But as the angel, unspeaking, took his station on the right side of McEver's soul, Nepravel slid silently up on the left. Nepravel loved this moment. Because of the blinding light, it was usually the smell which the eternal soul first noticed about him. Now it was a real smell, no longer separated by the slight gulf between the physical and the spiritual. The stench of putrid death was overwhelming, and McEver's spirit, like countless before him, involuntarily turned to discover its source. There! This was the one moment when Nepravel was glad for the bright light. He knew that it must have made his hideous, smoldering form all the more grotesque to the just-released soul, which had until recently lived in McEver's mortal body. Nepravel smiled his practiced smile, revealing the fire in his face, as if to say, “You're mine now.” McEver recoiled in revulsion and in terror.
Only a few seconds before had McEver actually realized that his body was dead, but that his spirit was still living. And somehow he also knew, with his body gone, that he would now live forever. Forever. The light had been so bright and powerfully peaceful. But now this, this evil blob of dark, as powerfully dark as the other was light. Instantly a freezing fear surged through his soul: if this thing was part of his future, he wanted no part of it. Surely there had to be a mistake. Whom could he tell?
He turned back toward the light from the angel, to try to ask why this evil monster was with them. After all, he had been as good as anyone else. He hadn't murdered anyone; everyone said he was a good guy. But before he could point these things out to the light, they were already moving, the three of them, away from his home of ten years, away from his wife, away from his children, from his new car, from his business deals, and from everything else he had known. They were headed together to the judgment seat, where the holy Lord of Lords waited to review McEver's entire life, his every act, and all of his thoughts. He was naked. What would he say to God Almighty? Would “as good as everyone else” be good enough? He had believed the voices that had said so. But what would God Himself expect? Somehow McEver knew their destination and that his place in eternity was about to be proclaimed. His soul suddenly began to weep and to wail. But Nepravel continued to smile.
* * *
The contract rewrite had taken much longer than Richard had imagined possible, but finally he had finished and was pulling into their driveway. He hoped the one light on in the living room meant that Janet was already asleep. What a day!
Just as he turned in, he noticed the red flashing lights of the ambulance stopped several houses away, near the McEvers’. He made a mental note to check in the morning; he hoped that everything was OK with Hugh and his family.
Richard put on his pajamas in the bathroom, hoping not to wake Janet. As he came out and the light from above the sink fell across her sleeping face, his stomach turned with an involuntary reaction to what he was doing to her and to his family. A small voice pleaded with him to stop his affair with Kristen, to talk to Janet, to love her, to spend real time with Susan and Tommy. For just that one moment, he froze with the enormity of his betrayals. He opened his mouth, as if he might speak out loud, his mind confused.
But then the other voices kicked in. “You're tired—you've had a very difficult day. It will be all right tomorrow. You haven't done anything that everybody else isn't doing. And look at the house, the car, and the education you're providing. Take it easy on yourself. You deserve a little on the side. It's not really hurting anyone. Janet seems the same. You'll spend more time with the kids, but this weekend you've got to make that meeting in Atlanta. Next weekend will be better.”
And with those half truths and outright lies, the voices inside Richard Sullivan once again overcame the one honest whisper from the real truth. The real truth could not grow in Richard, because the other voices were not checked or silenced, and like weeds, they choked out the Word.
As Richard slipped silently into their bed, careful not to touch Janet, his mind was almost back at peace, completely fooled by the lies which he constantly and unconsciously told himself. Even before he turned out the last light in their home that night, it was already almost completely dark there, as seen by the red eyes of those who hovered and smiled.
2
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 19 – With the morning came the familiar routine that smoothed the peaks and valleys of the emotions from the evening before. It also brought the possibility of a new beginning, combined with the necessity to get ready for school and for work. Like families everywhere, the Sullivans began this day with an unspoken willingness to look to the future and to temporarily, at least, forget the unpleasant past.
As Janet returned to their bedroom with two cups of coffee, Richard sat up in bed. “I'm really sorry I was so late and missed the game. Bruce's contract had to be completely rewritten. How did Tommy do?”
“OK. He made a great catch, but then threw the ball away. He never did play in the infield.” If Richard had been home the previous evening, she would have said much more; but now they were all in their usual morning rush, and Janet just wasn't up to a battle. It occurred to her that they had many other issues to discuss, but later. Then the telephone rang.
“Oh, my heavens,” she exhaled. Covering the mouthpiece, she said to Richard, “It's Nancy Bryant. She just got a call that Hugh McEver died last night of a stroke!”
Richard was shocked and told Janet about the ambulance. He thought for a moment about Hugh, who was a friendly competitor with another law firm. What a shame.
“He was four years younger than you,” Janet said, hanging up the phone. “I think Betty has some family here in town. Nancy is going to call me later at work to let me know what we can do for them. Those three sweet young children!”
The death of their neighbor filled what passed for discussion at family “breakfast.” More correctly it was a loose twenty minutes when the four Sullivans passed each other in the kitchen and breakfast room, each fixing and eating some sort of prepackaged morning food. Richard did ask Tommy about the game and told him that he hoped they could hit some balls together next weekend following his business trip. Tommy said something in reply that only another teenager could perhaps have understood. Richard surmised that it was a short sentence, but it sounded like a grunt.
He was about to ask for a repeat when Susan walked in with her books and told him she had enjoyed a short date with Drew Davidson after the game. As the two of them began talking together, Tommy withdrew to get his school work.
“Isn't it awful about Hugh?” Bruce McKinney asked, as he and his partner, David Smith, entered Richard's conference room that morning.
“He and I talked together on Saturday afternoon. He was out working in their yard, and I had just finished jogging. I guess you never know.”
Each man gave a respectful shrug or glance at the floor. Death was just not something anyone lingered on. Better to avoid the thought and get on with business—something each one could understand.
“Parts of this contract look like they were written for another deal,” Richard began after they were seated. “I had to rewrite several sections to match what you've told me. Are you sure you and Patrick Tomlinson had a meeting of the minds on his investment in your company?”
“Of course,” Bruce replied. “I bet it's all just his lawyer, Marty Tsongas, trying to earn his keep. Give us some examples.”
“Well, the closing can't take place until his father's estate is settled. Frankly, that could still take months. His father was very wealthy and has a complicated estate, as you know from your work with him. And then it's further contingent on the price of Fairchild Textile stock being at twenty or better for the week before the closing. Did you agree to that? And they want your personal guarantees on the accounts payable disclosure schedule.”
David and Bruce looked at each other. David spoke. “Those are specific points we had not discussed in detail, but Tomlinson did mention in general that the money had to come from his father's estate. I guess that's just his attorney's way of protecting him.”
“I wish we could close much sooner, like tomorrow,” Bruce added. “We really need his capital, Richard, and Patrick Tomlinson is the only investor we've found who will put up all the money we need for expansion and still let David and me continue to run the company as we think best. It's a deal made in heaven for us. I guess we'll just have to work with the conditions. Fairchild Textile is at thirty-six now, and hasn't been below twenty in years, so I'm not worried there. And David and I will just have to guarantee whatever he wants. But can't you push them on the closing date? We really need his money.”
“I'll try, but if the money is coming from the estate, and he won't borrow it, then I'm afraid we're all at the mercy of the estate process.”
After another twenty minutes of discussing the details, Richard promised that he would call Tomlinson's attorney and do the best he could to win some concessions, without killing the deal.
As they rose to leave, Bruce asked, “Have you and Janet been up to Tom and Nancy Bryant's new mountain house yet?”
Richard had heard that their mutual neighbor's new home was well done, but they had been busy the month before when Tom had invited them up. “No, not yet. How is it?”
“Spectacular. Really nice. I don't know how Tom does it with real estate development the way it is today. Those of us in securities are just scraping by. But if we can close this deal, Richard, maybe David and I can also do something big for our families. Maybe Diane and I can get a beach house for the whole neighborhood to enjoy!”
“I hope so,” said Richard. Incredibly, as he smiled to himself, what popped into his mind was a vision of Kristen, sprawled seductively on the deck of Bruce's new imaginary beach home. “I sure hope so,” he repeated with a visible grin.
“Please, Susan,” Amy Bryant asked, as they walked to their lockers between classes, “Billy asked me to go out Saturday night, to a party at his fraternity house. He has a friend who he says is a cute guy for you to go with. My parents want to spend the weekend at our new mountain house, but I'd rather stay here and go out with Billy. They'll let me stay with you, if you invite me, and we can meet Billy and his friend at the restaurant. We'll be home on time. You'll love the party. No one will ever have to know.”
“Well, my folks don't want me dating college boys yet, and I've never really lied to them before on something like this.”
“You don't have to lie. We'll just tell them we're going out for dinner. We don't have to tell them that there will be a little detour from the parking lot!” Amy smiled. “And besides, we're almost seniors now. We drive ourselves. What right do our parents have to tell us we can't date college guys? They're just guys. Believe me, you'll really have a great time.”
Susan thought for a minute about her parents and their icy relationship, which seemed to be falling apart. “What do they really know about dating and kids these days?” a voice asked her, echoing Amy's logic. “Why should you suffer because they can't agree on anything?” the voice added in righteous indignation.
“OK,” Susan agreed, to Amy's delight. “But let's keep it under control and be in on time. I don't want a hassle. Tonight I'll ask my mom if you can spend the weekend with us. And let's not tell Bobbie. She won't understand.”
“I know you probably think I'm crazy,” Tom said, after he and Janet had ordered sandwiches at the cafe around the corner from the television station. “But I've been at this for more than twenty years. A lot has changed. It's not the way it used to be, I know. But this ‘911 Live’ is just too much. Have you seen the promos? Do you know they're already outfitting several ambulances and police cars here in our city for a test run this spring, before the show starts in the fall? Can you imagine what might wind up in people's living rooms at 7:30?”
Janet had known Tom Spence for almost five years; she respected his professionalism as the head of their promotion department. His job was to promote the station, to increase their ratings, and thereby to increase their advertising income. She had begun her career at the station as his assistant. He had been her early mentor, but now the student had equalled the teacher. The fact that he was opposed to this new show was particularly troubling to Janet because she knew in fact that he was not crazy. His opposition virtually demanded her attention.
“Tom, I don't know as much about it as you do, but I must say that what I've seen so far does trouble me. Are they not going to have any controls at all on what is televised?”
“Not according to Network, and I've called the people who should know. They're just going to let it all happen, in the name of realism and ‘true life in the city’.”
“What about the FCC? Aren't there some standards?”
Tom laughed, as the waitress brought their iced teas. “Are you kidding? There used to be. This show would have been impossible just a few years ago. But the American Civil Freedoms League brought all those lawsuits, and the networks and cable stations have been competing with each other to push beyond the old standards. The result is that there aren't any standards at all any more. If you'll excuse a quote from the Bible, Janet, it says at the end of Judges, ‘In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in his own eyes.’ That seems to be about where we are today.”
The quotation reminded Janet of the other thing about Tom: she knew that he was a Christian. Despite herself, a voice warned her that she should watch out; he probably had some hidden religious agenda.
“It does seem like Network may be going too far with this one. I certainly would not want my kids, much less younger children, seeing firsthand, live and in color, the worst scenes of what happens in our city. Without any editing or masking or explanation. But what do you expect to do about it?” They paused while their sandwiches arrived.
“I asked you to lunch because you obviously have Bill Shaw's ear and his confidence. A group of us feel so strongly that, if something doesn't change, we may threaten to quit if our station carries this show. It would be better if it could be stopped at Network, by opposition from enough local stations. But if that's not possible, at least we can stand up here for what's right. We would like you to join us—or at least be helpful and run interference for us with Bill.”
“Good grief, Tom. You're willing to lose your job over this one show, in a sea of other shows which are almost as bad? What about Sandy and your two girls? You know jobs are not easy to come by now.”
“I know. It's tough. A group of us are praying.” Janet raised her eyebrows. “Sandy is praying too. She feels just as strongly as we do. I don't know what will happen. But I do know that this show is not right, and someone has to try to stop it. I guess we feel that if it is not us at this station, then who will it be?”
“Well, I doubt I'll be praying,” Janet smiled, and a voice laughed quietly within her at her little put-down. “But I do agree that this show, if it's as you say, seems to be going too far. I tell you what I'll do: you get me the details that you have from Network on the format. I'll read it over and discuss it again with you. If I still agree that the show is lousy, then I'll set up a meeting for your group with Bill, and I'll attend and add my voice. But I don't plan to risk my job over this show or over any other show.”
“Fair enough,” said Tom. “We appreciate whatever help you can give us. I'll make you a copy of the information right after we get back.”
“Can you come over and spend the night on Saturday?” Brent asked Tommy as school was letting out. “You can come home with us after the game. We'll probably all go to the pizza place. My brother is having a friend over too. Maybe we'll get to see some of those movies!” With that he rolled his eyes and grinned.
“Sounds good to me. I'll check with Mom when I get home and call you. I think my dad is going somewhere this weekend, so she probably won't mind.”
“Mr. Sullivan, it's a gentleman named Robert Meredith on line three,” Mary, his secretary, announced on the intercom.
The name was familiar, but he could not place it. “OK,” he said, “I'll take it.”
“Fine,” Richard replied, but a voice was already screaming inside to watch out; he vaguely remembered something unpleasant.
“Remember a while back when we were at that parents’ meeting at school, and I mentioned that this spring we were going to have a men's prayer breakfast with Benjamin Fuller as the speaker? Well, it's coming up in two weeks. You said you'd like to hear Fuller, and I'd like to invite you as my guest. It's two weeks from Thursday at 7:30 at the Palace Hotel. Can you make it?”
Oh great, Richard thought, a prayer breakfast. Just what I need at 7:30 in the morning! A voice was telling him to make an excuse, but for some reason it had a little less volume than usual. Perhaps it was Hugh McEver's death last night; maybe that made him pause. But he was still about to say no, when he thought again about Benjamin Fuller. Richard had practiced corporate law for years, and Ben Fuller had been one of the premier merger and acquisition lawyers in the nation for two decades. Richard had always wanted to hear him. He finally decided that he could sit through whatever else happened at a prayer breakfast in order to see and hear Ben Fuller firsthand.
“Oh, sure, Robert. I remember. I guess I've never been to a prayer breakfast before, but I'd like to hear Benjamin Fuller. So count me in.”
“Great, Richard. I know you'll enjoy it. It will be in the Grand Ballroom at the Palace. I'll have them send you an invitation. See you there.” And they said goodbye.
Richard couldn't even remember what Robert Meredith did for a living. He would have to ask Susan, so he could carry on a civil conversation at that early hour. He wrote the meeting in his appointment book, wondering as he did what sort of businessman had enough spare time to invite other men to prayer breakfasts!
On the Edge Page 4
