Godsent

by Richard Burton

  “That was a lovely speech,” Maggie said meanwhile. “All those beautiful, noble words about love in action. But where were they two days ago when you broke my heart? Why don’t you tell all these people how you used me, then cast me aside? Is it because you’re going to do the same to them? You’re a phony, Ethan. A fake!”

  “Mags, no!” cried Peter, still struggling through the audience.

  “Don’t believe him!” Maggie screeched, pointing at Ethan as people drew back from her, startled, as if from a crazed street person. “Don’t trust him!”

  Papa Jim had heard enough. He nodded to Denny, and in seconds, like a well-oiled machine, the security detail swung into action. Before any more damage could be done, Maggie was being hustled out of the pavilion between two munchies, struggling and screaming for help. Peter was right behind her.

  Ethan looked stricken.

  “It’s best this way,” said Papa Jim, leaning close, a hand on his arm.

  “I need to talk to her,” he said.

  “Of course,” said Papa Jim. “But not here, like this. When she’s calmed down, you can talk to her privately.” He tugged at Ethan’s arm. “Come on, before something else goes wrong.”

  Ethan seemed as if he would resist, but then allowed himself to be led into the funeral home, out of sight of the cameras.

  “The poor girl!” Father O’Malley wrung his hands together in helpless sympathy. “The poor, poor girl!”

  “Look what he drove her to, the brute,” said Cardinal Ehrlich, not even attempting to keep the satisfaction from his voice. “The course of young love has never run smooth, eh, O’Malley?”

  O’Malley turned to face the cardinal. “We arranged this? Struck at him through an innocent?”

  “Spare me the sanctimonious objections,” the cardinal said dryly. “As you know very well, sometimes an innocent must be sacrificed for the greater good. It’s what we do. A few choice words in the ears of a grieving girl from a trusted priest, and violá. But this is only the first step. By the time we’re through, no one will follow him. He’ll be finished. Ruined.”

  “I don’t want any part of this,” O’Malley said. He felt sickened to his soul.

  “But you’re already part of it, Father,” exclaimed the cardinal. “You’re a member of the Congregation. You know very well the effect of your labors. All those pristine numbers and equations of yours, where else did you think they ended? Did you think they had no impact on the real world? Why so squeamish now?”

  Father O’Malley sank back into his chair with a groan and covered his face with his pudgy, beringed hands. “And we call ourselves men of God!”

  “Certainly,” said the cardinal. “The Holy Father himself has tasked us with this. We must not shirk from our duty, Father. The Church depends on us for its defense.”

  “Against whom, Your Eminence?”

  “Why, all who would oppose her.”

  O’Malley looked up. He had never thought of himself as a particularly brave man. He still didn’t. But he had his limits. “No, I won’t go any further. It’s wrong, Your Eminence. Nothing can justify it. If I wasn’t a traitor before, then I am one now. You might as well go ahead and kill me.”

  Cardinal Ehrlich shook his head. “I think not, Father. You see, as we sat here discussing theology, Grand Inquisitor has made its judgment. You are vindicated, it seems.”

  “Vindicated?”

  “Not only that,” said the cardinal after a moment, wearing the faraway expression of man attending to a cochlear implant, “but you are summoned into the presence.”

  O’Malley blinked in surprise. “The Holy Father wishes to see me?”

  Ehrlich laughed. “Not the Holy Father. Grand Inquisitor. GI wants to speak to you personally, O’Malley.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Once inside the funeral home, Ethan asked Papa Jim to have the munchies who’d hustled Maggie out of the pavilion bring her inside so that the two of them could talk. But after Papa Jim conferred with Denny, he reported back that Maggie didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to see him at all. She had expressed the desire to go home, and Peter had volunteered to drive her there.

  The next day, after Lisa’s burial, a private affair attended only by Ethan, Kate, Papa Jim, a Conversatio priest, and Peter (though Maggie had been invited, she hadn’t come), Ethan drew his old friend aside and walked with him among the gravestones of the cemetery. It was a cloudless day, the sky as blue as a sapphire, and Ethan and Peter had removed their jackets under the unseasonably hot sun, carrying them flung over their shoulders as they walked.

  “Thanks for looking after Mags, Pete.”

  “That’s okay. She’s pretty broken up about everything. I’m kind of worried. I’ve never seen her like this.”

  “I wish she would have come today. Or if she’d just talk to me . . . ”

  “Forget it, dude. Maybe later, but right now talking to you is about the last thing she wants. She’s angry, and she’s hurt. She feels betrayed, rejected. She’s not seeing things too clearly.”

  Ethan sighed. “I feel awful about this. I know it sucks. It’s not fair. And part of me wants to just, you know, make her feel better. Take the hurt away. But I can’t.”

  “Not even this once?” asked Peter.

  “I can’t,” Ethan repeated.

  Peter didn’t press the point. “She’s been talking to a priest at Christ the Redeemer. You know, getting some counseling. I think that’s helping a little. She’ll come around in time.”

  Ethan nodded.

  They walked on in silence for a while. Then Ethan said, “I can’t stay here, Pete. In Olathe, I mean. I’ve got to go out into the world. Talk to people and listen to them. I can’t do that from here.”

  “I figured,” said Peter.

  “I wanted you to come with me,” Ethan said.

  “Dude . . .”

  “I’m just getting to know my birth mom. She’s still pretty much a stranger. And Papa Jim, well, he’s in this for himself, so I can’t really trust him, even though I think I can use him, at least for a while. But I need someone I can rely on. Someone who knows me, who knew me before all the craziness. Someone to keep me grounded and focused on what matters. I need you, Pete.”

  “Ethan . . .”

  Ethan stopped walking and turned to face his friend. He laid a hand on his shoulder. “But I can’t ask you to come along. Not now. Maggie needs you more than I do. I’m sorry, Pete.”

  But Peter was smiling. “Dude, I was gonna tell you the same thing. I have to stay here, at least for a while. I—”he blushed, hesitating, then rushed on, “I know how you and Maggie felt . . . feel . . . about each other. I know that if it weren’t for all this other stuff, you two would still be together. But things are different now. I . . . I love her, man. I always have. I don’t know if she can ever love me back, and I’m gonna be there for her no matter what, but I wanted you to know how I feel about her.”

  Ethan smiled back. “I’ve known that for years, Pete. Who did you think you were fooling? I still love her, but what I’m here to do is more important than the feelings of two people. I wish it could be different, I really do. But it can’t. I’ve made my choice.”

  Peter nodded. “I guess this is good-bye, then. For a while.”

  “For a while,” Ethan agreed. “But it’s not like I’m dropping off the face of the earth. You’ve got my number. I want you to use it.”

  “Deal,” said Peter. He held out his hand.

  “A handshake’s not going to do it, Pete.” Ethan pulled him into a bear hug.

  “Shit, you’re gonna make me cry,” said Peter.

  “Sorry, man.”

  They stood looking at each other. Wanting to hold on to the moment just a little longer.

  “Can you tell me one thing?” asked Peter.

  “If I can.”

  “What are you here to do?”

  “Are you sure you want to know, Pete?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, how bad ca
n it be? You’re not here to destroy the world or anything, right?” He laughed.

  “No,” said Ethan. “I’m here to save it. If I can.”

  Peter wasn’t laughing now. “What do you mean, ‘if I can’? Like, who could stop you?”

  “You could,” Ethan said.

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “No, I mean all of you. Humanity could stop me.”

  “You mean by killing you, like with Jesus?”

  “Jesus saved the world by dying, Pete. Nobody stopped him. But I’m not Jesus. The Son of man has a different cross to bear.”

  “You’re kind of creeping me out here, Ethan. Can’t you just tell me straight up what’s going to happen?”

  “Sorry, Pete.” Ethan offered up a wan smile. “A lot of this is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. Sometimes I can see glimpses of the future, of how things might turn out, but they’re just that, glimpses of what might be. Nothing is fixed, because we all have free will.”

  “Okay, but even if you don’t know how things are going to turn out, you’ve at least got to have some idea of why you’re here. That’s all I’m asking. If you don’t want to tell me, fine. But I think I’ve got a right to know.”

  Ethan considered for a moment. Then he said, “I’m here to be God’s eyes and ears on Earth. I’m here to witness. That means observing, but it also means speaking out. You know, testifying.”

  “About what?”

  “About God’s love.”

  “But why? I mean, why now?”

  “Because God isn’t happy.”

  “He’s pissed at us?”

  “He’s more sad than angry.”

  “What, He told you this? In person?”

  “It doesn’t work that way. He doesn’t have to tell me anything. I just know. I know because He wants me to know. It’s the reason He sent me. To help people find the way back to Him. But I can’t force people to change. I can only point the way. After that, it’s up to you, all of you.”

  “Okay, but what happens if people reject your message?”

  “Then God’s going to pull the plug, Pete.”

  Peter’s eyes grew wide. “Pull the plug? What the hell does that mean? Pull the plug on what?”

  “On everything,” Ethan said.

  After Lisa’s burial, Papa Jim didn’t waste any time. Even though he had resigned his leadership position at Homeland Security, his power and influence within the government were practically undiminished, as Oz Corp was still under contract to supply security personnel and to manage the nationwide network of detention facilities in which illegal aliens and those suspected of terrorist sympathies or connections were held in custody while awaiting repatriation or trial. So what would undoubtedly have taken any other private citizen weeks if not months to organize, Papa Jim was able to do in a matter of hours. Stadiums were booked in major cities across the United States with security guaranteed by the presence of fully equipped munchies “borrowed” from Homeland Security. When asked by reporters about the propriety of using personnel contracted to the federal government for what seemed like a private endeavor, Papa Jim, cigar in hand, responded, “If the Second Coming isn’t a matter of national security, what is?”

  No one had a good answer to that. And so Ethan began a whirlwind tour of the United States that would have done a rock star proud. Stadiums were filled to capacity, and Ethan’s sermons were simulcast on cable and on The2ndSon.com; there were even podcasts—called “godcasts”— for downloading.

  With the riots and demonstrations that had sprung up in the aftermath of Ethan’s press conference, quelled by the heavy presence of armed munchies, Papa Jim focused on forestalling another assassination attempt by the Congregation. He assigned two of his best bodyguards, ex-Navy SEALs who also had experience as Conversatio field agents, to watch Ethan around the clock, never letting him out of their sights. But Ethan refused the protection, not wanting to put up any more barriers between himself and people than were there already. Papa Jim argued, but in the end he had no choice but to back down in the face of Ethan’s determination. The bodyguards, named Wilson and Trey, were reassigned to Kate, who was part of the entourage traveling with Ethan from city to city.

  There was a public face to these visits, and a private one. The public face was as efficiently streamlined and media savvy as a top-flight political campaign—which in fact it was, although Papa Jim hadn’t discussed that part of his plans with Ethan yet. Still, it didn’t escape the notice of the press that the cities in which Ethan was scheduled to appear were in states with a sufficient number of electoral votes at stake to swing the election. Some reporters seemed convinced this was more than mere coincidence, even though Ethan disavowed any intention to run for anything, and Papa Jim pointed out that with the primaries finished and the nominees lacking only the official certification of the party conventions, just over a month away, it would be too late for anything but a third-party run . . . and no third-party candidate had ever won a presidential election, or even come close. Besides, the Constitution prevented anyone of Ethan’s age from serving as president. However, it was noted that this wasn’t an outright denial from a man whose reputation as a political kingmaker was legendary. Laws, after all, could always be changed.

  Behind the scenes, things didn’t go quite as smoothly. There was continuing tension between Papa Jim and Ethan over Ethan’s refusal to follow the scripts supplied by the PR people at Oz Corp. Ethan had even objected to the name that PR had come up with for the tour: Godsent—although that was one battle he lost, as Godsent T-shirts, baseball caps, stickers, and other memorabilia were soon for sale at each venue and on The2ndSon. com, the profits all going to a charity Ethan had insisted that Papa Jim establish, also called Godsent.

  Ethan rarely consented to interviews with local media, which Papa Jim considered essential “to get out the good word.” Nor would Ethan go on the attack against those who were attacking and criticizing him on a daily basis; this, objected Papa Jim, was “carrying the whole turning-the-other-cheek business too far.” Chief among Ethan’s critics was Maggie, who, from Olathe, had launched a web site of her own—Fraudsent. com—where she posted videos of herself and others responding to each of Ethan’s sermons. These angry rants garnered a lot of attention and sympathy. But Ethan still wouldn’t say a word against her in public or in private, and he invariably came to her defense if anyone else disparaged her motives or character, even after Papa Jim showed him proof that the priest at Christ the Redeemer, who seemed glued to her side, was a Congregation agent, and that the Congregation was financing her web site. He was in frequent touch with Peter by cell phone and email, but although his friend had tried to dissuade Maggie from taking such a public stand against him, she had refused, just as she refused all of Ethan’s attempts to reach out to her.

  Kate, too, was a source of friction. She hadn’t forgiven her grandfather for all he’d done to her and Ethan, and as the Godsent tour stretched on, Kate found it increasingly difficult to be around him. More than once, despite promising Ethan that she would try to get along with him, she lost control and lashed out angrily at something he’d done or said. It was only thanks to Ethan’s presence that there was some modicum of peace maintained between them.

  Nor was there always peace between Kate and Ethan, though for the most part their time together was a blessing for them both, giving them the chance to get to know each other as people and to become friends. Yet Kate wanted more. She wanted something of the relationship that Papa Jim had stolen from her. Careful as she was not to trespass into realms of motherhood that still belonged to Lisa, and always would, she sometimes overstepped her bounds, and Ethan had to gently remind her that he was an adult now, fully capable of making his own decisions. Kate had remonstrated with him to accept the services of Wilson and Trey—it was one of the few times she found herself agreeing with Papa Jim about anything— but Ethan was no more swayed by her arguments than he’d been by Papa Jim’s. “God is the onl
y bodyguard I need,” he told her.

  What she didn’t know, any more than Papa Jim did, and which would have united the two of them in disbelief and horror, was that each night, after his sermons, when they had all returned to the safety of whatever hotel Papa Jim had commandeered for the duration of their stay in that particular city, and when, as had become his custom, Ethan retired to his room to meditate and pray in solitude, with guards stationed outside his door to ensure that solitude was undisturbed, then Ethan, who had not performed so much as a single public demonstration of his powers since the Miracle at Olathe Medical, would exercise them in private. He would use them to take himself unobserved from the hotel to areas of the city that he felt drawn to by some instinct he did not trouble to question. He knew it was God’s will in action, leading him to places he needed to be, to things he needed to witness and people he needed to meet. Sometimes in those places he was seen and spoken to, though afterward any reports of his presence had the unverifiable aura of urban legend, while other times he was invisible to the people among whom he walked.

  One evening, Ethan went to a Los Angeles neighborhood whose noisy streets seemed to be under the control of occupying armies of African American, Latino, and Asian teenagers. Young men in clashing gang colors brandished guns and other, more primitive weapons openly and without fear. It was a neighborhood where the local police and even the munchies hesitated to go after dark, and what little order there was existed simply so that the gangs that fought a ceaseless battle for control of each street and block could, amid the mayhem, profitably engage in their various business enterprises, which pretty much boiled down to drugs, prostitution, and the sale of stolen merchandise. Ethan watched unseen as a thin black girl, who was barely fourteen but already looked more than twice that, stepped into a well-maintained car driven by a better-maintained white man from a very different neighborhood, and performed with a kind of listless expertise acts that resulted in an exchange of dollars and bodily fluids. He saw the strands of casual connection and consequence that linked the man and the girl into a wider web of lies, hopelessness, and disease: the infection the man would carry back to his wife, which would in turn pass to their as-yet-unborn child; the drugs the girl would buy with what was left of the money she had earned after giving her pimp his cut, and which, injected, would leave her staring glassy-eyed up at a water-stained ceiling in a room where she would not be found for days, and then only by another such as herself, come in quest of the same oblivion.