"Doctor Hyll is right," Pastor Millard added. "There is nothing to fear. Let us make our faith stronger by praying. Let us pray."
The minister bowed his head and the congregation followed. After several seconds, he raised his head and motioned to the organ player. Sound filled the church like thousands of butterflies flittering in every corner and crevice. The chorus added to the sound with soft, velvety voices that flowed through the air like many colored lengths of silk.
When the service ended, the pastor made his way to the entrance of the church, moving gingerly through the crowd. He stopped in the doorway and greeted the parishioners as they left, as he had done every Sunday in the past. When Carson and Linda approached, he grabbed both of Carson's hands.
"Thank you. Will you stay awhile and we'll talk more," Pastor Millard said.
"Sure," Carson said.
Linda and Carson waited near the doorway as the congregation filed past. It seemed the line would never end. It was a service most people in Ocean Village would not forget.
"Thanks again for waiting. Come...we'll go to my office and talk," the minister told them.
Carson and Linda looked at each other and followed the pastor to his office in the back of the church. The old door creaked as it opened revealing a tiny, dark-paneled office that smelled dusty and stale.
"Sit down. I'd offer you coffee, but I ran out and the churchwomen won't replace it until tomorrow," Pastor Millard said.
"At least he's being honest," Carson said looking at Linda.
"He should be." Linda smiled.
"Thank you for standing up today. You helped a lot," the pastor said.
"I was only telling them what I know," Carson said sitting down on a beige metal folding chair.
Linda sat next to him on an identical chair and looked around the office.
"But they believed you because you're a doctor and because it happened to you," the pastor explained. "Ever since the newspaper printed that story it has been nothing but hell her, excuse the word, no pun intended."
"What do you mean?"
"I have parishioners calling me day and night; some show up in the middle of the night and stay all night. I don't think I've slept a full night in several days. I'm ready to collapse," Pastor Millard explained. "I think this town has gone nuts."
"What are you talking about?" Carson said.
"The Hellfire Syndrome. Mrs. Whitehead is not the only one. I've had parishioners call me hysterical on the phone, saying that they went to hell and have the burns to prove it!"
"How many?"
"At least five. Winfred Paisley was so frightened of the experience that she refuses to go home and lives in the spare room in the church. I don't mind, though. She cleans the church and my office during the day," Pastor Millard said smiling.
"Have you seen any of the victims?"
"Yes. I went to some of their houses and they tell me they had this nightmare of falling into hell. They see fire, then they wake up and their skin is burned, and none of them have been in the sun," he said. "Their skin was sunburned. I saw it with my own eyes. The most disturbing thing about all of this is that some of them have been unconscious for a whole day."
"A whole day!" Carson raised his voice.
"Yes, and I'm afraid if this keeps up some may never wake up. We may find a whole town of corpses lying in their beds."
"Did any of them say they were falling into a tunnel and into the fire?"
"Yes, that's exactly what they said. Is that the nightmare you had?"
"Yes, it is," Carson said.
Linda noticed a change in Carson's face.
"I don't understand how all these different people can have the same nightmare?" Pastor Millard said.
"I don't either," Carson replied.
"They would all have to have the same fears and the same experiences to have the same nightmare," Linda added. "And what’s the chance of that happening? I think they really went somewhere."
"But, many of the people in this town have had the same experiences. They've lived here all their lives, met their spouses here, married, bought a house, raised a family, and then one of the spouses died. They have the same fears of God, of Hell, and of evil that I have been preaching to them since I started here," the minister explained.
"Doesn't make sense," Carson said. "No two people think the same or have the same fears or the same level of fear except maybe twins or triplets, but even then it's marginal. It's impossible. Take me for instance. I didn't grow up in this town."
"But you are a God-fearing man and you have faith. You have the same beliefs as any of us here about heaven and hell. Your fears of doing wrong are the same - you fear the same fate - eternity in hell," the pastor said. "What about all the people who have had near-death experiences and claimed they went to heaven? They all describe a similar experience of going up into a bright light."
"I was thinking of the same thing," Linda added.
Carson was silent. Linda saw questions in his eyes. Then his eyes grew bold again.
"I think there is something causing all of this. One theory is that the tunnel and the bright light is really the mind remembering the birth experience of going through the birth canal and into bright light," Carson explained looking at Linda. She saw questions in his eyes again.
"Perhaps, but I really called you here because I don't know if this will really help, but whatever is happening is not just happening here," Pastor Millard said. "It's happening all over the area. I've had calls from others - religious leaders - a priest from St. Mary's, a minister from The Good Shepherd and a rabbi from Temple Beth Torah. They're all having the same problems."
"You're kidding! That means its spreading! But why now after all these years!" Carson said.
"Has this happened before?" the pastor asked.
"Maybe, but I can't be sure. There was a similar case about twenty years ago. I'm looking through hospital records right now for the reports," he said.
"Really? Then you have to come to this meeting next week. It’s an interdenominational meeting with many of the religious leaders here. Some believe this is the work of the devil," Pastor Millard said.
"You mean a meeting with the other church leaders who are having the same problems?" Carson questioned.
"Yes."
"I could ask about other cases and their symptoms. When?"
"Tuesday at 7:30 at St. Mary's Roman Catholic in Asbury Park. It's on Jerome Street," the pastor said.
"Okay, I'll be there."
"What about your schedule? Will you have to work?" Linda asked.
"If I do, I'll ask Stokes if he can schedule someone to fill in for me. He may even want to come. Would you mind if I brought Doctor Stokes?"
"Not at all. Bring him."
Linda saw the excitement in Carson’s eyes turn into questions again.
"What do you believe, pastor?"
"On or off the record?"
"Off the record."
"I believe it is the work of the devil. Did you ever believe in something and know it's true, but you couldn’t prove it - you just know it's true. That's how I feel about this. It's a strong feeling. I believe these people had near-death experiences and somehow the devil got to them for a short time. There are good and evil forces in this world and this has given the devil a good opportunity. It really scares me. I've seen a lot on this earth in Vietnam and Bosnia and for this to send a chill into my soul means it has to be something more than a disease."
Carson looked hard at the pastor.
"I know from that look you believe it's a medical problem, but I don't because there is too much that is unexplainable here," the pastor said. "You think the Catholic Church is the only one that does exorcisms. We do them also, but we call them deliverances, and they don't make the newspapers as often as exorcisms."
"My point exactly. When all the great diseases of the past like the Black Plague and others were rampant, didn't the people believe it was the work of the devil before science coul
d provide otherwise?" Carson said. "Did you think Ebola is the work of the devil, Pastor?"
"I just think both of you are looking at this only from your own points of view," Linda added.
"If you’re right why now?" Carson asked.
"Because more and more people are losing faith, losing faith in their churches, in the spiritual realm of life. Many worship technology, and making money, and material things, and what gives them instant gratification. No one has time to stop and ponder the great wonders of this world to think of God and all he has done. Everyone is into performance, efficiency, and results. They have lost their hope, their spiritual self in a world of facts and figures," the pastor explained.
"I think you're wrong, pastor. I think it was that way, but it's turning around again. More and more people are interested in traditional values. More and more are substituting success and material things for family, friends, and community. Material things, success, and working twelve hours a day and on weekends are no longer what they want out of life. I think this is the best of times for getting people back into the congregation, but you have to show them the teachings are meaningful to their lives. If you go off and claim that the devil is getting stronger because of lack of faith and because something cannot be explained either medically or religiously, then you might as well be telling them a bedtime story. They will regard this as pure fantasy and label you as all the other religious leaders who cannot convince their parishioners that religion is meaningful and purposeful in their lives," Carson explained. "You must give them a reason for believing, a purpose, and a benefit."
The pastor looked thoughtfully at Carson, bowed his head and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked up with a profound sadness in his eyes.
"I know," he said almost tearfully. "But whatever this is, it's scaring people like nothing I've seen before. Not even death itself has frightened people like this. There is something evil in all of this and it won't stop this time."
The Prophecies - Chapter 16
Carson drove to Doctor Stokes' house feeling ambivalent - he wanted to believe the Hellfire Syndrome was a disease of some sort, but then there were questions, many questions. He had Doctor Stokes to back him with the case from the 1980s, but Stokes did not have any details, and Carson was still searching the records for the report. The fact that several religious leaders had agreed to meet and discuss the phenomenon suggested to him that maybe this was the work of some evil force in the world - the rise of Satanism or the rise of Satan himself. He had a hard time dealing with such a nebulous concept. He was a doctor and he was taught to look for causes and effects to determine truths. It would take a spectacle of some kind to convince Carson that Satan was rising, and his power was getting stronger in the world. He needed a clear-cut cause and effect. He had the effect - the interdenominational meeting would be the first to take place in many years. Holy men from the Roman Catholic, Presbyterian, Jewish, Methodist, Baptist, Episcopalian, and Lutheran followings would be there. The cause, however, was untenable for Carson.
Carson drove into the Misery Hills section of Ocean Village named because of the misery and grief that befell the widows who lived there. The roads were lined with tall, aging oaks, whose branches intertwined forming a tunnel of leaves over the road. The gloom created by the trees seemed to creep into his soul. He made a left turn and proceeded down Hickory Street. Misery Hills was an older development with well-manicured lawns and neat patches of multi-colored flowerbeds, and tall aging trees. Some residents were descendents of the original inhabitants; others were the highly successful professionals of the area. Industrial-age sea captains built the massive, restored Victorian homes during the 19th century, when nearby Shark River Inlet served as a major delivery port for the fledgling coastal communities of New Jersey. Many of the homes had widower's walks, tiny balconies overlooking the sea, where the wives of the sea captains would walk and search for their husbands' ships to return from the sea. The area coined its name from the loss of many of ships that sank in the treacherous inlet during bad weather and storms.
Carson pulled up to Stokes' house, a multi-gabled white Victorian mansion that belonged to Stokes’ great grandfather. Stokes’ grandfather was instrumental in reviving European trade at the inlet in the early 1900s. Carson walked up the cobble stone walkway and rang the doorbell. Stokes opened the thick mahogany door.
"Come in, Carson. I'll just be a second," he said.
"Thanks."
Stokes disappeared up the steep carpeted staircase that joined the foyer. Carson waited there and noticed the dark oak wall panels crafted by a skilled carpenter long gone. He could hear the ticking of a far-away clock and the area smelled of aged wood - wood that had stood majestically for many decades as a staircase, a wall panel, a newel post - the smell one encounters in a fine antique shop...the smell of the past. The staircase creaked and groaned as Stokes came down holding a light jacket in one hand and a notebook in another.
"Let’s go," he said.
The two got into Carson's car.
"I hope you are prepared for the worse," Stokes said.
"What do you mean?"
"I have a feeling the clergymen are going to tell us things we don't want to hear. I think they will confirm our worst fears," Stokes explained.
They approached a major intersection and Carson stopped. He looked both ways and waited for the traffic to clear. He waited for one more car to pass, lifted his foot off the brake, and then slammed it down. The car directly across from them entered the intersection prematurely and was slammed by an oncoming car. The moving car skidded and pushed the other car to the side of the road. At first, it the cars appeared to have minor damage, but when Carson and Stokes approached they could see the cars had life threatening damage.
"There's one in here!" Stokes shouted.
"I've got three here and one's a kid!" Carson shouted back from the car that was struck. He pulled the door open and put his fingers on the artery in the child’s neck.
Stokes immediately pulled his cell phone out of his jacket and dialed 911.
Carson gently pulled the young boy out of the car and laid him on the pavement. He held his nose and administered CPR. His parents rushed over to him. After several attempts Carson found he couldn't blow into the boy's lungs. Stokes joined him and pushed on the boy's chest with a closed fist. The boy awoke, but had hard time breathing. Carson ripped his shirt open and saw a metal tag attached to a chain around his neck.
"He has asthma," Carson said holding the medical alert tag so he could read it.
"He's having an attack!" the mother said. "Here’s his inhaler!"
She frantically searched in her large straw handbag for the inhaler and finally dumped all the contents on the road. Carson picked out the inhaler among nail polish bottles, makeup, and the pieces of her life. He put it on the boy’s mouth and hoped he would respond. The boy had difficulty breathing and his lips were turning blue.
"I don't think so, Doctor Stokes," Carson replied. "I think he has a collapsed esophagus. I had a hard time getting air in!"
"No. I've seen these before! It's an attack!" his mother insisted. "Give him his inhaler!"
"I think you're wrong. He needs a tracheotomy or he’ll die," Carson said.
"Don't do it, Carson. Wait for the paramedics!" Stokes shouted.
"I can't wait!" Carson yelled. "He'll die!"
"I think you're making a mistake!"
"I'll take full responsibility," Carson said. He ran towards his car to get his medical bag.
A strange sensation instantly washed over him and suddenly he was a member of his local first aid squad again and they had received a call about a choking, three-year-old boy. Carson had been on the squad only a short time. When they arrived, the mother was hysterical and they couldn't understand her. She kept saying he was having an asthma attack.
"I think he's choking on something!" Carson told the squad leader.
"It's an asthma attack. His mother said so," the leader fired back.
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"Who are the professionals here?” Carson stubbornly shouted back.
"We’re not doctors! Now load him into the ambulance! I've seen asthma attacks before and that's what this is. Now MOVE!"
Carson followed orders. They arrived at the hospital minutes later, but the boy had died. Doctors found a piece of hard candy lodged in the boy's throat. Carson never forgot the little boy as he watched his face turn blue in the ambulance and slowly die.
"If only I had been forceful enough. If only I had followed my heart," he once told his wife, Linda. "I could have saved his life. It was what made me become a doctor. I feel I have to save people to make up for it."
"That's not a good reason to be a doctor. You should love what you do," she said. "Besides, it wasn't your fault that the little boy died. You were just following orders."
Absence of Faith Page 11