“Genesis.”
“Oh. My point is that God allows others to spurn Him and His love, and break His heart . . . ”
“God is vulnerable?” He squints at me in disbelief. “Come on.”
“Just look at his whip-mutilated back, Jeremy! His love led His Son to a cross to suffer. His power could have prevented it, even at the last moment, but for love He suffered. For us. For you. Have you ever read the Bible?”
“Memorized every word of it with my first reading.” He raises an index finger. “In the time it took for you to fall asleep one night and wake up the next morning. I read the whole thing in English. Had the Greek, Hebrew, and Aramaic passages memorized in a few days. Do you realize that I have mastered every scientific and mathematical fact and theory obtainable online or in a library? I can hack into any computer in the world right from this room.”
I’m aghast at his arrogance, but cannot deny the child-like way in which he boasts in himself. He longs for recognition. “You must be proud of yourself, Jeremy.”
“I embrace an honest, objective assessment of myself in the scale of being.”
“Doesn’t it say something in that Bible you read about pride coming before a fall?”
He shakes his head side-to-side. “Nope.”
I turn my gaze to the ceiling, trying to recall the passage.
“It’s a myth. Not in the Bible.”
“Doesn’t it say something in there about being a hearer, and not a doer? And to whom much is given, much will be, uh, how’s it go?” I snap my fingers trying to remember. “My sister quoted it to me recently. Oh, you know.”
He grins mischievously. “I forget.”
“With all your learning, you haven’t wrapped your mind around the one thing that is the most important thing to learn.”
“You’re going to tell me what I need to learn?” He snarls at me.
“Love, Jeremy Porter. Love.”
He leaps to his feet. “I don’t need you or your God’s love.”
His whole countenance reeks of self-adulation. His extraordinary gifts—coupled with the horrific abuse he must have suffered—have turned him into a monster, apparently without a functioning conscience.
He walks toward the desk and moves his finger across a laptop, which appears to bring several hard-drives to life with their characteristic hum. Something beeps and he lifts what looks like a metallic cup affixed to a flexible base toward the window. He carefully angles it toward the sky until there is another beep from his laptop. Then he begins to type.
“What are you going to do?”
“I am,” he pauses to type a few words into a laptop, “going to kill them all.” He punches the last key harder than the others, and then crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a subtle wink. “It is mathematically impossible to save all of the innocent cloned humans. I can, however, avenge them.”
“What? Who? Who are you going to kill?”
He puts an index finger one inch over one of his keys. “You have a great privilege, Dr. Verity. You’re an eyewitness to my first act of nation-shattering cyber-terrorism in what will doubtless turn out to be a long and illustrious career. Once I hit ‘Enter’, the first to go will be the murderers who do the splicing and the cutting and the raping and the killing. At least, the ones in Baltimore. Then when the dust settles and the feds realize that they can’t figure out what I did and expend billions fishing in shallow swimming pools for killer whales, then”—he gives me a wide boyish grin—“when they least expect it, I’ll set my sights on the CEOs and the business leaders with blood on their hands. I will be what you pray God will be. The father to the fatherless, the avenger of the innocent. Then, when the prosecutors are despairing for a lead, the lawyers and bureaucrats who justify and perpetuate the slaughter will sup with the Reaper.”
This man plans to go on a massive killing spree.
“I’ve got a better plan.”
He laughs, pulling his finger back from the keyboard. “And what is that, genius?”
“Love.”
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t kill people, Jeremy. Treat ‘em as you’d want to be treated. It’s the golden commandment.”
“Rule.”
“Huh?”
“That’s interesting coming from the man that has single-handedly built an industry that has probably killed more people in the history of the world than anyone, who naively professes a faith in a loving—”
“It’s more than interesting, it’s revolutionary!” I can tell he’s not accustomed to being interrupted, and he looks like he’s going to explode again. “I’m a new man, Jeremy Porter. God’s love has changed my heart. Let me help you stop the killing without killing people—especially innocent people! How is your weapon of mass destruction going to kill the butchers without killing the innocent?”
The lines in his forehead deepen yet his voice is calm. “It’s unavoidable. Every avenue I’ve considered that spares the innocent lets the killing industry continue to thrive. That is not an option. The innocent die by any route. At least now, the killing business will die with the innocent.”
“Oh, what a weak mind indeed.” He shrinks back from me as if I’ve crossed an invisible line he didn’t know existed. As I sit bound before one of the most brilliant human beings that probably ever existed, the confidence of my charge surprises even me. “If anybody’s blood should be shed to save the innocent, it should be mine. Not the innocent. That is an avenue you have not considered, am I right? Self-sacrifice?”
He stands, amused. “Self-sacrifice? Really?” He removes a knife attached to an unseen holster under his black sweatshirt and begins to walk threateningly toward me. I do not tremble at his intimidating posture, but for a moment I think he intends to test my theory about shedding my blood to save the innocent. He puts the blade to my neck. “Your blood for theirs?”
“That’s not a meaningful sacrifice. I have no death wish, Jeremy.”
He comes around in front of me with a carefree chortle. He crosses his arms over his chest, his knife still clenched in his right hand. “Tell me, Dr. Verity, how can your sacrifice save anybody?”
“You want to sacrifice the weak and helpless as necessary collateral damage in a war against tyranny. What is that but tyranny fighting tyranny? There’s no liberty at the end of that bloody rainbow. But when we sacrifice ourselves to protect the weak and helpless in a war against tyranny, that, my friend, makes us like Jesus. That is greatness. That unleashes His power. He’s the only hope—”
“What fantastic fiction you preach.”
“You can’t convince a man who’s been to the moon that no moon exists, Jeremy. I’ve tasted and seen the Lord is good. Won’t you join me?”
“Oh, Dr. Verity.” His tone reveals his disappointment.
Maybe he doesn’t have a soul. Maybe he is just a demon set on vengeance and chaos. But he wasn’t born so. It was Redd Cranton who molded this monster through years of abuse. If hate mutilated his spirit, then maybe love can redeem him. What Jeremy Porter needs is what I received in the trunk of that lead-covered sedan.
“The offenses against you do not justify your own offenses. You have offended your Creator, and stand in need of forgiveness.”
“My creator’s a scientist with the New Body Research Center.”
“No, you’re wrong. We can’t create a grain of sand from nothing, Jeremy. We only take what God has made and build things with it. God made you, and He loves you. He wants to heal you and save you from what that pervert did to you. From your own sins . . . ”
By the way he steps closer to me with that knife in his grasp, his respiratory rate increasing, his laser-like blue eyes fixed on mine, I cannot tell if he’s going to kill me or cry.
“Do you thank God for your new life in your new body?”
I shrug. “I do thank God for my health, but I regret the death of my clone.”
“Do you believe your health is evidence of God’s goodness to you?”
“Yes, but it’s because He’s made the best of a bad situation and—”
“Even as you sit there with half a working face?”
“My facial paralysis saved my life, Jeremy. It kept me from being identified through the hundreds of security cameras I passed from Atlanta to here. You see, if you trust in God, even our weaknesses are evidence of God’s love.”
“That’s an interesting theory.” He takes a step back and massages his chin with the hand that holds the knife. “Did you also know that the stroke saved you from the rapid-onset dementia that 98.5% of those with new bodies are experiencing?”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“Turns out that those who had complications during their transfer, resulting in at least some brain death, are protected for some reason. Apparently, two fully functioning cerebral hemispheres are necessary for the dementia to progress.”
“Wow. My stroke saved my life.” I wag my head back and forth. “What you perceived as a handicap is one of my greatest blessings. God is good.”
He steps closer. “Tell me this, Dr. Verity. Is the love you experience from others evidence of God’s love to you? The love of your mother? Your father? Your wife, your children, and your granddaughter?”
“Of course. All good things come from His hand.”
“Do you believe God loves me just as much as He loves you?”
“He loves everybody, Jeremy.”
“Then why was the young woman I loved killed and butchered for that fat old European princess? Where’s the love of my mother? Where’s the love of my father? Why was I abused and exploited for so many years, over and over again, with no hope of ever being free? Where’s God’s love for me, Dr. Verity?”
I search for the right words, but I don’t even know how to begin to answer those questions. How can I justify the undeserved and unjustified suffering of a little child? “But you are free now, Jeremy. You are free now. Can’t you see that as evidence of God’s love for you?”
“If the love of others is evidence of God’s love for us, then what does that pervert Redd Cranton tell you about God and His love?”
“Redd Cranton was possessed by Satan. But God loves you. I love you.”
He raises his eyebrows and licks his lips. “You love me?” He pauses and pokes his thumb in his chest. “Me?”
“I would die for you, Jeremy.”
He stands and begins to pace, mumbling incoherently to himself.
“My granddaughter Mary Nell—she would love you like her own flesh and blood. Have you given God thanks for the little bit of love you have experienced, for the love you shared with Forty? For the food you enjoy and the bed in which you sleep? Or are you so bitter for what you don’t have and haven’t enjoyed in life that you can’t be grateful for all the good things you have been given, all of which are sufficient evidence that your Creator loves you?”
With a frustrated grimace, he turns his eyes heavenward and raises his voice. “Why does God give Redd Cranton health? Hmm? Why does he enjoy pleasure, food, sleep, wealth and fame?”
“God’s going to judge him soon enough, Jeremy. But He’s patient. He’s long-suffering and merciful, even to the people who don’t deserve it. I’m glad He is, Jeremy. Otherwise there would be no hope for the worst of sinners like me and Dr. Cranton, only an unbearable guilt and, and a fear of the Day of Judgment.”
Jeremy Porter breaks out in a full laugh. “You are quite the phenomenon, Dr. Verity. I think you would extend a hand of mercy to Redd Cranton himself.”
“As my sister told me once, those who are forgiven much love much. When you realize how bad you need forgiveness, you find the strength to give it away to those who wronged you. Even to Redd Cranton.”
That comment wipes the smile off his face and he brings his knife inches from my face. He grips it so firmly his knuckles whiten. Right now, it appears difficult for him to not kill me. I stare into his eyes. “Just yesterday, a police officer kidnapped me and conspired to turn me over to the Free America Militia for seven and a half million ameros. FAM wanted to execute me and broadcast it on the internet. That police officer, when I forgave him, became an invaluable asset for me getting here in time to try and save my granddaughter. See, Jeremy? God loves to take the devil’s best weapons and turn them into heaven’s greatest trophies. You can be one, too.”
The fury in Porter’s eyes intensifies further. Was mentioning God’s willingness to have mercy on Cranton a strategic error? It appears so. Why then did it feel so perfectly appropriate to bring up?
He blurts out a phrase in Latin, turns on his heels, and marches toward the computer.
“What does that mean?”
He doesn’t answer me. He rams the tip of his knife into the table, leaving it upright next to his keyboard, and he begins to type.
“Please, don’t, Jeremy!”
He types a few keys and then walks to the door without saying a word.
“What did you do, Jeremy?”
With his hand on the doorknob, he turns to me and speaks calmly. “You have ten minutes until the blast. If you scream, you will be discovered, the authorities will come and call the FBI, and their best may be able to stop it. With their skill sets at the nearest office, I give them a 20% chance. But you will get captured, and you will endure much pain and suffering at their hands. The President has a personal vendetta against you because of your betrayal, and there will be no bargaining. Are you really willing to sacrifice yourself to save those innocent dupes?” He points in the direction of what I presume to be the New Body Research Center. “Are you willing to let that killing business continue at the cost of saving those dupes and your granddaughter?”
“They’re people, not dupes.” I struggle against my wrist ties. “Mary Nell—she’s a precious child, Jeremy!”
He smirks at me with raised eyebrows before he exits, appearing amused by my dilemma. As the door slowly shuts behind him, he speaks without looking back, “It’s your choice.”
“Jeremy!” I pull as hard as I can against my wrist ties, but they hold fast to the back of the wooden chair to which I am bound. My feet also are tied to the legs of this chair. “My granddaughter’s there, Jeremy! So is Nellie! Stop! If you would murder her, Jeremy, you are no better than the monster who abused you!”
His footsteps walk away down the hall.
“Jeremy!”
48
HE LEFT ME WITH A hard choice indeed. Scream for help, and people will arrive who will notify federal agents, who will tap into Jeremy Porter’s computers and hopefully dismantle his elaborate plan to destroy the New Body Research Center and everyone in it, including Mary Nell and Nellie. Savannah and Morgan are most certainly on site. But if I scream for the authorities, I will be taken captive. What will happen to my girls then?
I would be pushed to despair in this lose-lose dilemma, if it weren’t for God. Maybe, just maybe this is all just a test of my resolve to trust God. Tamara said God would test my newfound faith. Maybe this is just a test. Can this be what God has planned? Is He putting my willingness to sacrifice my life to save my granddaughter to the test? Perhaps this is the trial I must pass for Him to do His miracle. Stepping out of the boat is scary. Walking on water is impossible! Trying to feels insane. But unless I do step out of the boat, how can I experience God’s power in my life?
Time is running out. No time for an inward metaphysical debate on the exercise of faith.
Maybe I can break loose and find someone to alert the authorities, allowing me to leave before the police arrive. I begin to rock my chair. I might be able to loosen the joints and free myself.
“But what if I do nothing?”
The words come through my lips, uninvited and unwelcomed, but I cannot resist the gravity of their logic. It’s not my destructive weapon of war that somehow has been planted within the New Body Research Center. How can I be responsible for it? Is it possible that the New Body science and the associated killing industry can be brought to a screeching halt in one
single moment of billowing fire, torn flesh, and scattered debris? Maybe this is my sacrifice. Give up the lives of my family for a greater good. Let hundreds or maybe thousands of people die by another’s hand in order to save hundreds of thousands of lives in the long run—maybe millions. Then—the thought comes to me like a cup of water to a man about to die of thirst—then I can avoid capture.
This is my Gethsemane. Indecision cripples my resolve. The temptation pulls at this cursed body, lulling my conscience numb with its delicious alternatives to sacrifice. I am torn betwixt two impossible choices.
But how can I sit still and do nothing while so many lives hang in the balance this very moment? All future contingencies are based not only upon reason, but also upon faith. The future is uncertain. There is a God in heaven who answers prayer. I must act based upon present circumstances, and I must act in love toward those people that are in that building right now. How can I not have compassion on all those innocent people and all the guilty ones who’ve yet come to the light? They walk unknowingly toward the precipice of their eternity. Can I sit still and let another’s devilish plan transpire?
I take a deep breath. I know what I must do.
“Help! Help me!”
I continue to scream for help until a woman knocks on the door. “Hello?”
“Help! Call the FBI immediately! I’m tied up in here and there’s a bomb at the New Body Research Center down the street!”
She wiggles the doorknob. “I’ll get the manager—”
“No! The police or the FBI! The FBI office is nearby. Now! Hurry!”
In a moment, an elderly man who I presume is a manager opens the door. He is startled when he finds me bound and sees computers and wires all around the room. “Mr. West?”
“No, I am Dr. Raymond Verity. I have been kidnapped! Did you call the FBI?”
The woman behind the manager nods anxiously.
“The Dr. Verity?” The manager has wonder in his eyes.
“Yes, hurry . . . ”
“What happened to your face?”
Body by Blood Page 33