by Bill Myers
“Yes, thank you.” She tugged at the hair over her scar.
“Good, good. And our accommodations?”
“No complaints.”
“Excellent.”
To some this would have been merely small talk. But Sarah felt the man was genuinely concerned as he asked each question and was equally as interested in each answer. That’s the type of sincerity she’d read about, and that’s the type of sincerity she now saw in person.
“Well,” he said, “I will certainly look forward to speaking with you more in depth, but right now —”
“I’m sure you’re very busy.”
He sighed. “It’s this recent outbreak of earthquakes along the Pacific Rim. You’ve been reading about them?”
Sarah nodded. “We were in Los Angeles just before they started.”
“Now there are geological reports of possible volcanic activity. Hawaii, the Pacific Northwest, Japan … things may become very serious very quickly.”
As he spoke, a young teenager sauntered out of his office and into the hallway. He was thin, almost frail, with sandy blonde hair and glasses. When his eyes connected with Sarah’s she caught her breath. For, though they were eight thousand miles apart, Sarah was looking into the very same pair of eyes she’d left back home. Eyes that were already penetrating hers, searching her thoughts, exploring her mind.
Lucas Ponte spotted him and started to make the introduction, but it wasn’t necessary. Sarah already knew.
“Dr. Weintraub, this is Eric Lyon.”
“Behind me, up on the third story, are the offices to the clinic where Dr. and Mr. Martus had worked for nearly twelve months.”
The television picture cut from a close-up of Tanya Chase to a wider angle showing an old four-story brick building in the seedier section of Bethel Lake. Next came a shaky handheld shot moving down the clinic’s hallway.
Tanya’s voice continued. “It was behind the doors of these rooms that the couple practiced their ‘medicine.’ And, although many claimed to have been helped by their efforts, there are the others …”
The picture cut to a close-up of the mother whose mentally impaired girl Brandon had declined to heal several weeks earlier. “I like Brandon Martus,” the woman was saying. “He’s a good person. So is Sarah. Debra likes them, too.”
The picture switched to the little girl sitting on a tricycle. Her head was tilted and slightly drooped. This was followed by a shot of Mom with her on the floor playing with a preschool toy. As the girl struggled to put the correct block into the correct hole, her retardation became more obvious. The picture returned to the interview as Tanya asked, “How long ago did you visit him?”
“’Bout a month ago.”
Back to the two of them on the floor.
“And is she any better?”
“No …”
“How does that make you feel?”
“I dunno, kinda disappointed, I guess …” The camera remained on the mother. It was obvious she was struggling with her emotions.
Tanya continued. “Just disappointed?”
The woman shook her head, then glanced away. “I mean, we tried everything else. We was just …” She swallowed. The camera remained fixed on her and she began again. “We was just hoping that something could be done. I mean with what we heard and everything, we really had our hopes up. We was really, really hoping. But now …” She sniffed quietly and looked down. The camera remained on her. Finally, she shook her head, making it clear she was unable to go on.
Tanya’s voice continued. “Meanwhile, the plague, the drought, and worldwide famine, which Martus claims to be the judgment of God, continue to increase.”
After quick shots of suffering patients, shriveled crops, and starving children, the picture cut to a videotape of Brandon standing on the stage of the L.A. Forum, shouting. “My anger and my wrath will be poured out on this place, on man and beast, on the trees of the field and on the fruit of the ground, and it will burn and not be quenched.”
Next came a picture of Brandon being dragged off the stage as Tanya’s voice continued. “At best, he is accused by many in the religious community of capitalizing upon current world disasters …”
Now some cardinal spoke. He was an older gentleman, with sensitive eyes and a kindly voice. “Such action is nothing but raw exploitation of the world’s suffering. It is an unconscionable act, and quite frankly, I believe the lad owes all of us in the religious community an apology.”
Back to Tanya. “At worst, he is accused of actually bringing on the suffering.”
Now a local businessman appeared — fortyish, sweaty, and with a loosened tie from the heat. “We all know about his power to heal, and what he did to Reverend Tyler on TV …” The man shook his head. “You’d have to be crazy not to think he’s got some sort of supernatural connection.”
Back to Tanya’s voice. “Whatever one concludes …”
Videotape of the egg-throwing protesters appeared, followed by quick shots of graffiti scrawled across the front of the clinic, and finally ending with a handful of hecklers yelling at Brandon as he tried to enter the clinic.
“… Brandon Martus has transformed this once mild Midwest hamlet into a conflicting caldron of controversy.”
Back to Tanya standing in front of the building. “And now with the recent reports of seismic activity along the Pacific coast, attention is once again turned to this young man.”
Back to Brandon onstage shouting in the background as she continued. “Was this also part of his prediction, part of his ‘curse’? Is he somehow responsible? Or is he, as many believe, simply a charlatan, an opportunist out to capitalize upon the world’s pain and suffering?”
Back to Tanya. “Earlier we’d reported that we’d discovered that the newlyweds had vowed not to physically consummate their relationship, that they felt sex was too demeaning for ones of such a high calling. And now, in an equally bizarre turn of events, it has been confirmed that after less than eight weeks of marriage the couple has separated. Dr. Sarah Martus was reported as being seen —”
Brandon clicked off the remote. He was practically shaking with anger. Like her boss, Tanya Chase had learned the fine art of using truth to tell lies. Other networks had picked up the story, a couple had even asked for interviews for their news magazines. And, although their coverage was equally as uninformed, no one had gone after them like GBN. Little wonder, after what he’d done to Tyler.
At first Brandon had agreed to the interviews, hoping explanations would somehow clarify things. They didn’t. In fact they only caused greater confusion, confirming that he was either a huckster, a fruitcake, or some sadistic wizard capable of manipulating the forces of nature for evil. When the interviews didn’t work, he tried remaining silent — an even worse mistake that made him all the more mysterious.
And then, just when it looked like things were starting to settle down, all of this seismic activity kicked up along the Pacific Rim. Mount Baker, Mount Hood, Mauna Loa in Hawaii, and a handful of other semidormant volcanoes in Japan, the Philippines, and Indonesia — all suddenly showing signs of potential eruption. And, once again, fingers began to point at him, questioning and asking if he was somehow responsible.
But by far the hardest thing was having to shut down the clinic. That had happened the end of last week. He’d tried to keep it running, but the threats and rising problems had been too much. The place had become a lightning rod, the galvanizing point of attention for everybody from the media, to the picketers with their placards reading: “HE MAY BE SOMEBODY’S GOD … BUT HE SURE AIN’T MINE,” to the opposite extremists who did Brandon little favor with counterdemonstrations involving signs reading: “TURN OR BURN!”
And where was God in all of this?
Silent, as usual.
Shoving aside an undercooked microwave burrito, Brandon rose from the table, shuffled to the computer, and punched it on. He stayed in Sarah’s apartment now, and everything he saw reminded him of her. She’d been
gone twelve days, and though she was faithful in answering his e-mail, her responses seemed to be growing shorter and less personal. Maybe it was just his imagination. He hoped and prayed that was the case.
The computer came up and the e-mail came on. Nearly a hundred postings this time. It was amazing how quickly they could find his address and flood his mailbox. Early on he’d learned not to open any whose names he didn’t know. One virus and crashed hard drive was enough.
Scanning the list, he could find nothing from Sarah, and his heart sank a fraction lower. There was, however, a name he instantly recognized. He popped it up and began reading so fast that he had to stop and start over:
Dearest Brandon:
I know you are discouraged, but that is a necessary part of the process. The call He has given you is true. You will be doin’ great and mighty things for Him. But our understanding of great and mighty is different than His. Ours is vain and will burn. His is life-changing and eternal.
Brandon took a breath and slowly let it out. Every one of us has a call on our life. I don’t care who they are. Like Joseph, God has put a dream in our hearts. But few have the faith to follow that dream through all its steps. You’ve received the call and that’s fine. But that’s only the first step. The second came when you messed it up. Like Joseph, you allowed worldly thinking to twist it till it fit into the world’s idea of greatness. And if it didn’t fit, you gave it a few bends and twists of your own till it did. That’s where you’ve been living this last year as you’ve tried to accomplish in your flesh what God will do in His Spirit.
But now you’ve entered the third step, and though it’s the most painful, it’s also the most necessary. ’Cause it’s during this time of discouragement that the Lord untwists the world’s twistings, that He removes your handiwork and straightens your dream back into His. Lots of times He lets those closest to us be the most discouraging. For Joseph it was his brothers throwing him into the pit, for Abraham it was his wife laughing at him, for our Lord it was His kinsmen trying to put him away. For you, it is Sarah.
Brandon swallowed hard. The words rang truer than he wanted to believe.
Embrace this third step. I know the wilderness is hot, I know your wanderings seem aimless. But just like He did with the children of Israel, He will feed you, He will give you water, He will provide shade by day and light by night. Hold the Lord’s hand, follow Him through the desert, and He will lead you to the land He has promised. But you must do it His way. Because ‘Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit.’
Very soon you’ll be entering another country. I’m not talking just spiritually, but literally, too. You have seen it lots of times in your dreams, but you haven’t sought the Lord about it. When you do, He’ll tell you. And when He tells you, obey. For it’s the only way your call will bear fruit. Give Sarah my love. Be strong and courageous. Do not tremble or be afraid.
Your servant, GM
Brandon sat staring at the words.
That’s her, isn’t it?
Heylel gave no answer, but Eric knew he was in the room. He’d been in the small conference room ever since Sarah had begun setting up the equipment.
That’s her, Eric repeated. She’s the one who isn’t the one, isn’t she?
There was still no answer. But Eric didn’t need one. He’d known it, he’d sensed it, from the moment he’d first seen her in the hallway.
“Now, Eric …”
He turned to her. One of the sensors taped to his forehead pulled against his skin, and he winced.
“Here, let me fix that for you.”
“It’s all right.”
“You sure he needs all of this stuff?” Katherine asked as Sarah readjusted one of the dozen sensor wires attached to his face, fingers, skin, earlobes, chest, and calf. “Makes him look like the back of some VCR.”
Sarah smiled. “Some of these, like this GSR, measure the amount of electricity his skin conducts. That tells us how relaxed he is.”
She reached across him to adjust another wire. Eric noticed that she smelled nice. In fact, everything about her was nice. Nice body, nice hair, nice smile. If it wasn’t for that scar running down her face she might have been a real looker.
“This sensor over here is for the EMG — it records his muscle tension — and these around the scalp are for EEG, to register his brain activity.”
“Provided he has any,” Katherine quipped.
“Ho-ho,” Eric replied, “very funny.”
“You comfortable now?” Sarah asked.
He nodded.
“Okay, what I’d like you to do is take this in your right hand.” She gave him a computer joystick with a trigger, then pointed to the small monitor on the table directly in front of him. “You see that blue line running across the screen?”
“Yeah.”
“And the thinner yellow one on top of it?”
He nodded.
“When we begin, I want you to hold that trigger down and concentrate on pushing that yellow line above the blue one.”
“You mean like with my mind?”
“Exactly.”
“Cool.”
As Sarah busied herself with a digital data recorder to record the results, Katherine asked, “And all of this stuff, it’s like serious science?”
Sarah nodded. “What we’re employing here is something called an RNG, a random number generator. They’ve been around about thirty years, and they’re still the best way for us to measure a person’s PK.”
“PK?”
“Psychokinesis — the ability to move physical objects through mental concentration.”
“You’re not serious?” Katherine asked. “You don’t actually believe people can do that?”
“There are over a dozen labs around the world studying the phenomena, along with other paranormal activity like PSI, remote viewing, automatic handwriting, and the list goes on. In fact, in the past, the United States Department of Defense has spent over twenty million dollars in paranormal research.”
“No kidding.”
Sarah nodded. “Many scientists are beginning to believe the human brain has a lot more potential than we originally gave it credit.”
“And you buy all that?”
Sarah hesitated, then shook her head. “No. I don’t believe the human brain is capable of manipulating anything outside the body.”
Katherine looked surprised. “But you just said …”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing all of this, if you don’t believe it?”
“I believe the human mind is capable of connecting with other forces of energy that are able to penetrate our skulls and communicate with our brains by listening to and firing off specific neurons, particularly in the area of the right temporal lobe.”
“You’re talking about God again?”
“Not always.”
“There’s something else?”
Sarah finished her work and slowly rose to face her. “The counterfeits.”
“Eric?” It was Heylel.
There you are. Eric answered. Why have you been so quiet?
Heylel gave no answer.
Eric pressed in. It’s because she’s the one, isn’t it? Her husband, he was the one we tried to get that research guy — that Dr. Reicher — to stop, wasn’t he?
“Very good.”
And she’s the one you tried to kill in the car crash.
“Excellent.”
But you failed.
There was no answer.
Eric pursued him more forcefully, almost gleefully. Both times you blew it. And that’s why you’re not saying anything now, ’cause you’re chicken, aren’t you? Cause you’re afraid of her, you’re afraid that she might be able to —
“SILENCE!”
The voice roared in his mind. It was terrifying, and his entire body gave a shudder.
“Eric,” Sarah said. “Eric, are you okay?”
He wasn’t sure he could find his voice.
/>
“Eric?”
He glanced up and was grateful to see her reassuring presence smiling down at him.
“Are you okay?” she repeated. “What happened? You look pale. Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” he lied. He pushed up his glasses with his little finger. “I’m, uh, fine.”
“You sure? You look a little shaken.”
“I’m fine. Are we going to do this thing or not?” He hoped his tone would keep her at bay. She studied him another moment before nodding and turning back to the experiment.
He relaxed, but just slightly.
“You’ll be hearing some pinging noises,” she said. “When you are succeeding in elevating that yellow line, the tones will increase in pitch. When you are not, they will remain the same. Any questions?”
He shook his head and reached for the joystick. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Sarah smiled and reached over to flip a single switch. A low drone came through the speaker beside the monitor. “Go ahead. Hold that trigger down and let’s see what happens.”
“No sweat,” Eric said as he pressed the trigger on the joystick. Instantly the low tone turned into a screaming wail. His eyes shot to the monitor. The yellow line had leaped off the blue line and was pegged against the top of the screen.
Sarah reached for the knobs, checking the calibrations.
“What’s wrong?” Katherine shouted over the increasing shrillness. “What’s happening?”
Sarah shook her head. “I’m not certain!” she yelled.
The shrillness continued increasing in pitch and in volume.
“Turn it off!” Katherine yelled. “Turn that thing off!”
“I’m trying!” Sarah reached for the computer’s electrical plug. She gave it a tug, disconnecting it from the power surge box.
But the screaming whine increased.
Sarah stared dumbfounded.
Now Katherine was on her feet. “What’s going on? Turn it off! Turn it off!”
“There’s no power!” Sarah shouted. “There’s no way it can possibly be —”
And then, it stopped. No screaming whine, no glowing monitor with colored lines. Everything was suddenly silent and still. Sarah stared at the monitor another moment, then to the disconnected power cord. Finally she turned to Eric.