Godsent

by Richard Burton

  On my way.

  Outside in the hallway, the young doctor was waiting. He looked up as Papa Jim exited the room. “If you’re quite through, I’d like to get back to my patient.”

  “Sorry, Doc,” Papa Jim said. “This room’s off-limits.”

  “Off-limits?”

  “I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

  “An accident?”

  “Your patient was shot while trying to escape.”

  “That’s absurd! I’ve been here the whole time, and I haven’t heard anything.”

  “Stick around,” Papa Jim said. “You will.”

  Brushing by the doctor, he’d strode up the hallway, heading for Kate’s room, which was right next to the room where they were holding Ethan. But before entering, it had occurred to him that perhaps he should pay Ethan a visit first. Now he stood in the hallway, trying to decide between them. The taste and smell of his cigar was not having its usual soothing effect; in fact, he was feeling nauseous. He kept smelling the stink of burned flesh, kept seeing the glazed, terror-stricken eyes of the man in the hospital bed. He threw the cigar down to the floor and ground it out beneath his boot.

  Okay, maybe he’d lost it a little bit back there, he thought. But the scum had had it coming. Family was the one thing that really counted in this world. Without family, what did power or wealth matter? Papa Jim pursued these things not for their own sake but for the sake of his family, his posterity, who would keep his name and his vision alive. Kate and Ethan were all the family he had left, his only link to the future. Any attack on them was the same as an attack on Papa Jim. And more than that. It was an attack on all that he had built up. The careful plans he’d laid for the future. It was an attack on America itself. He simply couldn’t allow such temerity to pass unpunished.

  He took a deep, calming breath and tried to focus on the present, on the task at hand. The problem facing him was a delicate one. Ethan didn’t know him and therefore had no reason to trust him, while Kate knew him all too well and, because of that, had even less reason to trust him. Yet he needed them both to cooperate with him willingly. He could use Ethan as leverage with Kate, and Kate as leverage with Ethan, but which of them to approach first? It was the kind of decision he was faced with a hundred times a day. Why was he having such difficulty making up his mind now? Was it because so much was at stake? Or was he losing his nerve?

  The hell with that. His decision made, Papa Jim let the locking mechanism outside the door scan his retina, after which he punched the day’s security code into the keypad on the wall. A small LED flashed green as the lock clicked open. He pushed open the door and stepped into the room.

  Save for the absence of windows and a telephone, and the presence of cameras in the corners of the ceiling, it might have been a room in any mid-range hotel chain. There was a double bed, a plush chair, a wall-screen TV, a mini-fridge, and an adjoining bathroom. The TV was on, the sound muted. The video of Ethan’s press conference was being shown. Watching from the bed, propped against the pillows with his arms folded over his chest, was Ethan himself. He glanced up as Papa Jim entered the room, but did not rise or seem particularly surprised to see him.

  “Hello, Ethan,” said Papa Jim. “I’m—”

  “I know you,” Ethan interrupted. “You’re Jim Osbourne, of Oz Corporation. The Secretary of Homeland Security.”

  “You can call me Papa Jim,” he said.

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “It’s what my friends and family call me.”

  “I’m not your friend.”

  “I’d like you to be.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “What do you mean?” Papa Jim was genuinely curious.

  “I’m in jail, aren’t I?”

  Papa Jim laughed. “You most certainly are not. Where did you get that idea?”

  “Maybe it was the locked door. Or the cameras. Or the lack of any means of communicating with the outside world. You took my cell phone, and this cell doesn’t even have a phone.”

  “You’re in protective custody,” Papa Jim said. “After what happened at the press conference, I didn’t want to take any chances. I’m so sorry about your mother, by the way.”

  “Are you?”

  Papa Jim bristled at what seemed an implicit accusation. “Of course. For what it’s worth, the terrorist scum who killed her got what he deserved. I saw to it personally.”

  “Right,” said Ethan. “You mean the terrorist who just happened to be wearing the armor of a munchie?”

  Papa Jim sighed. “We were infiltrated. He wasn’t one of us.”

  “Who was he, then?”

  “Do you mind if I sit down? It’s kind of a long story.”

  Ethan gestured toward the chair. “Go ahead.”

  Papa Jim crossed in front of the bed and sat down. As he did so, Ethan turned off the TV. Papa Jim reached into his pocket for a cigar . . . then, remembering his earlier reaction, decided against it. He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure how much your mother told you, Ethan, but judging from what you said in the interview and at the press conference, I’m guessing it was quite a bit. Enough so that it won’t come as a surprise to learn that the man who killed your mother was an agent sent by the Congregation to kill you.”

  “So you know about the Congregation.”

  “I know a lot of things,” Papa Jim said. “I know that the Congregation is opposed by a group called Conversatio. I know that your mother was a Conversatio agent, as was your father, before he was killed . . . also by the Congregation. And I know that Lisa and Gordon Brown weren’t your parents.”

  “They were my parents. In every way that counts.”

  “All right. But they weren’t your biological parents. They adopted you.”

  Ethan looked thoughtful. “You’re part of Conversatio yourself.”

  “Yes,” Papa Jim said. “Very good. In fact, we’re in a Conversatio facility right now. But then, you knew that, didn’t you? I imagine there’s very little you don’t know, Ethan. Being who you are and all.”

  At this, Ethan laughed, and it seemed to Papa Jim that there was bitterness in his voice when he answered. “What, you think I know everything? That I’m omniscient, like God? All powerful? It doesn’t work that way.”

  “How does it work, then?”

  Ethan got up from the bed and began to pace the room. “Sometimes things are, well, revealed to me. I see connections that other people can’t. Sometimes I just have a feeling that something is going to happen, that I should or shouldn’t do this or that.” He stopped, obviously frustrated. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “That’s why you were crying,” Papa Jim said. “Right before that bastard shot Lisa, you were crying. You knew, didn’t you? You knew what was going to happen.”

  He gave a terse nod. “I saw it coming.”

  “Then why didn’t you change things? Why did you let her die? You’re the second Son. You have power over life and death. You proved that at Olathe Medical. Why save all those people, and bring Lisa back from the dead, only to let her die hours later at the hand of a Congregation agent?”

  “Because that’s the way it had to be,” Ethan said.

  “You mean it was God’s plan?”

  “There’s no plan. Not like you mean. God only wants the best for us. He’s given us the greatest gifts that any father can give his children: life and freedom. It’s up to us how to use them. I’m not here to bring people back from the dead or to heal the sick. The more I do those things, the more of a distraction it becomes. I didn’t understand that before, but I do now.”

  “So you let her die,” Papa Jim repeated.

  “She made the choice herself. I didn’t have a right to take that choice from her.”

  “Even if it killed her?”

  “Death isn’t the end, Mr. Osbourne. It’s just the beginning. Life is precious, a gift not to be squandered, but what comes after life can be more precious still.”


  “Is that why you’re here? To remind us of that?”

  “Yes. At least partly. And for other reasons, too.”

  “What other reasons?”

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “You mean you won’t?”

  “No, I can’t. I don’t know them. I just know they’re out there. My work isn’t done. It’s scarcely started.”

  “I’d like to help you in your work,” Papa Jim said.

  “Why?” Ethan asked.

  “Why?” Papa Jim echoed, taken aback by the question. “Because it’s the right thing to do,” he managed after a moment.

  “I can see the blood on your hands, Mr. Osbourne. And the blackness clinging to your soul like tar. I know what kind of man you are. Oh yes, better than you know it yourself. Why would I accept help from someone like you?”

  Papa Jim felt a chill run up his spine. This time the urge for a cigar overpowered any residual discomfort. “Mind if I smoke?”

  “What if I said yes?”

  “Then I wouldn’t smoke.”

  Ethan held his gaze, then shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t care.” He flopped down onto the bed again.

  Papa Jim lit up. His gorge rose a bit at the first puff, but he forced it down and smoked on grimly, without the accustomed pleasure. Every time he inhaled, he was back in that room, back with the dying man, grinding his cigar into the open wound. But he was damned if he was going to give up cigars just because of some bad memories. He’d go on smoking them now even if he hated every goddamn minute, just out of spite. “Look, I’m no saint,” Papa Jim said. “I admit that. But I’m not an evil person. I want to bring this country back to God, just like you.”

  “I’m not here for just this country,” Ethan said. “My message is for the whole world.”

  “Well, you gotta start somewhere,” said Papa Jim with a grin. “Besides, God works in mysterious ways, right? I think I’m supposed to play a part in whatever it is that you’re here to do.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because we’re related, Ethan. I’m your great-grandfather. Your mother is my granddaughter. I was there when you were born.”

  Once again, Ethan showed no sign of surprise. He simply looked thoughtful. Then he said, “Yes, I see that now. You took me away from her. You gave me to the Browns to raise as their own.”

  “ To protect you, Ethan. To protect her. I knew that the Congregation would be looking for you. You were a high potential, the highest of the highs. Only Conversatio could keep you safe from their killers. And I was right. You survived.”

  “But not the Browns.”

  “No, and I regret that. But they knew the risks. They accepted those risks willingly, so that you could grow up to become the man you are today. So that you could accomplish what God put you here to do. They’re gone now, but your work isn’t done. You said so yourself. And you’ve seen for yourself how deadly the Congregation can be. They won’t stop trying to kill you. You need protection. The kind of protection that only I can give you.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Ethan said.

  “Fair enough,” said Papa Jim. “But don’t take too long. If you’ve been watching the news reports, then you know that you’ve already had a huge effect on people all over the world. I’ve put out a statement that you’re okay and in the protective custody of Homeland Security, but people are wondering. They want to see you with their own eyes and hear what you have to say.”

  “And you’d stop me from doing that?”

  “No. But if you refuse my protection, how long do you think you’ll last out there before the Congregation or some fanatic succeeds in killing you? Unless, of course, you can’t be killed.”

  “I’m not Superman,” Ethan said. “I can be hurt or killed just like anybody else.”

  “Well, then.” Papa Jim heaved himself to his feet. “I’ll give you a little while to think things over. You’re my great-grandson, Ethan. No matter what you decide, I’ll be here for you. I want you to know that. We’re family, and family means everything to me.”

  “I wonder if my birth mother would agree.”

  “Her name is Kate,” Papa Jim said. “And I hope you’ll have the chance to ask her that yourself. I’m going to do everything I can do to bring her to you, Ethan. Just to demonstrate my good faith.”

  Kate was watching television when Papa Jim came to her. She’d been expecting him ever since she’d regained consciousness in this comfortable but anonymous room that could have been anywhere and nowhere. Hotel Limbo.

  Ethan was all over the news. Every time she switched channels, she saw either a replay of the climactic moments of the press conference or footage of crowds of people from around the world gathered to celebrate his appearance or to denounce him; mostly, it seemed, the latter. Demonstrations in Islamabad and throughout the Middle East had turned violent as throngs of devout Muslims protested Ethan’s claim to be the second Son, which, breathless announcers explained, was viewed as a blasphemous repudiation of Mohammed.

  Things were little better among Christians. The Vatican had been quick to issue a statement disavowing Ethan, calling him “at best misguided,” leaving open the question of what he might be “at worst.” Fundamentalist preachers in the United States supplied one answer, railing against “the self-confessed Antichrist in our midst.” But other religious leaders and many common people hailed Ethan, professing belief in his divinity and faith that more miracles were on the way.

  Papa Jim, as Secretary of Homeland Security, had also issued a statement, blaming the death of Lisa Brown on homegrown Islamic terrorists who had infiltrated the munchies, and stating that Ethan had been taken into protective custody while the rest of the plotters were arrested. He promised swift justice for the killers and urged people to remain calm and allow the munchies and the police to do their jobs. This, however, seemed to have had anything but a calming effect, as vigilantes and common criminals took to the streets in cities and towns across the United States to attack the homes, businesses, and places of worship of anyone deemed non-Christian. There had been a handful of serious injuries and deaths, as well as property damage in the hundreds of thousands of dollars. This in turn had led to statements from Jewish, Islamic, and Christian leaders decrying acts of bigotry and calling on Homeland Security to enforce the rule of law. All this in the less than twenty-four hours that had passed since Ethan’s press conference.

  It seemed to Kate that the whole world was going mad. They needed Ethan more than ever. But there was no word from him. No sign.

  What was Papa Jim up to?

  Whatever it was, she doubted it was anything good.

  And she had no doubt that, wherever he was, Ethan was a prisoner . . . just like her. The door to her room was locked, and there was no other visible entrance or exit. She’d tried yelling for help and shouting for Papa Jim, but there had been no answer. She’d stripped the bed, using the sheets to cover the cameras in the corners of the ceiling, but even that had brought no one. That’s when she’d turned on the TV and learned that she’d been unconscious for nearly a full day.

  There were fresh clothes laid out for her, so after a while she’d taken a shower and put them on. When she came out of the bathroom, she saw that dinner had been left for her on a tray. It didn’t surprise her to learn that she was being watched despite her sabotage of the cameras, but it did make her angry. Angrier.

  But she ate the food anyway, because she was hungry. She didn’t think Papa Jim would try to poison her, or drug her. Not that he would be incapable of it, but what would be the point? She was already completely in his power. She had been from the moment the munchies had escorted her out of the customs area at JFK.

  It was about an hour later that the door to the room opened and Papa Jim walked in, cigar in hand.

  “Hi, baby girl,” he said as if they’d last seen each other only yesterday and had parted on the best of terms.

  She had to hand it to him. He had nerve. She’d wondered
how she was going to react when she finally saw him face to face. Part of her had been longing for it. Part of her had been dreading it. Now that the moment had come, there was no hesitation, no thought. She pushed herself up from the chair in which she’d been sitting and crossed the room to him. He stood his ground. He didn’t even look worried. Why should he? She was a nun, wasn’t she?

  Without a word, Kate slapped him across the face.

  His cigar went flying.

  Then she slapped him again, harder.

  She slapped her seventy-three-year-old grandfather, and it felt good. It felt better than just about anything she could remember, outside learning that Ethan was still alive.

  “You bastard,” she said, drawing back her hand to slap him again.

  But he’d had enough. He moved quickly for an old man. Suddenly he was gripping her wrist, and his grasp was strong. She swung her other hand, but he grabbed that one too. She struggled uselessly. “Let me go!”

  “Calm down, honey,” Papa Jim said.

  She spat into his face.

  Rage flared to life in his eyes, and a surge of fear raced through her. She thought for a second that he was going to hit her, but then, with a wordless growl, he heaved her from him, pushing her away as if she weighed no more than a child. She stumbled back, then felt something strike hard behind her knees, and she went down. Luckily, it was only the bed, and she landed on the mattress and sprawled there, the wind knocked out of her.

  Before she could get up and come at him again, Papa Jim was on top of her, the bulk of him pressing her into the mattress. He smelled of sweat, whiskey, and cigars. Once those smells had made her feel safe and reassured; now they filled her with disgust and nausea. She felt violated by his touch, his mere presence. “Get off me,” she gasped.

  “Do you promise to behave like a lady?” he said. Her spittle was still on his cheek.

  “Yes, anything, just get off!” In another second, she would be crying.

  He rolled off her, lay there beside her, breathing hard. She didn’t have the strength to move. Every breath was a struggle not to sob. Finally she managed to gasp out a single word: “Why?”