Dominion

by Randy Alcorn

  “They regard failure to change moral standards as stagnation,” Lewis said, hands clasped behind his back, pacing in professorial style. “The old fashioned becomes synonymous with the bad, the new synonymous with the good. But the square of the hypotenuse does not become outdated by continuing to equal the sum of the squares of the other two sides. An unchanging standard is not the enemy of moral progress. On the contrary, it is the necessary condition for it. If the destination is as mobile as the train, the train can never arrive.”

  “But some of the old standards were wrong,” Dani said.

  “Of course. But the oldest standards are Elyon’s, and they are always right. Certain old standards of men were wrong, such as slavery and oppression and the doctrine of racial inequality. Other old standards were right, such as the sanctity of unborn human life and the wrongness of sexual immorality. To progress, you must change the old that was wrong by conforming instead to that which is older still, the ancient and eternal truth of God. But you must not change the old that was right. To do so is not moral progress but moral disintegration. What they see as lack of progress is often moral permanence. They fail to realize truth can be discovered on earth, but it can only originate in heaven.”

  “That’s always been the message of prophets, hasn’t it?” Dani asked.

  “Exactly,” Lewis said. “The prophet is not the revolutionary he appears. He does not call people to what is new, but to what is old. Not to human prejudice but to eternal values, which are always right. Prophets resist the current of their time by holding to the truths of eternity. They take us forward by pointing us back to truth we have departed from, truth just as true now as it always was. Ironically, the beliefs of the present age that take pride in not being old fashioned, tomorrow will be old fashioned. Truth, however, never goes out of date.”

  Dani and Torel sat listening attentively while Lewis paced as if standing in front of a Cambridge lecture hall. “They talk about human progress as if technology improves morality. They see men as the solution rather than the problem. They look at the third millennium after Christ, and they predict great progress. But if man were making moral progress, the twentieth century would have been a step toward utopia, would it not? Yet that century of technical progress was the century of genocide. More human beings, born and unborn, were murdered in that century than in all previous centuries combined.”

  The words stunned Dani. She’d never thought of it in those terms.

  “Of course, the Evil One has been active throughout human history. But had Elyon given him only one century in which to work, the evidence would point to the twentieth century. They speak piously about the horrors of previous generations while they have blinded themselves to the horrors they commit daily, routinely— horrors we see so clearly from here. Their lifetimes have been characterized by hatred, oppression, race wars, and holocaust, yet in their self-aggrandizement they believe their generation can bring peace on earth. Theirs is the height of human arrogance. For the power to tame man’s self-destruction resides not in them but in Elyon. Only the church of Christ has within it the life-changing power of God, and only that power enables change. Man is the problem; God, the solution. Men who try to solve the world’s problems without God are destined to failure.”

  As Lewis spoke, behind him the portal opened and Dani saw what appeared a multimedia presentation of colleges and universities, the oldest with church steeples and crosses long ignored except as relics.

  “Their universities were once built on Truth. Now they dispense their homegrown truths in plastic wrappers, like little slices of processed cheese. They are the most dangerous kind of sinners—sinners who no longer believe in sin, addicts pronouncing themselves free while everyone else can see they are pitifully enslaved. Deprived of joy, they reduce life to the pursuit of pleasures. But without Elyon there are no pleasures. The pursuit of pleasures without the giver of pleasure can never end in heaven, only hell. Refusing to anchor their lives in the bright sacred mysteries, they turn instead to the dark evil mysteries. Denying Elyon, they turn to the demon Moloch, for man is made to worship, and if he will not worship the true, he will worship the false. Hence a generation that prides itself on uplifting peace and caring for the earth and rising above barbarity daily offers its children in sacrifice to Moloch.”

  Torel nodded his head slowly, as one who had long contemplated this reality. “In ancient times,” he said, “and I speak as one who was there, men were led astray by false gods, but they never were so foolish as to believe there were no gods. Educated western men put themselves in the place of God. They affirm themselves as the rule-makers. Men work together to create a moral tower of Babel, reaching to the skies. Since they think they make the rules, they feel free to break them and change them to conform to their whims. Morality becomes whatever they wish it to be. Of course, their minds have no power over reality. Truth no more cares about their beliefs concerning it than the sun cares whether people believe it will rise in the morning.”

  “Let’s get the facts straight,” Officer Rodriguez said. “You met with her at Jefferson, right?”

  “Yeah. In the principal’s office. He set the whole thing up.”

  “Right. That’s what he told me this morning. But when I asked him if he noticed anything strange between you and Miss Miller, he said he walked in on you after the appointment was supposed to be over. He said he thought the two of you were discussing personal things.”

  “Did he accuse me of something?”

  “Actually, no, he thinks highly of you. But when I told him what Miss Miller said, he looked back and was afraid maybe something happened that day. He was really sick about it, felt guilty he set the thing up and that it happened right in his office.”

  “What happened? Nothing happened!”

  “I don’t mean something happened then. Just that it turned into something later.”

  “Nothing happened then or later.”

  “Do you deny calling her at home the night of,” he looked at one of his papers, “October 29?”

  “No, I don’t deny it. I was just returning her call.”

  “Why was she calling you at home? If it was business, wouldn’t she call you at the paper?”

  “Yes, usually, but this was different.”

  “Yeah,” Rodriguez said. “Obviously.”

  Clarence’s eyes registered fury.

  “Her father tells me he didn’t appreciate you calling her at home. Said you gave a phony last name and he thought it was a new boyfriend the way she ran off to her bedroom and shut the door. Do you deny giving her your home phone number?”

  “She asked me for it.”

  The officer removed from a bag Clarence’s business card with his handwritten home phone on it, holding it by its edges and showing it to Clarence. “Do you normally give out your private home number to high school girls?”

  “Not normally,” Clarence said, “but she said she could only call me in the evening.”

  “Do you deny meeting her at a bar last week?”

  “It was a restaurant! I mean, okay it was a bar, but she told me it was a restaurant.”

  “And you couldn’t tell the difference? You spent a couple of hours with her, just the two of you, in a back room at a bar she wasn’t old enough to legally enter?”

  “I wasn’t there more than thirty minutes. Maybe twenty.”

  “Not according to witnesses, including her uncle. I talked to half a dozen people who say they saw you come out from the back room with her two hours later.”

  “What? That’s impossible. They’re lying!”

  “Six people telling the same lie?”

  “Yeah, if that’s what they really said.”

  “Oh, that’s what they said all right. And a couple of them say after you went out the front door, they looked out the window and saw you kiss her.”

  “You can’t be serious. I didn’t even go out the front door. And I never touched her!”

  “The witnesses say
otherwise. And her uncle says Gracie told him that night you got frisky with her in the back room. He was ready to come after you with a shotgun, but she said she was as much to blame as you. Told him there was a chemistry between you.”

  “He’s lying. She wouldn’t say that.”

  “Oh, but she would. And she did. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t talked to her first.”

  “This is a setup. Why would she do this to me?”

  “I can’t think of a good reason, can you? Anyway, you say you left after half an hour? Okay, so you have an alibi for that next hour and a half, right?”

  “Yeah. Let’s see. I was gone by 6:45 at the latest, and then—”

  “And then what? You went home? Your family can back up your story?”

  “Yeah, they were home. But … I wasn’t.”

  “Oh?”

  “Gracie, Miss Miller, she said a kid wanted to meet me at MLK and Evans, to talk about something.”

  “Okay. So what’s the kid’s name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You met with a kid and you don’t know his name?”

  “I didn’t meet with him.” Clarence heard the hollowness of his own voice. “He never showed up. I waited there an hour and a half. He never came.”

  “Did you tell your wife how you were spending the evening?”

  “No. Just told her I was working late.”

  “Yeah. I’ll bet.”

  “I was working late.”

  “Whatever you say. People define work different ways. Most would probably say spending the evening with a gorgeous young blonde in the back room of a bar is stretching the term work.”

  Clarence’s hand instinctively darted across the table, his index finger poking the officer in the chest. “Watch your mouth!” Clarence shouted.

  “You watch your finger, Mr. Abernathy,” Rodriguez grabbed his hand and flung it back at him. “You go for me again and you’ll have a barrel in your mouth. Now cool your jets, big shot!”

  Clarence restrained himself, waiting for the officer to imply again something about a black man going after a white girl. If he did, he decided he’d take him down, jail or no jail. After a few moments, though, he got ahold of himself.

  “All right,” Clarence said. “I’m sorry. I’m kind of stressed out. It’s not what it seems.”

  “For your sake I hope not.” Rodriguez looked down at the papers. “Okay. Do you deny you were with Miss Miller in Gresham yesterday afternoon at 5:30 P.M.?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She says you told her to take MAX out to the end of the line in Gresham, and then you picked her up there.”

  “She’s lying.”

  “Then all you have to do is give me your alibi. Where were you?”

  “I was—I was unconscious on the side of a bike trail.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m sure it is. But you don’t have to bother constructing it, because the MAX driver said he saw you pick her up there. I showed him her picture and yours. He remembers seeing you both. Gracie says you took her to a motel in Troutdale, that you did drugs and … plenty of other things. I went to see the manager an hour and a half ago. I showed him your pictures. He confirms you checked in. Obviously you used a different name. They always do.”

  Clarence felt numb. He thought of Geneva and the children. He thought of his father beaten and tortured in that Mississippi jail. He thought of an uncle who’d been castrated and his father’s cousin who’d been hung by the Klan for being accused of less serious crimes than these.

  “What happens now?” Clarence asked weakly.

  “If I thought you posed an immediate threat I could arrest you here. I’m not sure that’s necessary, although you assaulting those two guys in the Impala and putting your hands on an officer makes a good case for your being a loose cannon. I could send my report to the sexual assault division and they could take over the investigation. If I think there’s sufficient evidence, I can turn it over directly to the district attorney’s office. That’s what I’m probably going to do.”

  “How can you do that to me?” Clarence asked. “What’s your evidence?”

  “We don’t have physical evidence, of course. She’s taken a shower since then. The motel sheets had already been washed, so no semen stains are left for DNA tests.”

  Clarence felt sick just hearing the words.

  “But I’ve got the girl’s testimony and a bunch of witnesses that dispute your testimony, not only yesterday but last week at the bar. Even what you admit to is bad enough. You admit giving her your phone number, calling her at home, meeting her alone in the back room of a bar. You have no alibi for that night and none for yesterday afternoon. Then there’s the drug charges.”

  “I don’t use drugs.”

  “You’ve never used drugs?” The officer stared at him.

  “Look, I tried pot in the sixties, okay?”

  “Didn’t inhale, huh?”

  Clarence glowered at him.

  “You say you’re not a user. The rings around your eyes say otherwise.”

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “The eyes don’t lie.” He studied Clarence’s eyes as if he were an optometrist. “Your pupils don’t say meth or crack—they say heroin. They look like you haven’t slept, like you’ve been on the nod. Heroin’s what the girl said, and your eyes say the same. You still deny it?”

  “Of course I deny it. I’ve never touched heroin in my life.”

  “I’d run a toxicology test on you, but heroin would be out of the system by now. Cocaine would still be there. Maybe I should have brought you in right after the girl talked to us this morning, but I wanted to do my homework first. I was hoping you’d fess up. Guess I should have known better.”

  “I’m innocent.”

  “Uh-huh. So’s everybody. Our prisons are full of innocent men.”

  Clarence wanted to jump across the table at him. He knew he could take him in a fight, but there were a few problems. The Glock in the officer’s holster was one. The long-term consequences were another, although right now by themselves they weren’t enough to restrain him.

  “Mind if I search you?” Rodriguez asked.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Stand up.” The officer stood behind Clarence, sticking his hand first in his right coat pocket, then his left, then his front pants pockets, then his back. Clarence felt violated, but what was the alternative? To act guilty?

  “Satisfied?” Clarence asked.

  “Can I check your inside coat pocket?” Clarence nodded. Rodriguez stepped around front and checked the coat and shirt pockets.

  “Looks like you’re clean,” Rodriguez said. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to carry it here.”

  “Where’s innocent until proven guilty?” Clarence asked. “Or don’t you believe in that?”

  “What I believe doesn’t matter, Mr. Abernathy. Can I search your desk?”

  “Fine! Search my desk. Search my overcoat. Come search my house. Bring a bunch of your storm trooper buddies with you. But when you’re done searching, you leave me alone. Got it?”

  Clarence saw the officer looking over his right shoulder out to the newsroom. About ten people stood frozen and wide eyed, gazing into the editorial office. One of them was Jess. Clarence realized he’d been louder than he intended.

  “Calm down, Mr. Abernathy,” Officer Rodriguez said. “If you’re innocent, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Let’s go to your desk.”

  Clarence led the way. Rodriguez opened the desk while Clarence looked around at a dozen reporters who pretended not to notice his work station was being searched by a uniformed police officer. The officer fumbled around in his desk, then pointed to the orange capped needle.

  “It’s an insulin needle,” Clarence said. Rodriguez looked skeptical. “You know. Insulin-dependent diabetic? We have to take shots. There’s millions of us.”

  The officer picked u
p the needle on the capped end.

  “Can I take this?”

  “Yeah. In fact you can stick it—” Clarence caught himself.

  “You wear an overcoat?”

  Clarence led him to the coatrack near the elevator and removed his overcoat from the hook. The officer put his hand in one pocket, then the other. He pulled out an insulin bottle and another needle. Suddenly he stopped. He drew out something in his hand, a tiny little clear glass vial. It was about an inch tall, half an inch wide, with thick glass and a black cap. Inside was white powder.

  “What’s that?” Clarence said.

  “Can I open it up?” Rodriguez asked. Clarence nodded. The cop smelled it.

  “Heroin. Okay, Mr. Abernathy, you’re under arrest. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  Clarence stared at the people around him, now nearly twenty of them. More crowded up, as the frozen images attracted attention in a newsroom that was normally endless motion. The officer chose his hinged handcuffs with no connecting chain, clamping them firmly on Clarence’s wrists.

  “You have the right to remain silent.”

  This isn’t happening.

  “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

  O God, don’t let this be happening.

  “You have the right to consult with an attorney…”

  What will Geneva and the kids think? What will Daddy think? What will everybody think?

  “If you cannot afford to hire an attorney…”

  A man’s reputation is all he has.

  “Do you understand each of these rights I’ve explained to you?”

  Clarence nodded and Rodriguez escorted him to the elevator in full view of three-dozen Trib employees. Once on the ground floor he walked him out to his patrol car. The officer pushed his head down for the tight squeeze into the car, just like the cop had done to Ellis twenty years ago—the last time Clarence had touched his brother.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Clarence saw someone running up to the car with camera in hand. She focused and started to take the picture, then realized who was in it. Carp lowered her camera and stared wide eyed at Clarence. Another camera clicked. As Clarence rode off he thought he saw Carp grab the camera from the other photographer. He wasn’t sure because the restraints kept him from turning and seeing what was really happening.