in prayer? James preferred to believe the former, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the healing power of the prayer would have been stronger had the man joined him.

  James passed Patrick’s empty room. They had stripped the sheets from the bed, and there was no evidence that anyone had ever been there. He said a silent prayer for the man’s soul.

  Before leaving the hospital, James paused in the tiny chapel and gave thanks to God.

  When he was finished, he took out his phone but hesitated. “I hope You won’t mind me using this in Your house, but I think we are going to need all the help we can get as soon as we can get it. I want to fill this entire town with the power of Your love.”

  With that, James called a few of the deacons of his church and asked them to go to anyone and everyone who was still sick and to pray with them, and to spread the Word to all members of the congregation who were well to do the same.

  He tried Branson, but there was no answer.

  He had to reach him and tell him what had happened. His heart was full of hope, and it was a welcome feeling. There may be more battles yet to come, but he was armed with God’s love and His Word, and he was that much stronger for it.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  AS JAMES MADE HIS way to his car, he held the trash bag away from his body. A chill emanated from the bottle of S’Wellness it contained. He opened the trunk of his car and tossed it inside and then closed the trunk lid to see the grinning face of Simon suddenly standing there, his fedora in his hand.

  “Good morning, Reverend,” Simon said in a cheery voice. “Fine day, isn’t it?”

  “Not if you’ve lost a loved one to this illness,” James responded coldly.

  Simon managed to make his eyes look sad even as the smile stayed firmly in place. “Yes. Poor people. But their loved ones are in a far better place now, don’t you think? At least most of them . . .”

  “What do you want Simon?”

  “Just wanted to check on Amy and a few other friends,” Simon said, pointing to the hospital.

  James had the strongest desire to punch the man in his face. That would knock that smile loose. But he restrained himself. “I know you spent some time with Amy before she got sick. I know you went to see a lot of people before they got sick. Got sick and died, I mean. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone who is sick told me they remembered seeing you just before they got sick.”

  “Well now, that would make me one busy little bee, wouldn’t it?” Simon leaned back against an SUV parked next to James’ car and played with the brim of his hat. “It’s too bad you can’t help these poor sick people, isn’t it, Reverend? Oh, you may have helped them through the night, and I see that you’re feeling a bit smug about that, but what you did is temporary, I assure you. If only there were some way for you to do . . . something that will last. Something that would help permanently!”

  “You seem to have something in mind. What are you suggesting, Simon?”

  “A deal? Why, Reverend, are you asking to make a deal with me?”

  “I don’t deal with the devil,” he said automatically. “I’m just wondering what your terms would be.”

  “Why, Reverend, I’ve already told you my terms. They are very simple. Just one in fact. Leave.”

  “That’s it?”

  “You’ve got it. Get out of town. Move. Go somewhere else. Relocate. Scram. Take a hike. Leave. Leave today. Leave now. Do that and I guarantee that all those people that are sick, including Amy, will get better, and stay that way.”

  “No,” James said to him.

  A shadow passed across Simon’s face though the sky was clear. “You know, priest,” Simon growled, his voice suddenly lower and rougher, “I don’t understand why you cling to this bad habit of telling me no.”

  “Because I don’t see it as a bad habit.”

  “Kind of bad in this case,” Simon said. He gestured at the hospital behind him. “You really want those people to die? Do you? Because I can promise you, they will die! They will all succumb to this illness and in less than a month’s time this whole town will be a memory—a ghost town. A cautionary tale for people to behave or the devil will come sneaking in and murder them in their sleep. And now, because you refuse to leave, Amy is going to die too. She’s going to die, priest! What’re you going to do about that? Just stand there playing with your morals? She’s going to die!”

  “No, she’s not,” James said quietly.

  Simon stopped mid-rant, one arm in the air. “What?”

  “S
he’s not going to die. Neither are any of the people you made sick.”

  “There is nothing you can do to stop it.”

  “Yes, there is. We both know it’s true. Amy was sicker than several of the people who have died. The doctors didn’t think she’d make it through the night, but she lived. Not only that, but everyone is getting better as we speak. Do you know why?”

  Simon glared at him but didn’t respond.

  “Well, I’ll tell you why,” James went on. “They all prayed with me. It’s that simple. The only difference between those poor people who died and those that lived is that they gave the problem over to God through prayer. And they’re going to live.”

  For the first time since finding out who Simon was, who he really was, James stood up to the man and looked him squarely in the eyes. “So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to make my rounds, and pray with as many of these poor souls as I can—the ones that you’ve poisoned and tried to kill—and I’m going to help God save most of them.”

  “Not all of them priest,” Simon told him with smiling contempt.

  James shrugged. “No. Not all of them. I wish I could, but some of them can’t or won’t be reached. The thing you’re forgetting is I’m not alone anymore. I’m not the only one who knows what you are. Not the only one who’s standing up against you.”

  The devil stared, mouth hanging open, and then broke into a loud laugh, clutching his sides for laughing so hard. “You really are something else. I tell you what, little man, I tell you what. You leave now, and we’ll call it square. Nobody else has to get sick if you leave right now. On the other hand,” he stopped laughing and put the tip of his finger right in James’ face, “if you don’t leave, right here, right now, all bets are off. You can save as many as you like, by staying and praying your little prayers. But people will still get sick. You can’t stop that.”

  “Maybe he can’t,” Branson said, walking up behind them, “but I have a friend who can. Mornin’, James.” He stepped up and turned to Simon. “Mr. Paradis, isn’t it? I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”