by Bill Myers
“Brandon …” Sarah interrupted.
He looked at her.
“I think we’ve had enough Bible quoting for one night.” At last she turned to him. “Don’t you?”
The fatigue and pain he saw made him wince. She’d been through even more than he had originally thought. But there was something else in her. A hurt. A betrayal.
He desperately wanted to comfort her, to somehow take away the pain, but —
“Oh, great,” Tanya sighed.
He turned to her. “What?”
She motioned to the double glass doors just outside the lobby. “It’s the press.”
Brandon turned to see the sizable crowd that had gathered. “What are they here for?”
She gave him a look. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“What do we do?” Sarah asked in apprehension.
“There’s nothing we can do,” Tanya said. “The car and driver are parked in front. When we get out there, don’t talk to anyone, don’t acknowledge their questions, just head straight for the car’s rear door. I’ll take the lead and break them up, but you’ve got to stay right behind me. Just keep pushing and don’t lose your momentum, or you’ll never get through.”
“There has to …” Sarah slowed to a stop. They were in the lobby now, near the first set of doors. “There has to be another way out of here.”
Tanya shook her head. “Better get used to it, girl.” She reached for the first door and called over her shoulder. “This won’t be the last.”
They stepped through the first set of doors and crossed the five feet of space toward the outer ones. That’s when the crowd spotted them and came to life. “They’re here!” Lights blazed on as cameramen and reporters jockeyed for position. Tanya reached for the outer door and hesitated. Brandon kept Sarah between them, hoping somehow to protect her. After turning and giving them a nod, Tanya pushed open the door, and the assault began.
“Brandon, is it true that —”
“Do you really think you’re some sort of —”
“How long has this rivalry between you and Tyler been —”
Everywhere Brandon looked lights glared, cameras jostled, and eager faces and microphones pressed in.
“Come on, guys!” Tanya was shouting. “Let us through! Come on! Come on, now!”
“How soon before you believe the world will come to an —”
“Is it true that you can call down God’s judgment any time you —”
“Do you really believe God hates all —”
As they started down the steps Brandon caught a glimpse of the car below.
“Sarah, how long has he had these powers?”
“Is it true, you’ve only been married —”
And then he felt it, a shattering egg. It caught his left shoulder and splattered onto his face. He looked up. It came from across the street where at least a dozen other people had gathered. But not reporters. These were hecklers. Some hurled insults, others made obscene gestures. Then, of course, there were the eggs. Another one splattered, this time across Sarah’s arm. She gave a startled cry as reporters ducked for cover. Others took advantage and pushed in harder. At last Tanya had the back door to the car open.
“Tell us about the next judgment!”
“Sarah, about that scar? Was that something Brandon did? Another one of God’s —”
Sarah ducked in, scooting across the seat. Brandon followed.
Tanya slammed their door and opened the front. Reporters swarmed on all sides, shouting, lights blazing. There were more thumps as eggs hit the windows and roof.
“Let’s go!” Tanya shouted to the driver. “Let’s go, let’s go!”
The car lurched forward, fast enough to make it clear they meant business, slow enough not to run over anyone.
A moment later the chaos was behind them. Brandon looked back as a final egg caught the rear trunk and splattered up to the window.
“Well,” Tanya called from the front seat, “that wasn’t too bad. ’Course the hotel might be a little worse.”
Sarah’s eyes shot to her. “Hotel?”
“Oh, yeah. Then of course there’s the airport.”
Brandon looked at Tanya, dumbfounded. “Why?”
“It was the broadcast event of the year, kids. You claimed on national TV that God was judging the world. And your little special effects with Tyler’s voice and that blood trick gave them proof of your credentials. Pretty slick move, buddy boy, pretty slick.”
Brandon’s head was reeling. “I don’t … understand.”
“In ten minutes you succeeded in achieving everything Jimmy Tyler had spent a lifetime trying to do.”
“I’m sorry, I still don’t —”
“In ten minutes you became the focal point, the representative of God for the entire nation. Not bad for a night’s work.”
Brandon frowned.
“Of course, He’s not exactly the God most of us want to believe in. But when it comes to representing a judgmental tyrant, someone we can blame all of our troubles on, hey, you two win the prize, hands down.”
The first-class flight was as luxurious coming home as it had been when they’d headed out. But Brandon barely noticed. All he heard was the dull roar of the 757 and the deafening silence of Sarah sitting beside him. In the last twenty-four hours neither of them had slept. They couldn’t. Sarah was pretending to now, but Brandon knew better. It was simply another excuse not to talk.
His actions had erected an impenetrable wall between them. Something he’d have guessed would have been impossible two days earlier. But now … not only had he embarrassed and humiliated his wife, branding them both as lunatics, it was likely that he’d also managed to destroy any reputation the clinic had gained. Why had he been so impulsive? What had he hoped to accomplish? And most importantly, why hadn’t he given more thought to what it would do to Sarah?
Pride. That’s what it was. Plain and simple. Pride that he was somehow holier than Tyler. Pride that he was the only one with the answers. Pride that his interpretation of Scripture was the only one that counted.
But there was an even greater weight pressing down upon Brandon. The words he’d heard in the hospital. About Sarah. About her leaving. They’d never gone away, they’d always remained nagging in the back of his mind. He’d hoped he could stop them — by being the perfect husband, by doing whatever she wanted, by doing whatever God wanted. But nothing had worked. Everything had been in vain. Like riding a runaway train, there seemed nothing he could do to stop the inevitable.
He looked back over at her. Her eyes were open now as she leaned against the window, staring down at the passing farmland. How he wanted to ease the pain, but it was too late.
He looked down at her hand and saw the wedding band sparkle in the sun. He reached out and took her hand into his. She didn’t resist. He raised her fingers to his lips, gave them a kiss, then leaned his cheek against them. She still did not respond. He set her hand down onto his own lap and held it. He saw her chest swell as she took a deep breath. And then, without looking at him, she spoke.
“I think, I think I should go.” Her voice was dull and lifeless as she stared out the window.
The back of Brandon’s throat ached. “I understand.”
“To Nepal, I mean.”
“I know.”
“It won’t be forever. Just a few weeks.” She paused a moment, then continued. “It will give me a chance to work with the Cartel. It will be good for the clinic. It will also help us sort things out.”
By now the tightness in his throat was so unbearable he could only nod.
They said nothing more. Brandon closed his eyes. He sat for a long time, thinking his heart would burst. But there was still hope. It’s not like she would be gone forever. They were still married, they were still a team. And then, remembering he still held her hand, he gave it two little squeezes … their private form of communication.
But instead of responding, Sarah shifted in her seat, gently slip
ped her hand from his, and continued staring out the window.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 8
LOOK, SAVE ME THE brain chemistry lectures,” Katherine said, “I’ve heard them all before. Low serotonin, high noradrenaline, whacked-out neurotransmitters. And the drugs they’ve pumped him full of … Prozac, Clozapine, Amperozide, you name it, he’s been shot up with it. We even had one quack who wanted to change his diet to chips, cookies, and candy.”
Sarah nodded. “High carbohydrates have been known to increase serotonin levels which tends to induce passive behavior.”
“And the sugar tends to drive kids through the roof.”
Sarah smiled as she strolled with Katherine through the Cartel’s long glass and mahogany hallway. To her left was a wall of rich wood with dozens of doors leading to plush offices. To her right was a glass wall and ceiling with the Himalayas looming high above them, their white peaks jutting into a sapphire sky. Below them she could see the ancient three-story compound of stone and stucco where she’d just spent her first night in Nepal.
They walked together in silence for several moments. Sarah liked Katherine and found her candid, no-nonsense approach refreshing, despite the hard shell of defense she’d built around herself and her son. She’d arrived in Katmandu late yesterday afternoon. By the time she’d finished the three-hour, bone-jarring ride up into the mountains, it was too dark to see anything. Thanks to jet lag and all of the excitement, she had not drifted off to sleep until it was nearly dawn. And now, two hours later, Katherine was giving her the grand tour of the Cartel’s facility.
“And you believe that stuff?” Katherine asked, finally resuming the conversation. “That we’re slaves to whatever chemical happens to be passing through our brains?”
Sarah chose her words carefully. “I believe we are a finely tuned instrument. If just one neurotransmitter alone is off by, say, five percent, it can wreak havoc on the entire nervous system.”
“But we’re more than just chemistry sets,” Katherine argued. “I mean, when Michael Coleman, that fellow who was first infected with the DNA, when he had his problems, he was able to overcome them. It was hard, but he did it.”
“How?”
Katherine ran her hand through her short-cropped hair. “You don’t think I’ve asked myself that a million times?”
“And?”
“Michael Coleman was an incredible man.”
“That was it?”
Katherine glanced at the floor, frowning.
Sarah knew there was more. “What?”
“Toward the end, when things really got tough, he claimed to have found some sort of faith.”
“In?”
“He said it was Christianity. He said his faith in God gave him the power to overcome the evil inside him.”
“But you don’t buy it.”
Katherine’s eyes flashed to hers. “My father was a preacher, Dr. Martus. I’ve seen more than my share of wasted faith and unanswered prayers.”
Sarah held her look and then slowly nodded — not because she agreed, but because she understood. It had been two weeks since the Jimmy Tyler broadcast, and things had gotten no better. Well, except for their notoriety. The mail was voluminous, most of it negative. So were the phone calls and visits by reporters. But none of these were as difficult as the attacks on the clinic. Nothing dangerous, just threats, occasional vandalism, and a handful of picketers. Still, that was their life’s work, their very service to God. And by the looks of things, God wasn’t too awfully interested in accepting that service.
The good-byes had been harder than she’d expected. It was the first time she and Brandon had been apart since they’d fallen in love. And, although he said he agreed that the brief separation would do them and the clinic some good, she knew he didn’t believe it for a second.
Unfortunately, she did.
In the forty-eight hours since she’d left O’Hare International Airport she was already feeling a heaviness lifting. Granted, there was still more than enough guilt to go around, but that suffocating frustration, that confusion and resentment which had been building in her for so long, was already loosening its grip. Maybe it was just the exotic location, or the anticipation of working with the Cartel; she wasn’t sure. But the sense of freedom both excited her and made her sad.
“So what do you think?” Katherine’s voice brought her back to the moment.
“I’m sorry?”
“About faith.”
Again she was careful with her answer. “I think faith is the catalyst … but not the cure.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I agree with you, that we’re more than just chemicals. It’s been my experience that there’s another level to us, something residing within these … ‘chemistry sets.’ ”
“You mean our spirit,” Katherine said.
Sarah glanced at her with a smile. “As a Christian I would agree, but the scientist part of me might feel a little better if we were to describe it as ‘some form of energy.’ ”
“Now you sound like a Star Wars movie.”
Sarah shook her head. “What I’m talking about is more personal than that. It seems to have a distinct personality. In the labs, to a certain degree, we’ve been able to catch glimpses of it. No, let me rephrase that. We’ve been able to catch glimpses of its effects. We’ve been able to see how it can affect the chemistry of our bodies.”
Katherine gave her a dubious look.
Sarah continued. “But only if we let it. If not, our bodies can reverse the effect and actually have influence over it instead. It’s hard to explain, but when that ‘energy’ intersects with our chemicals, a hybrid is formed, a unique and very special blend of chemical and spirit, a personality if you will. And that personality can choose to let the ‘spirit’ override the influence of our chemicals, or it can choose to let the chemicals override the ‘spirit.’ ”
“My dad would have called that personality a soul.”
“So would most people of religion. But regardless of the name, it seems to have an ability to make that choice … to follow the chemical part of its composition, or to follow the spirit part. And it’s that choosing, whether to follow the chemical or the spirit, that I would call ‘faith.’ ”
“So basically you’re saying what Coleman said. It was his faith that saved him.”
“Yes and no. I’m saying Coleman’s faith acted as a catalyst, allowing the spirit to come in and do its work on his chemicals.”
Katherine gave a wry smile. “Sounds like you’ve done a pretty good job of mixing science and faith.”
“I don’t see any difference between the two. It just takes a little longer for science to get around to proving what we people of faith already accept. I don’t believe God performs miracles; I believe God performs ‘naturals’ that we just haven’t understood yet. God performed a ‘natural’ in Coleman’s brain by readjusting the chemicals … but only as Coleman gave Him permission through faith. God performs ‘naturals’ when people at our clinic are healed … somehow He readjusts their bodies. God performed ‘naturals’ when He raised Jesus Christ from the dead. What makes it a miracle is that He applied His created laws of chemistry and physics in a manner we simply haven’t understood yet.”
“But what if we don’t have the faith to have faith?” Katherine asked. Sarah couldn’t be sure, but it almost seemed like Katherine was enjoying the conversation. “Remember that guy in the Bible asking Jesus to help his unbelief?”
Sarah nodded. “I think that brings us back to that Personality, to that Love. Maybe it’s that Love that stacks the deck, that gives us the faith to have faith.”
Katherine quoted, “‘The Author and Perfecter of our faith.’ Another one of God’s jobs.”
“Exactly. But it doesn’t negate the fact that faith is a freewill decision on our part, that we still have to be willing to receive that faith.”
Katherine sighed heavily. “So you’ve taken us right back to having to believe
in a loving and compassionate God.”
“Why’s that so hard for you?” Sarah asked.
Katherine hesitated, then answered quietly, “I’ve been on the receiving end of that ‘love’ one too many times, Doctor. The death of my father, the murder of my husband, the killing of Coleman.” She turned to look out a passing window, starting to lose herself in thought. “Coleman, though … I have to admit, he almost had me convinced.” Then she was back, turning to Sarah. “Until I saw what this God of love let them do to my baby, and what He’s continuing to do to our lives.”
“And that’s your proof that a compassionate Deity doesn’t exist?”
“Words are cheap, Dr. Martus. Truth lies in what we do, not what we say. If there is a God out there, and if He really does love us, He’s sure not going out of his way to prove it.”
Before Sarah could respond, an office door opened a few yards ahead of them. A woman secretary stepped out into the hallway, followed by Lucas Ponte. For the briefest moment Sarah forgot to breathe. He was even more imposing in person than on the videophone. Over six feet tall, broad shoulders, neatly trimmed beard.
“Lucas,” Katherine called.
He looked up at Katherine, then over to Sarah. His grin was instant and made her just the slightest bit unsteady. “Dr. Weintraub. It is so good to see you.” He handed his papers back to the secretary and strode quickly over to offer his hand.
Barely noticing the use of her maiden name, Sarah took his hand and they shook. His grip was firm, yet gentle. “Good morning, sir,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
His grin broadened. “I assure you, Doctor, the pleasure is mine.” And then, just before he could be accused of flirting, he motioned to Katherine. “It is for all of us, am I right, Katherine?”
Katherine smiled, but there was no mistaking the effort it involved. “Whatever you say, Lucas. You’re the boss.”
“Really.” He chuckled. “So why haven’t I ever been informed of this fact before?” Smiling at his joke, he turned back to Sarah. “Did you have a pleasant flight?”
“Yes, thank you.” She tugged at the hair over her scar.
