by Jack Dey
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Chapter 42
Ruth Chambers didn’t usually argue with a doctor’s decisions but today, the sheer stupidity of Brook’s rambling explanation didn’t sit well with her. Shayden Glenn was sick and badly needed medical care, not a psychiatric evaluation. Then when she’d spoken with Grayson Glenn, she couldn’t believe they had removed his parental rights and simply barred any further contact with his granddaughter. Things came to the boil when Grayson tried to kidnap Shayden from the hospital and the police were called, escorting Grayson, in his wheelchair, to the lockup in handcuffs.
Allan Brooks stood over the bed of Shayden Glenn, examining her vital signs, making sure that her crazy grandfather hadn’t disturbed the hospital’s anaesthetised laboratory experiment.
Ruth Chambers strode for Shayden’s room from her post outside the observation window, incensed that the hospital had gone to such measures to break up a family and deny a grandfather his rightful place as guardian and protector just because he didn’t agree with the accepted medical policy of the moment, a policy that the hospital was required by law to follow. From her position at the doorway to Shayden’s room, she peered back along the long hospital corridor and watched two burly police removing Grayson Glenn from the ward.
Noticing Ruth’s disturbed glance in the direction of the policemen and then the determined set of her jaw, Brooks moved to quench the fire erupting from the nurse’s eyes.
”Don’t get any ideas, Nurse, or you will meet with the same outcome.”
“Maybe the media would like to know what you are doing!” she angrily retorted.
“Go ahead. The media loves to make mincemeat of whistle-blowers. Anyway, everything we are doing is condoned by the full measure of the law, and I am sure–with the media’s help–the public will support our endeavours.”
Ruth’s face turned crimson and she was just about to attack when Brooks cut her off again.
“Look, Nurse, I think your services at this hospital are teetering and on shaky ground, and if you can’t follow a lawful direction, then that’s a violation of your employment contract. If you want to continue working in this hospital–or any hospital for that matter–you had better go about your work or I will accept your resignation.”
Ruth’s fire was burning but she had to step back and make good decisions that would help Shayden, not hinder her. She spun around on her heels and turned to leave, but she wasn’t finished yet.
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The telephone rang on Wilbur Trial’s desk and interrupted an ingratiating conversation he was having with a representative of a large pharmaceuticals chain. He ignored the phone and tried to talk over it until it stopped ringing. Glancing at the annoyance and satisfied the interruption had been successfully routed he continued, “We would be very happy to test your new drug, Mr Davis, and the generous donation to the hospital’s budget would be more than welcome.”
Just then, the desk phone interrupted the men’s business again and the chairman glared at it with venom.
“I think someone needs your attention, Mr Trial. I’ll wait.”
Trial snatched the phone and barked into the receiver. Moments later, he threw the receiver back into its cradle, his eyes alight with indignation.
The wealthy pharmaceuticals’ representative raised an eyebrow to the hospital administrator. “A problem, Mr Trial?”
Trial calmed down again and responded sweetly to the important man in front of him. “Nothing to worry about; someone just got fired, that’s all.”
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Cutter’s Fat Boy was parked in its usual place in the kitchen of his small ground-floor flat. No self respecting biker–or ex-biker for that matter–would leave an extension of his personality outside in the cold. His old landlord was sympathetic to Cutter’s cause and the extra fifty dollars he paid a week clinched the deal and the Fat Boy shared Cutter’s apartment, with the proviso the machine didn’t leak oil.
Having a large biker in the apartment complex suited the landlord’s agenda and the annoying, petty criminal activity that dogged the neighbourhood stayed out of his property. The landlord worried the only thing that could put a hole in Cutter’s facade was his Jesus jacket and the loud Jesus songs that emanated from his apartment. People filled Cutter’s home whenever he was there, and his ever-present, cheerful helping hand cemented a place of affection among his elderly neighbours.
He had spent the afternoon with Mrs Parks, teaching her from his small dog-eared Bible that fitted nicely into his jacket pocket, but she was reluctant to see him leave and repeated requests for him to stay longer had to be refused. Short of barring the door and imprisoning her favourite teacher, she had no choice but to let him leave and anxiously confirmed their next meeting.
The rumble of a jetliner-like disturbance pervaded the apartment block and resident windows shook up and down the three story structure, rattling with powerful intensity and rocking on each exuberant galumph from the idling motorcycle engine. After three vivacious and energetically snapped throttle-ups, the scene quickly descended into morbid silence again as the gyrating engine retired for the night. Meanwhile, every railing and doorway filled with an elderly spectator, followed by a chorus of requests thrown at the charismatic biker.
“Cutter, my washing machine is broke again; the lights don’t work on my Christmas tree; my computer is swearing at me in Chinese!”
Cutter held up his hand, holding his bike with the other. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
By the time Cutter had visited the many demands from his neighbours and consumed a number of cups of teas, it was almost dark and he had to prepare the small flat for the ever-increasing Wednesday evening Bible study. He couldn’t understand the reasons for the popularity of his gathering and if it kept growing, he would have to move it to the complex’s front lawn or a nearby park. It always seemed that the Holy Spirit derailed everything he planned, so he didn’t plan anything any more and just let his best friend lead.
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Cutter was still dripping from the shower when the first knock came to the front door of his apartment. He yelled across the tiny pied-à-terre, “Coming!” then quickly threw on a change of clothes and sealed the deal with his impressive sleeveless jacket.
Bounding across the room, he threw open the front door and found Juanita and Javier had made the journey from a nearby town and he smothered them both in a hug; then all too soon a crowd had gathered in his small lounge room, sitting or standing wherever they could find a space. In a matter of moments, the tiny flat rocked with exuberant singing that drifted happily out into the street and up every staircase and landing in the building. Many ears outside Cutter’s little apartment listened to the joyous commotion, while personal needs were met both in the room and in the adjoining apartments from the powerful presence of the Holy Spirit.
At the back and standing in the doorway, a forlorn face held a bitter heart full of grief and was about to turn away and leave the huge gathering.
Cutter’s ears were burning as he listened to the directions of the Spirit above the commotion of the happy group and his heart melted, feeling the heavy burden and the pain for the small figure. In a moment of uncertainty, he called above the crowd and stopped the escaping figure in their tracks.
“Ruth...! Ruth! Please don’t leave; we need to hear your heart and share in your burden.”
At the sound of her name, Ruth Chambers turned to face the big biker in shock. No one here knew her, let alone her name.
Cutter made his way to the door, carefully stepping over people until he stood face to face with the small woman’s stricken and shocked features. In a moment driven by the Spirit, he wrapped her in a big biker hug and she melted into a sobbing mess.
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Ruth Chambers peered around the front of the inoffensive square-looking building from the seat of her small car and recognised the front door to the apartment she had visited the previous evening. The only difference, it was morni
ng and the huge crowd had dissipated. Glancing at her watch, she was ten minutes early and she felt nervous and a little self-conscious returning for an appointment with the big man who lived there. But with so many people crammed into the biker’s home last night, it had been impossible to discuss the situation that had torn her heart and lost her, her job.
Her head still felt a little fuzzy from a restless night sleep and she fidgeted with the piece of paper the big man had given her with his name and number written across the sheet. She still couldn’t believe the depth of compassion she had seen reflected in his eyes as he’d made her promise to keep the following morning’s appointment.
In the bright light of morning, however, she’d gotten cold feet and decided to cancel the appointment a number of times, but when she’d reached for the phone a deep sense of foreboding cut off any attempt at making the call. She glanced at her watch again and then decided she would make her way to the front door, even if she was early. She checked her face in the rearview mirror and that’s when she saw the dark lines of worry surrounding her brown eyes and she sighed.
“I look like a mess,” Ruth castigated herself.
Then with determination she swung the small door open, climbed out and locked it behind her. She dawdled across the street and onto the lawn leading up to the biker’s front door. Arriving at the wooden barrier, she listened for a moment and then knocked loudly, her heart pounding as she heard a voice answer from within.
“Won’t be a moment, Ruth!”
Then the door rattled and banged as someone made an attempt to open it from inside. In a moment she was wrapped in a warm, big biker hug and her nerves melted away. There seemed to be a powerful presence surrounding this large quirky man and she was drawn to him instantly.
“Come in, Ruth, and make yourself comfortable,” Cutter’s words implored.
She glanced around the lounge room and wondered how all those people last night had crammed into the small space, then her eyes focused on a small, very pregnant woman sitting at the kitchen table. Cutter noticed Ruth’s questioning glance and introduced her.
“Ruth, this is Juanita; she and her husband, Javier, have just joined our church. I asked her join us to give a woman’s perspective. Is that okay?”
Juanita struggled to stand and then hugged Ruth with a very bulging hug.
Ruth just nodded her consent.
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As the hours went by, Ruth explained the circumstances of how she came to be at the gathering the previous night. She had been feeling terribly lonely and desperate in her new situation and had driven by the church office looking for help, but when she found it closed her heart sank, until her eyes rested on the church activity board. She’d scanned the list until she found the Wednesday night activity at Cutter’s address and the Bible study about to start. For reasons she couldn’t explain, she felt a burning desire to seek him out and now she was beginning to understand why.
It was well after 1pm when Ruth finally said goodbye to Cutter and Juanita. In the presence of the unusual man she felt completely safe, drawn and hypnotised, eagerly pouring out the contents of her heart while Juanita added a new dimension of womanly wisdom and compassion. They hadn’t interrupted her as she’d unloaded and found a warmth and tenderness she had never felt from other human beings. The tears began in earnest as she explained her dismissal from the hospital; the grey eyed girl who had stolen her heart and how she was in deep trouble; and the old man robbed of his only granddaughter.
Cutter wiped the tears from his eyes as Ruth explained and it wasn’t long before he felt the Holy Spirit nudge him.
“Tell her about Me.”
In an act of obedience, Cutter introduced Ruth to Jesus and explained the wickedness of every human heart; our separation from Papa God because of it; and our inability to pay for our condition; offering instead His own perfect life, the only perfect life capable of making the sacrifice to pay for our guilt, in our place, and He did it without question. In the presence of the Spirit, Ruth’s heart overflowed in thankfulness and in a moment of bursting joy, she knelt with Cutter and accepted Jesus’ free gift, with a simple prayer.
Feeling clean and empowered after meeting Jesus and at Cutter’s assurance, Ruth knew Shayden and Grayson were somehow on Papa God’s radar. In Ruth’s newfound joy, she hugged Juanita and then Cutter, leaving a thankful kiss on the cheek of the biker who had committed to praying for Shayden and Grayson. As Ruth was leaving their company, Cutter made her promise to keep in contact regularly and he offered to help her learn about her fledgling faith.
Beaming with Papa’s love and full of hope, she once again hugged Cutter and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Pastor Cutter.”
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By the time Cutter raised himself from his knees, it was well after 3pm. Ruth’s situation had disturbed him, but the memory of her warm kisses still lingered and little Shayden Glenn was firmly on his heart. In the deep place of his spirit, an all too familiar battle call rang in Cutter’s ears and warned him troubled times were ahead. He had challenged the wicked spiritual forces by leading Ruth out of their grasping clutches and into Jesus’ safety and protection, stirring up a hornet’s nest of iniquitous reprisals in the process. However, Cutter pulled the big, safe arms of his Saviour around him and hid in the shadow of his protector. He knew the battle belonged to Jesus, and all he had to do was to duck and weave as Jesus did, using Him as a shield and as usual, the Saviour would prevail.
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Chapter 43
Kirt Ballard perched in an office chair with his feet on the desk, watching a television monitor above his head. His eyes followed the images with a disinterested glaze, while his mind had disconnected with the scene and deflected into WRGB’s huge city news room in Schenectady, New York, the heartland of news and legendary news anchors. Small time news anchoring in Sue’s Bridge just didn’t cut it and his heart lay in the dark and bloody streets of the big city battle zones. In Sue’s Bridge, he’d embellished every story of cats in trees; fire department garage sales; the ever-present petty drug convictions of Elvis O’Riley–which most people in town were guilty of, anyway; and now he had reached the bottom of his talented career.
Sue’s Bridge residents watched the news for its entertainment value, not for its factual content. The six o’clock time slot was the most viewed programme and the belly laughter coming from homes and hotels was a sure sign that Ballard had topped his previous ridiculous efforts.
Ballard untangled his feet from the desk and kicked his lanky frame back from the control panel, scraping his chair across the linoleum as he struggled to stand. Dejectedly, he pointed the remote at the TV monitor and the screen blacked out in a line of disintegrating light.
A sudden round of applause disturbed his thoughts as the news producer entered the small glass room, struggling for breath and wiping her eyes from intense laughter.
“That’s really good,” she affirmed. “How did you concoct that one?”
“Come on, Jeannie, it’s a serious news story!” Ballard’s bruised ego reflected in his affronted gaze. “It’s so hard getting newsworthy content in this dive of a town.”
Jeannie dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex and then wiped her nose. “Your timeslot is the most popular in town; most people can’t wait for the six o’clock.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard the snide comments... Bollix Ballard and his travelling comedy act. I just wish I could get my teeth into something really juicy, then people might take me seriously and my career may lead somewhere more than coffee and doughnuts at Pete’s All Night Diner down on Mayberry Street.”
“Well, I think you’re good and it would be a shame to mess up the six o’clock with an actual news story. People don’t want anything to happen in their quiet little town, anyway.”
Ballard sighed heavily. His heart was in the big city, but his body was trapped in Sue’s Bridge. ”Thanks for the vote of confidence anyway, Jeannie.”
Jeannie poi
nted up to the TV monitor. “That’s definitely going on the six o’clock!” She tried not to laugh, but a stifled guffaw gave away her amusement and she had to leave the room.
Kirt Ballard had had enough for one day; the six o’clock news was an hour away, but he didn’t think he could stomach another round of rambunctious laughter at his expense. He was just about to grab his coat from the back of his chair, when he heard the police tracker crackle into life. More from bored curiosity than the possibility of a breaking story, he leaned in and listened to the coded conversation.
“SBCSO-15... Dispatch.”
“Dispatch... go ahead, Deputy Jackson.”
“Returning to base; evidence of a probable five-nine-four and possibly a one-eight-seven. You may need to get forensics to have a closer look at the sight after they check the sample. It does look like blood to me.”
Ballard was frozen onto the spot, finding it hard to believe he had heard what he’d just heard.
“Blood!”
He lunged for a chart of police radio codes taped to a nearby shelf and ran his finger down the list. “Five-nine-four, five-nine-four, here it is... malicious mischief!” Then his finger flipped back up trying to find the other. “Did he say one-eight-seven... or four-eight-seven?” Ballard’s finger stopped over four-eight-seven... grand theft; and then continued up to one-eight-seven and stopped. His mouth hung open and his eyes twinkled in excitement as he read the explanation... homicide.
In his excitement and haste, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and started to leave the newsroom but the jacket sleeves tangled around the chair frame and dragged his chair clattering to the floor, upside down.
Jeannie glanced up from her desk outside the news editing room at the sudden noise and gazed at Ballard’s disappearing form hurrying out of the newsroom.
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