The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy)

by T. S. Seley Elliott

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  When James arrived home that night, he was met by his sister at the door. She looked frazzled; her eyes were bloodshot, her hair looked like it had dried, uncombed, straight from the shower. But she was very alert and stared at him, hands on hips; her eyes were like laser beams.

  “Hi?” Although the large man was rarely at a loss for words, this was all he could conjure. He knew she had probably started her day with a hangover, but that had been hours before and he could safely assume by her appearance, that she had not left the penthouse. When he’d called mid-day to check on her, she’d said she was in the midst of internet research and was clearly preoccupied. She had only paused long enough to impart her displeasure about the lack of edible items in his home, complaining she needed real food to sustain her mental capacities while studying. Now, a quick glance around the room told him she’d solved that problem; a pizza box rested on his shiny glass coffee table, along with two two-liter cola bottles, one was empty.

  The implications of the delivery alarmed him and he swung a finger from the evidence to her, but before he could raise the question, she answered, never altering her concentrated gaze, “I left the money outside the door, Home Alone style, so I wouldn’t inadvertently drag the delivery guy in for a quick healing session.” She obviously had a train of thought going that wouldn’t change courses and, with him still standing in his entryway, she asked, “Do you have an ailment…a problem? A sin?”

  One of her eyebrows lifted with the last word, and she looked so absurd that he thought for a brief second that she might be having some fun at his expense. Just before he gave into the laughter, she asked, almost pathetically – obviously stretching her sensibilities in the name of discovery,

  “James, just tell me what you need fixed. One thing. Don’t care what it is.” Yes, she was pathetic. She was like Arthur Fonzerelli trying to say he’d been wrong; Johnnie was trying to wear something that simply didn’t fit.

  James, however, was painfully aware that she trod a path he’d personally set her on the night before. To show his support…or perhaps to avoid being a hypocrite, he bit his lip, accepting he needed to facilitate her research. He relaxed and walked across the room to inspect the remains in the pizza box. He thought as he moved.

  “Sis, I’ve worked hard to ‘fix’ myself-- my entire world and my business and depend on my faith in my ability to do just that.” He glanced over at her as he closed the greasy container, concealing the pile of discarded crust and chicken wing bones. She looked strained and disappointed that he wasn’t going to give her something to work with.

  Straightening, he turned to her and said earnestly, “There is one thing.” He was grasping at straws. She, however, lit up – ready to hear more.

  “Indigestion. Gas. It ails me. All the time. It rules my life.”

  Johnnie dropped her hands from her hips and tipped her head to one side to show her irritation at his mocking her. But then she realized her big confident brother was blushing ever so slightly as he produced a one dollar roll of Tums from the pocket of his multi-hundred dollar jacket. He winced in surrender; her mouth curled into a smile.

  “Okay.” She said, pointing to a spot between them where he assumed he was to stand. So he did. He felt a trickle of something nearly foreign to him these days; intimidation. He knew what she was capable of with no effort….so what would happen when she actually tried? Had it only taken one day for her to own up to a lifetime of mysterious power?

  Her “supernatural powers,” he would learn, should have been the least of his worries. Her speed and strength, however, proved quite powerful.

  She touched his arms with stern concentration, and when her initial “lying on of hands” had no discernible results, she’d cried, “I rebuke you in the name of the Lord!” Her grip dug into his arms and her eyes clenched tightly. After a long few seconds…she opened one eye to peer at him and he, frozen, looked at her regretfully. He shrugged slightly to indicate nothing had happened. She stood back and sternly pointed a finger at his stomach, bellowing,

  “I order you out! In the name of the Lord….or whoever!” Then she intently squinted upward, focusing on a spot over his eyes. He had seen his share of Benny Hinn faith healing videos and knew she meant to touch his forehead, at which time he would tumble down in the spell of the moment, healed by the Spirit.

  Realizing his sister could never reach higher than his shoulders, James knew what he had to do and swiftly leaned down. Unaware of her brother’s thoughts, however, Johnnie leapt up, hand jetting over her head in a projectile fashion. Their combined momentum closed the pace between them in an instant. Sensing their dilemma just a second too late, his evasive maneuver made his right eye the prime target for her “healing” hand; it slammed into his face and he saw stars, toppling backwards. Johnnie’s feet had left the ground just before the moment of impact and since her stationary target had given way, she went down with him.

  In less than four seconds they were in a pile on the floor; her head had barely missed the corner of the coffee table. Adding insult to injury, with her weight on top of him, his professed ailment proved to be alive and well; it sounded like they had landed on a jumbo whoopee cushion.

  “Whoa!” She yelped, with instant thoughts of Betsy in the truck cab. She rolled off of James and scuttled backward across the floor on her hands and feet, trying not to breathe.

  Once at a safe distance, she rolled over and plopped down, leaning on her chair from the night before. Her empire-of-a-brother looked completely un-composed, embarrassed and…well…discombobulated. After briefly hanging her head, she whipped it up and told him flatly, “You know, I knew that wouldn’t work. But I had to try.” She shrugged with a soundless “c’est la vie”-sprinkled-with-apology expression.

  Smarting, James threw his head back as he tried to focus. Finally, he closed the assaulted eye and looked at her with the other. Wanting to take some of the responsibility, he said, “Well, I should have been honest with you…the gas is from yesterday’s monster-dog at lunch. It’s not that big of a deal. My greatest ailment is my fear for you. Truly. It terrifies me.”

  The atmosphere had suddenly switched from absurd to profoundly serious. She was touched by his words, but also embarrassed. She didn’t want to discount his feelings...but it was too soon after her scene with Mary; she wasn’t ready to go down that road again.

  “Well, I must be honest with you…I think any gastric problem you have is your failure to eat actual real food in your own home. I got gas just walking in your pantry this morning…James. Wheat Germ smoothie mix? Really?”

  In an act of sheer love and compassion, she lifted one cheek and matched his previous expulsion. They both dissolved in laughter, as they scrambled for cleaner air.

  Wing sat in the study of the main lodge at Camp David. He stared at his computer, but his thoughts were far removed from the screen.

  He was at the Presidential retreat, not for relaxation, but to host the British Prime Minister, Richard Beresford. Wing had invited Beresford for a private retreat as soon as he’d heard about the British oil and gas negotiations with India and Canada; he was surprised when the prime minister accepted such a short notice invitation.

  He and Beresford had much in common – they had taken office during the same year, they were both remarkably young for their posts, and they had inherited ailments in their office that neither would easily conquer. Although Wing didn’t necessarily deem Richard a friend, they were on firm ground as colleagues and enjoyed mutual respect.

  While a pact among the other nations had not yet been struck, Wing knew he may already be late in the game to influence the British leader. He wasn’t completely opposed to the deal, but he was greatly concerned about the political implications. And frankly, he needed to speak privately with a respected peer in this volatile time; Beresford’s surprising availability may have indicated he was of the same mind. If nothing else, the Presi
dent considered, they could chalk it up as therapy.

  Beresford would arrive early in the morning, and since Wing was following his most prominent plan of late…no plan, the President had little to no preparation for the meeting. His advisors were disgruntled with his failure to confer with them regarding the engagement, not to mention the obvious omission of their names from the visit itinerary. Not wanting to dwell on that prospect, he returned his attention to the present and focused on his e-mail in-box, delighted to see a message from his father.

  Wing,

  I hope you are doing well and have not succumbed to the alligators of the day. I just wanted to let you know that an old teacher of yours is visiting me tomorrow… I vaguely remember him, as you were in his class when I was ill, but he checked out, so I was only too happy to see someone that knew us “back then.” I know you’ll remember him since your admiration for the man is probably the only reason his name stood out to me. I assume you remember Byron Hoffstedder? And he is bringing his wife, they tell me she was a teacher at your school as well. I don’t know why they want to visit, but they are welcome and honestly, I look forward to the company. Please let me know if there’s anything you’d like me to pass on!

  I figure you’ll be at Camp David by the time you read this. Even though you’re there for business, try to relax. Stay strong and know that your Baba loves you.

  Wing was briefly touched by Wei’s use of his childhood name for his father…but beyond that, he was spellbound. Mr. Hoffstedder? That was a name he hadn’t thought of for years, but it brought about instant recall. There weren’t many teachers whom he remembered well, and even fewer that he would consider to have made an impact. Mr. Hoffstedder was at the top of the pile, not only because he’d been a good teacher, but because he had been someone in whom Wing had been able to confide during the most trying time of his life.

  He leaned back in his chair and stared at the books over the desk, but instead, saw a set of intense dark eyes, an I-might-be-crazy-but-I-might-just-be-damn-smart smile and slick black hair that never quite seemed in control. Wing had trusted Mr. Hoffstedder implicitly. Obviously, he reflected as he relaxed, placing his hands behind his head. Mr. Hoffstedder was the only person on the planet with whom he’d shared the story of his dad’s mysterious recovery. He shifted in his chair, reflecting.

  That girl…the beyond-coincidence event that to this day he believed was the only reason Wei lived. He had never even told his sister, Amy, that he thought her friend saved their Dad…she was still too young then and when she was older, he just didn’t feel it was right to discuss it with her. He was so conservative by nature, she probably would have thought he’d lost his mind anyway if he’d shared such a far-fetched story.

  The memory alone brought back raw emotion for which he was ill-prepared. Wei had been so close to death that their relatives from back East in the U.S. and China had flown in; while their mother insisted she would be able to manage the home and children, negotiations had already started as to which family members would relocate to help her out.

  Amy was only about six at the time, so she didn’t fully grasp the fact that their father’s death was imminent and had continued without effect at school, playing with her friends as if nothing was happening. He, however, had been devastated at the prospect of losing his father. He finally confided in Mr. Hoffstedder, and the man had not let him down. The teacher hadn’t offered false hope, but he listened and never turned the young man away.

  More remarkably, he did not pass judgment or over-react when Wing had told him his greatest secret, the story of a strange young girl breaking off from her Barbie games with Amy and entering their father’s room, undetected, in his final hours. He alone, had seen her later leave the room in an apparent daze and when Wing went to see his father, the man was completely healed. And then the girl had mysteriously disappeared…not only from their home, but from the town.

  He remembered, vaguely, how even in the midst of the family’s intense joy over Wei’s recovery, that Amy who still did not understand the gravity of their father’s illness or recovery, had openly cried because her friend had left without saying goodbye.

  He shook his head, marveled by the perspective. Amy probably wouldn’t even remember the friend, little Johnnie, whose departure had broken her heart. He, however, would never forget the child. He wondered where she was now. And he wondered why his dear old teacher was dropping in on his dad.

  Johnnie lay in bed staring at the ceiling, having given up on sleeping. When she closed her eyes it was almost as if she were staring at a high speed slide show, the result of obvious sensory overload associated with too many hours on the internet. She had never been a big net surfer, so she was in an even greater state of after-shock than the average user…but with the unbelievable amount of information available, she’d actually killed several birds with one stone by devoting the better part of a day to trying to understand the phenomena which had come to rule her life.

  She rolled onto her side, punched her poor blameless pillow one more time and collapsed into the hollow with a sigh. While she was no closer to knowing what it was, she was absolutely convinced as to what it wasn’t. As she’d shared with James this evening – through more than her failed demonstration, she was convinced it was not classic hands-on faith healing, quantum touch healing or theta healing. The excruciating number of sources she’d tapped via the world’s biggest brain provided absolutely no evidence of any of these anomalies actuating without the “healer’s” forethought, intent to heal, or their calling on the key element of faith in their own ability to heal. Didn’t fit her situation at all. She’d searched with every combination of words she could conjure to find cases of unintentional or unwilling healing and found nothing.

  But, she thought as she tossed into an almost perfect 180 degree flip, landing on her opposite side…the still-logical part of her brain told her if someone else was out there doing this without intention, it could also be happening without their knowledge, thus, there would be no references or reports. This created not only a persistent nag on the edge of her consciousness, but spawned a headache at a persistent thought. She couldn’t shake the notion suggested by the larger-than-life, albeit legless, Gunter when he’d asked, “Why do you assume you’re the only one?”

  She had also spent what was probably the creepiest two hours of her life staring at You Tube clips of people “channeling” an untold number of entities. She did not enjoy the experience, but forced herself to control her natural rejection of the majority of the demonstrations. James had suggested that she could have been channeling a spirit guide healer during her episodes and her mission had been to confirm or eliminate the possibility.

  Her only knowledge of channeling, prior to this point, had been limited to Shirley MacClaine’s accounts in her book, “Out on a Limb;” Johnnie had enjoyed the work and had not personally disallowed the truthfulness of Shirley’s stories. For some reason, Ms. MacClaine had offered credibility and believability which simply did not come through on the videos which had rattled her to the point of nausea this afternoon.

  Johnnie considered herself a decent judge of people and her spidy sense screamed “crackpot!” as she watched various average-to-bizarre looking people slide, at will, into their new voices, weird accents and interesting ways of spewing what she felt were their own perceptions of the how the world should be viewed, rather than the wisdom of an unseen spirit guide. Some were more believable; in fact, some were believable – and they were, ironically, the ones that delivered without the drama; the ones who seemed most “normal” before and during the channeling. But in every instance, the channelers were prone to strict communication rather than physical contact or demonstrations of healing.

  One channeler had expressed, in an interview, that he absolutely could not be touched while channeling...when filled with the spirit…because it caused a shock due to the energy field which accompanied the act. He further expressed that touch also disrupted the spiritual co
mmunication. If true, this would seem to rule out the concept of Johnnie channeling and subsequently healing through touch. Was she really considering this stuff as possible? Her stomach completed yet one more acrobatic maneuver, as she rolled across the bed.

  This time when she closed her eyes, she saw the black and white image of Edgar Cayce…a famous channeler and psychic who had practiced in the early 20th century. He’d had no medical training or background, but had been able to channel and give specific instructions to people on how to heal multiple ailments…and had experienced much notoriety and success in the process. Mr. Cayce, like many channelers, generally had no memory of his “trances” or of what he had communicated. That much, she could certainly relate to…but the differences far outweighed the similarities to her situation. Unlike her, Mr. Cayce was a willing participant, he believed in the phenomena and never “laid hands” on any subjects who were healed as a result of his “powers.” Her research of him was very interesting, at best, yet offered no enlightenment to her situation.

  Johnnie sat up in the dark and grappled for the bottle of water on the bedside table. Her mind, in need of completing the torrential flow of thought, led her to her conversation with James this evening. He had listened and completely accepted her assessments based on the brief, but intense, research. He suggested she seriously consider hypnosis, if for no other reason, to attempt recall of the episodes to shed some light on her role. She was utterly petrified of hypnosis due to the concept of handing control over to another individual and she said as much to James.

  Her patient brother had leaned into her and, without condescension, told her that she should strive to understand the nature of hypnosis before going any further. He was very familiar with the process and explained that it, in no way, resulted in loss of control and that it was actually a very natural state. He told her that he was an associate with a very experienced and credible hypnotherapist who was also a doctor of psychology. With her consent, he told her he’d arrange a session soon. She would have agreed on the spot if she weren’t seized with complete terror at the thought of willingly “going away” and leaving someone else at the wheel; she couldn’t discern how this was any better than what she’d experienced lately anyway. While her mind understood James’ counter-explanation of the true nature of hypnosis, her emotional center was not ready to play.