The Apostle Murders

by Jim Laughter

  “And this is your home?” Thomas asked.

  “Yes sir. I live in it year round.”

  “You live on the road?”

  “Most of the time,” Preach answered. “I’m an evangelist.”

  “Evangelist?” Thomas said, unsure what an evangelist was.

  “I’m a traveling preacher. I travel from town to town preaching revivals at local churches and camp meetings, that sort of thing. And if a pastor somewhere needs a vacation, sometimes I’ll babysit their church for them for a week or two while they’re away.”

  Thomas watched the old man behind the steering wheel. He didn’t see any sign of malice or danger in the old preacher.

  “So where you coming from?” Preach asked.

  “Boston.”

  “Boston? That’s a far piece from LA.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “How do you happen to be on the I-40 if you’re coming from Boston? Seems like you should’a come down through Illinois and Iowa, then out through Colorado, Utah, and Nevada.”

  “I’ve been staying with an uncle in Charlotte, North Carolina the last few weeks, but that got old, so I...”

  “So you took off on your own across country to California hoping to find your place in the sun,” Preach cut in. “That about it?” Preach smiled at the boy.

  “That’s pretty close,” Thomas agreed.

  “You got a job or school waiting for you out there?”

  “No sir. I’m just going. I had to get away from stuff at home.”

  “Stuff? What kind’a stuff could cause a young man like you to leave home and hearth and head out on his own?”

  Thomas wondered why the old man was asking so many questions then reasoned that he was just making conversation. After all, if he lived in this RV year round and spent all of his time on the road, there’s no telling how long it had been since he’d had anyone to talk to for any length of time. Thomas laughed. “Oh, just family stuff. My dad is a lawyer and mom is a doctor, and I’m a college dropout. I just don’t seem to measure up.”

  “Brothers and sisters?”

  “I have a brother in the Army. He’s a platoon commander in Afghanistan right now. My sister goes to Harvard Law.”

  “And you want to live your own life; do your own thing. Is that it?”

  “Pretty much,” Thomas answered. “I don’t want to fit into anyone’s mold or be a cookie-cutter doctor or lawyer. There’s got to be more to life than that.”

  Preach kept his attention on the road. Rain had begun to pour and visibility had lessened to only a few hundred feet. “You were sure right about the rain,” Thomas said, looking out the windshield at the sudden downpour.

  “Yep, and we’re just as likely to run out of it and into bright sunshine in the next mile or two,” Preach answered. “I’ve driven across this state hundreds of times, and if there’s one gospel truth, it’s that if you don’t like the weather in Oklahoma, just wait a minute and it will change.”

  The two men spent the rest of the day talking and enjoying each other’s company. Thomas felt safe with the preacher and told him many details of his life, including his strict Catholic upbringing and his parent’s obsessive adherence to all of the churches rites and rituals.

  “So you really are a doubting Thomas, aren’t you?” Preach asked.

  “Who?”

  “Thomas. You know, from the Bible.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Your family is strict Catholic and you don’t know who Thomas was? The patron saint of architects?”

  Thomas shook his head.

  “He’s called Doubting Thomas because after the resurrection of Christ he demanded proof that Jesus had risen from the dead, so Christ allowed him to touch the wounds in his hands and side to prove that he was the resurrected Messiah.”

  “I never paid very good attention in Sunday School,” Thomas said. “It never made much sense to me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “All that praying to the saints and to Mary and to all the others,” Thomas answered. “After all, they were people just like us. And now they’re all dead, so why pray to them?”

  The preacher nodded. The kid had a point. He’d never fully understood the Catholic propensity to deify the apostles and disciples, or even historical people that had played a significant role in Christianity. “You say your last name is Waverly?”

  “Uh-huh. Just like the cracker.”

  “Oh, it goes deeper than that,” Preach said. “Waver is another word for doubt. You truly are a Doubting Thomas.”

  Thomas saw the old man smile. “You’re kiddin’, right?”

  “No, I’m not kidding. You can look it up yourself.”

  “How do you know all this stuff?”

  “I spend a lot of time studying and praying, that sort of thing,” offered the preacher. “Thomas is the patron saint of architects. He was also called Didymus, which is Greek for twin. Are you a twin?”

  “Nope, just me.”

  “Hmmm, that’s odd,” Preach said. “Perhaps your parents thought you’d build or design something when you grew up.”

  “So I’m a doubter and an architect, and I’m supposed to have a twin?” Thomas said. “Well, I doubt if I’ll ever be an architect. And I sure as hell don’t have a twin. Does that count?”

  “I don’t think so, but it’s food for thought.”

  “Architects! What kind’a foolishness is that?”

  “I think it has more to do with Thomas’s ability to build churches and to organize people,” Preach answered. “According to tradition, after the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ, the apostles separated and scattered out into their individual ministries. Thomas left Jerusalem and preached in Asia in Parthia and that part of the world.”

  Preach glanced across the RV at Thomas to see if the boy was paying attention. “Even today he’s highly honored in India.”

  “Do tell?”

  “He ended up in India at a place called Calamine where he was killed by a lance. He’s buried at a place called Edessa,” Preach said. “I’ve been there. I went with a church group on a mission’s trip last year. Barbaric place. Dirty. You wouldn’t believe it. I even brought back a special souvenir–a lance just like the one used to kill Saint Thomas.”

  “Calamine? Like the lotion for poison ivy?” Thomas asked.

  “I suppose so.” Preach laughed. “But I don’t think a little pink liquid would help a stab wound, do you?”

  “No, I suppose not,” Thomas answered. Preach watched the drifter. He’d kicked off his shoes and stretched his legs out in front of him. This kid is perfect. And I have everything I need stored down below for when the time is right.

  “If you don’t mind me askin’,” Preach said, “what’s in California?”

  “A new-age colony that I read about,” Thomas answered without looking at the preacher. “You know, self-enlightenment, self-awareness; that sort of thing.”

  “Man’s search for his own soul,” Preach said matter-of-factly. “Scented candles, holistic healing stones, beads, love, peace, long-haired and skin-headed do-your-own-thing yuppies sitting around in a circle-jerk chanting a mantra to Vishnu or some other false pagan god?”

  Thomas laughed. “I guess so. Besides, maybe I can get some sun. It’s too damn dreary in Boston.”

  Preach nodded. What was it about young people nowadays? Why can’t they find satisfaction without going thousands of miles looking for it? “So I suppose the reason you’re walking is because your mom and dad wouldn’t foot the bill for a plane ticket,” Preach laughed.

  “You got it.”

  “And they said you should go back to college, finish your degree, and get a real job.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “Because I said the same thing to my son,” Preach answered, with a knowing grin.

  “Did he?”

  “Did he what?”

  “Did he go back to school and get a real job?”

 
“I don’t know about the real job part, but he finished school and went on to seminary. He pastors a growing, progressive evangelistic church in Denver.”

  “Like father like son, huh?”

  Preach laughed. “Yeah, I guess so. I assisted him for a while after I retired but I don’t like being cooped up in one place for too long.”

  “You raised a family on the road?” Thomas asked.

  “Oh no. I settled down for a long time. My wife and I were married for over forty years before the Lord took her to glory. Me and my Sarah built and pastored three churches in different parts of the country. It was a good life.”

  “So why?”

  “Why did I leave it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “There’s just things I want to do; things that I need to do that aren’t possible if I stay in one place.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Camp out in an Arizona desert for weeks at a time. Watch the foliage change in New England in the fall when the weather turns crisp, then drive down to the Florida Keys and lay in the hot sun on a beautiful beach. That sort’a thing.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “It is.”

  “Preaching must pay pretty good if you’re able to do all that.”

  “I have a small pension and my social security,” Preach said. “When my wife died, I couldn’t stand to live in that house alone so I sold out and bought this rig. I actually bought it not too far from here.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, my son knows a pastor in Tulsa that traded up to a big Fleetwood Pace Arrow diesel pusher. When he told my son what he’d done, he called and told me about this unit, so I flew down to Tulsa and met with the pastor. He drove me out to Sapulpa, a little town southwest of Tulsa, to an RV dealer just off of Highway 75. Place called Wade’s RV Clinic. They made me a good deal for cash.”

  “Guess it pays to have friends in high places.”

  “Yeah. Churches give me love offerings when I preach for them, and most of them have RV hookups. It’s not a lot but I don’t require much.”

  A ray of sunlight broke through the clouds and bathed the RV in a shower of golden mist. “See what I mean?” the preacher said. “Oklahoma weather can change at a moment’s notice.”

  “Yeah, and any minute now we’ll probably see palm trees and hula girls,” Thomas added.

  “You just never know when your life is gonna change,” Preach said. “One minute you’re eating a vending machine breakfast at an Oklahoma rest area, and the next you’re on your way to California.”

  “I sure appreciate this ride, Preach,” Thomas said sincerely. “It’s a real life saver.”

  Preach smiled at the boy. He had no idea the turn of events that would soon befall him or the sacrifice he would be required to make. “It’s almost 5 p.m., so we’ll stop and get a bite to eat soon.”

  “Oh, I can’t afford...”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Preach interrupted. “I’ve got plenty of food in the cupboard. The last church I was at had a food bank. They loaded me up with more groceries than I’ll eat in a year.”

  Thomas laughed.

  “There’s a rest area just inside the Oklahoma border before we get to Texas. We’ll stop and fix some chicken salad sandwiches and rest for a spell.”

  “You don’t have to stop for me,” Thomas said. “I’m good to go.”

  “I appreciate that but I’m not stopping for you,” Preach answered. “I can only drive for so long before I need to rest. This is an easy rig to handle but it wears on me after a while. This old arm gets stiff from holding the wheel.”

  Thomas looked again at the preacher’s arm. “Traffic accident?”

  “Traffic accident?” the preacher repeated.

  “Your arm,” Thomas pointed. “You get that in a traffic accident?”

  Preach lifted his right arm and examined his clawed hand. “Hunting accident.”

  “Hunting?”

  “When I was a kid,” Preach answered. “Me and my brother were hunting rabbits and squirrels back home in Tennessee when we come to a barbed wire fence. My brother, Carl, leaned his 410 shotgun against the fence so I could hold the wire for him to go through. When I lifted the wire, a barb caught the trigger and the gun went off.”

  “Damn!”

  “The bird shot caught me just above my wrist and traveled up the inside of my arm, tearing out the tendons and leaving me with this pirate hook.” The preacher held up his arm and showed the scarred inside of his arm to Thomas. “Keeps me humble.”

  Thomas sat back in the comfortable seat of the RV. He really didn’t believe in God or the goodness of man, but maybe, just maybe this old preacher might prove him wrong.

  Preach marveled again at how this young man had fallen into his hands. Providence was looking out for him on this mission of apostolic conquest. If all went well, he’d be able to finish the next part of his plan within the next day or two and make it to his son’s home in Denver in time for his granddaughter’s sixteenth birthday party. Here riding along in his RV was just the perfect person—Thomas, a doubter. And his last name was Waverly. How could it be any better? Surely God is guiding my steps.

  * * *

  At 6 p.m. Preach and Thomas sat at the small pullout table in the motorhome eating a stack of chicken salad sandwiches that Preach had prepared. A large pitcher of iced tea took up the center of the small table.

  “We’ll layover here tonight,” Preach said. “I’m too tired to push on any further.”

  Thomas looked around the RV but didn’t see another sleeping area. He reasoned that he could unroll his sleeping bag on the floor and stretch out there.

  “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. I’m sure you can catch a ride with one of the truckers if you’re in a hurry.”

  Thomas watched the old man eat his sandwich and polish off a large glass of iced tea. “No sir,” he answered. “I’ll stay the night and see how far we get tomorrow. I suppose I can sleep here on the floor.”

  “If you’ll give that handle on front of that couch over there a pull, you’ll see that it makes out into a very comfortable air bed. The switch for the pump is on the wall right by that power outlet.” Preach pointed at a handle on front of the couch that Thomas hadn’t noticed, and he also spotted the power switch that Preach had pointed to.

  Preach checked his watch and saw that it was already past 6:30 p.m. “My, oh my, would you look at the time?”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I just usually spend this hour in prayer and meditation before I study the word and get ready for my next sermon.”

  “You preaching somewhere tomorrow?”

  “You never know when and where the next opportunity to share God’s word will present itself,” Preach answered. “I mean, look at us today. You had no idea the significance of your name, and I had no idea that I’d have the opportunity to teach an impromptu Bible study. If I hadn’t studied it somewhere along the line, we’d have both missed out on a blessing.”

  Preach placed his dirty plate and glass in the sink. “Let’s not worry about the dishes tonight,” he said. “Just put your dishes in the sink. We’ll do ‘em in the morning with our breakfast dishes.”

  “Okay.”

  “And when you’re ready to go to bed, you’ll find clean sheets, a blanket, and a pillow in the overhead compartment over the couch.”

  “Preach?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what, son?”

  “Why are you being so kind to me? You don’t even know me.”

  “You just looked like someone who needed a helping hand, that’s all,” Preach answered. “It’s all part of God’s grand design.”

  “Oh. I just thought maybe...”

  “Maybe what? That I was some old pervert that goes around picking up young men in my fancy RV then have my way with them at night?”

  Thomas looked down a
t his feet, ashamed of the thoughts he’d had about this kind man. “Well, to tell you the truth...”

  “Not me son,” Preach assured him. “Homosexuality is an abomination in the eyes and nostrils of Almighty God. Hell will burn hot with the souls of people that desecrate their bodies with the effeminate perversions of unnatural lusts.” Preach realized that he was probably scaring the boy. “Sorry, son. That’s a whole other sermon for an entirely different type of church.” He smiled at the boy.

  Thomas only nodded his head. “Yes sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” Preach assured him. “We’ll get an early start tomorrow and see if we can get to Albuquerque by nightfall.”

  “Sounds good to me, Preach. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, son,” the old preacher said before turning toward the back of the RV where he had a separate room set up for his evening devotionals, and where he slept in the bed he assumed he would eventually die in.

  * * *

  The next morning, Thomas was awakened by the motion of the motorhome as it rocked along on the Interstate. Thomas opened his eyes and looked out the side window at the dark clouds still covering the sky. He tried to sit up on the side of the pullout couch but couldn’t. He felt light-headed and woozy. He realized that he was being held down by ratchet straps that had somehow been tightened down over his legs, abdomen, and chest sometime during the night. His hands were secured with wrist straps connected to metal rings on the floorboard.

  “What the hell!” Thomas yelled. “Preach! What the hell is going on?”

  Preach looked around from the driver’s seat, a big smile on his face. “Good morning, Thomas,” he said. “I see you finally decided to wake up.”

  “What the...”

  “You must’ve stayed up pretty late last night.”

  “Preach? What’s going on here? What’s this all about?”

  “Just all part of God’s grand design, son,” Preach answered. “We all have a purpose in the great scheme of things and this is yours.”

  “You’re a crazy old shit!” Thomas screamed. “Let me up off this damn bed!”

  “Now, now. You just calm down. There’s no need for that kind’a language.”