The Hand of God

by Miller, Tim

  We got to my office and he took a seat on one of the leather chairs across from my desk. I sat across from him, waiting for him to speak, but he just sat there.

  “Okay,” I began, “So, tell me what this is about.”

  He shifted in his chair and looked up at me.

  “Two nights ago, I had a vision. I know we are near the End Times. Many things shall come to pass.” He stood and walked over to the stained glass window, staring at it. It was an image of God pointing at angels, as if giving them a directive.

  “God showed me many sinners, sons of perdition. They were men of darkness. There was one in particular. He was here to destroy the Church. This church,” he held out his hands and looked around. “I didn’t want to believe it. I even said ‘Lord! No one can destroy Your church! It is the Body of Christ!’ He said not to worry, that He had a humble servant that would stop this man.” As he spoke, beads of sweat began forming on his forehead.

  I sat there taking all of this in. I’d been in ministry for many years, and doing my special work even longer. No one had a clue about what I did on the side. But the Lord has never sent someone to me this way before. He always spoke to me directly. I wondered what was different this time. The whole thing made me suspicious, yet David knew things no one else could have known. In ministry, we called this “confirmation--when you receive what you believe to be the word of God, but aren’t sure, and then someone else independently gets the same message from Him.

  “Then He showed me you!” David continued, “It was you! He said you were His hand, His hand of judgment, swift and true.” He looked up and held his arms out to the sky, “Then I saw heaven open, and behold, a white horse. And he who sat on him was called Faithful and True, and he doth judge and make war.”

  That was a first. I had never been compared or even referred to as one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I was almost flattered.

  “So why didn’t you just come here to talk to me? Why all the theatrics on the building?”

  “God wanted you to come to me. That was His confirmation for me that I had the right person. I saw you in my vision. You were carrying a large sword and it was covered in blood.”

  I was silent for a minute while I processed all this. What he was saying would sound crazy to most people, but then, so would what I do. In the context of my own life, what he was saying made sense.

  “Okay,” I said, “So who is this man?”

  “He is a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  “Yeah, well that isn’t very helpful. Who is he? Who am I looking for?”

  “He’s not here yet. But he will be soon, and will be very powerful. He will do works in Jesus’ name and people will love him. But he’s an evil man who must be destroyed.”

  “So, let me ask you. What did God tell you about me? Besides that image in this vision?”

  “He just said you were his Hand of Judgment.”

  I was trying to see if Davidson knew anything of my previous work. If he did, he wasn’t letting on about it. That was good for him, for now. I wouldn’t have to kill him just yet. Besides, it occurred to me, I may need him.

  “So, what now? Did God lay out a plan?”

  “No, He said you would know this man when you see him, and you’d know what to do.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “My work is finished for now. I will move on to whatever else he has planned for me.”

  With that, he stood and walked out of my office without another word. I thought about everything he had just told me. It troubled me that God sent me a messenger when he’dalways spoken to me directly before. It was as if I was falling out of favor with God. But why? Regardless, I had a big job to prepare for. The man Davidson described sounded like he could be the Antichrist himself-the man spoken of in Revelation who will imitate Christ and bring about the Great Tribulation. Whatever this was about, I knew I had to be ready.

  Chapter 4

  That night I sat in my apartment and reviewed the conversation with David Davidson. I had no idea what any of it meant. Thinking about it too much gave me a headache. I tried praying about it for some guidance, but I had a feeling none would come until the time was right. In the meantime, I had real work to do.

  Sunday evening service would start in a few hours, but I would not be attending. I called my assistant pastor, Jeffrey Garza, and asked him to fill in. Our Sunday evening services had about a third of the crowd as the morning ones. That was South Texas for you. The weather cools down in the evening so everyone goes into San Antonio, where there was no shortage of things to do. Sometimes I wondered why we even bothered with Sunday evening services.

  I had my own special plans for the evening. God had revealed someone to me. This would be a tough job, so I had to be extra cautious. This sinner was a member of my own church--one of our deacons, Roger Quinn. Roger was in his sixties and a likeable man. He’d been a member of our church since before I was born. He was a Big Brother on weekends, and over the years, had taught all grade levels of Sunday School.

  Unfortunately, Roger also had a thing for pre-teen girls. He had at least been smart enough to keep his hands off of girls from our church. But his position as an elementary school teacher gave him plenty of access. After he’d retired, it would have just been a matter of time before he began looking to girls at the church to fill his perverse need. For years he’d gone undetected, working each day, right under our noses, while victimizing children who were entrusted to his care. God revealed all of these things to me.

  God showed me Roger’s victims, his patterns, his sins. Tonight it would all stop, once and for all. I knew Roger would be in church tonight. He never missed a service. So I waited down the road from his house, sitting in my Tahoe. It was a common enough vehicle in Texas, so it didn’t draw any undue attention.

  The service would be over with around eight o’clock. I figured he should arrive home around eight-thirty or nine. By then, it would be getting dark. I listened to the radio and was flipping through an old magazine when I saw him arriving in my rear view mirror. I was just over a block from his house and I stepped out of the Tahoe as he drove toward me. I waved as he went by, causing him to slow and then pull to a stop. He rolled down the passenger window as he pulled up.

  “Hey, Pastor Charlie. Everything okay?”

  “I was on my way to stop by to see you, but my Tahoe stalled. Think you could give me a hand?”

  “Sure,” he said and pulled in front of my Tahoe and parked. I went around back and opened the tailgate as he approached.

  “What do you think is wrong…” he began but didn’t get a chance to finish. I spun around and knocked him out using one of my favorite martial arts moves, the brachial stun. When done right, the move—a backhanded swing with the forearm that strikes the person’s side of the neck—disrupts the brachial plexus, a series of nerves running along the neck. A hard enough hit can even result in death, but I knew just how hard to apply it, and I knocked Roger out cold with one simple hit. Roger slumped backward, and I grabbed him and threw him into the back of the Tahoe, slamming the tailgate shut behind him. The whole thing took less than a minute. I climbed in through the driver’s side door and into the back where I had everything prepared. I wrapped Roger’s hands in Duct tape and placed a strip of tape over his mouth, in case he woke up too soon. I always tried to use simple items in case anything was to be found later. I always kept Duct tape handy. It works well and is really common, so it isn’t traceable. Plus, around here, it is used to fix everything from plumbing to cars, so nobody would think it was strange for it to be among my belongings.

  I finished up by taping his ankles together and threw a canvas tarp over him. Once he was secure, I pulled out of my parking spot, confident no one had seen me. I would take my time getting to the Chapel, so as not to draw any attention. I prepared everything there yesterday afternoon. I might have missed church tonight, but I would still be having a service. I smiled as I drove. God would be receiving anoth
er sacrifice tonight. His will be done.

  Chapter 5

  Hanging a human body from a cross is not an easy task. They sure don’t climb up there on their own. Fortunately, Roger stayed out long enough for me to work. The cross in my chapel was actually made up of two parts. There was the big, tall post that stood upright, and then the wooden crossbeam. I stripped Roger naked and tied him to the crossbeam. Once his arms were secure, I used a hoist to pull him up and attached the crossbeam to the post. Each piece had slots cut into it so they fit together. Then, I bolted them into place. Once that was done, I tied Roger’s feet and ankles to the post.

  I set up the altar and got my tools ready. Attention to detail was very important. When Moses built the Tabernacle, God gave him specific instructions on how everything was to be, and it all had to be exact, down to the type of material for the curtains and type of wood for the structure. The preparations for my work went the same way. Everything had its exact place and had to be a certain way. It was all part of the ritual, and all part of my carrying out His work, according to His instructions.

  The Chapel itself was an old barn just outside of Poteet. It was off a gravel road and tucked away in a wooded area. It was remote and difficult to find unless you knew it was there. My uncle’s family owned it back in the seventies. The deed is still in the family’s name, but no one has been to this property in decades, besides me. The nice thing is that it would take several huge leaps to connect it to me if someone were to come across it.

  Roger began to struggle and cough as he came to. He shook his head and looked around, taking in his predicament.

  “What? Where the hell am I?” He looked around more and saw me standing in front of him.

  “Charlie? Pastor Charlie? What’s going on? What is all this?” He sounded more confused than scared.

  “Today is your Judgment Day Roger,” I said, gesturing to the tools lying on the altar before me. “Be sure, your sin will find you out.”

  “Sin? What sin are you talking about? Have you lost your mind Charlie? You know me!” Panic was starting to set in as he realized his fate. He began to pull and struggle against the ropes. “Why am I on a damn cross? You fucking lunatic!”

  I let him have his time. There was always an initial freak-out when the sinner woke up. I just hoped he didn’t wear himself out too much and faint. I hated when that happened.

  “I’m a lunatic, Roger? I’m not the one who likes to fuck little girls.”

  He stopped struggling and stared at me. It was that look of recognition and shock. His eyes were asking me how I could possibly know what he thought he’d been getting away with all these years.

  “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Don’t even go there, Roger. Or I will make it hurt more.”

  “Okay, Charlie, look, it’s not what you think.”

  “No? What do you call it?”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve tried to stop. I need help okay? I’m sick. Maybe you can help me!”

  I recognized this. I’d seen it plenty of times before. This was usually when the bargaining phase set in.

  “Oh, I’m going to help you all right, Roger. You’ll never hurt another child again.”

  “No! Please! You’re a man of God You can’t kill me!”

  “God’s the One who told me to take care of you, Roger.” I picked up a knife and held it up to his face. “This is the only way you can be stopped. And, so you will be.”

  “No, Charlie, please no! You can forgive me. Jesus forgives!”

  I reached up, grabbed him by the hair and cut the side of his face. Blood ran down his face as I spoke to him through my clenched teeth.

  “Don’t you dare pull that crap with me. Did your victims beg, too? These girls you abused? Did they beg for you to leave them alone? I bet they did. Did you do what they asked? Did you show those girls mercy?

  “Charlie, I—“

  “Shut up!” I let go and stepped back. The mere sight of him disgusted me.

  “You didn’t give those girls any choice, but I will give you one. You have a choice to make, Roger.”

  That got his attention.

  “A choice?”

  “When Jesus hung on the cross, he was between two thieves. One thief cursed Him, while the other who acknowledged Him as the Son of God. Which thief are you, Roger? Make your choice.”

  “But I’m not a thief…”

  I grabbed his hair again and screamed in his face.

  “You stole their innocence! Their childhood! Their lives! They will never be the same again because of you! How many others have they victimized as well because of you? You are a thief of the worst kind!” I let go of his hair again. “Do you remember what Jesus said about the children?”

  “To… love them?” he said through his sobbing.

  “Close. He said that anyone who would cause the little ones to sin, it would be better to have a millstone placed around their neck and cast into the sea.”

  Roger just looked down without answering.

  “Roger, I am your millstone.” I walked back toward him holding the knife. I began to sing an old hymn as I approached.

  “At the cross, at the cross

  Where I first saw the light

  And the burden of my heart rolled away,

  It was then by faith I received my sight

  And now I’m happy all the day.”

  Roger hung there sobbing. It was sickening to watch a grown man blubbering like that.

  “Roger, I now see which thief you are. You only worship yourself.” Before he could reply I plunged the knife into his chest. I pushed it in until I felt his aorta pop. His eyes went wide and his body twitched and convulsed as the life left it. In less than a minute, he was gone.

  I stepped back and looked at his body hanging as the blood poured out from his chest. I looked up to heaven.

  “It is finished,” I said and sat the bloody knife onto the altar. I then knelt at the altar and folded my hands in prayer. It was time for worship and to see if God was pleased with my sacrifice. After alone time with God, would be cleanup. After.

  Chapter 6

  I got the chapel cleaned up in time for the Monday morning men’s prayer breakfast. Taking care of Roger took all night. Once my service was over, I lowered him down off of the cross. Then, I dismembered him, cutting him into six large pieces using an autopsy bone saw I purchased online several years ago. It wasn’t hard to find, but it was rather expensive. After he was properly dismembered, I placed his remains into a fifty-five gallon brew pot I kept in the back room of the chapel.

  Brew pots were used for exactly that, brewing beer. Brand new a pot would run for $600.00 or more, but I found this at a swap meet for just over $300.00. The pot was hooked into a well and could heat up to well over boiling. I filled it three quarters of the way with water and then about two pounds of lye. I sealed the lid on and began the process. It would take almost five hours. Once it was done, Roger would be nothing but a brown soup. From there, all I had to do was open the release valve and let him run down the drain. It would be as if he never existed. This was the most efficient way of body disposal that I knew of.

  Once everything was cleaned up, I had just enough time to change clothes, shower and head to the Waffle Barn for breakfast. I managed to only be a few minutes late, but no one seemed to notice. The men were sitting around the table already talking among themselves. There were seven of them this morning. We usually had anywhere from five to seven guys show up each week. The discussion would cover everything from sports, news or whatever religious topic was going on at the time. After some small talk, we would take turns praying, eat and then go about our week.

  Jose Villareal stood to great me as I took my seat. He made it to every breakfast each week.

  “Good morning Pastor Charlie!” he said, shaking my hand. “How was your evening?”

  “Very enlightening,” I said. “Thank you.” I took a seat next to Jose.

  “Well t
hat’s great. I didn’t see you at church last night.”

  “Yes, that’s right. The Lord has some other things that needed my attention.”

  “Oh, well that’s the important thing,” he said, slapping me on the shoulder. I should have felt exhausted, but I actually felt quite energized. Doing God’s work always lifts me up, and gives me a sense of purpose. I was proud to be his vessel of wrath. We ordered our food and talked about baseball and basketball. Someone asked if Roger would be joining us today. I said nothing even though I knew he wouldn’t be.

  As our food arrived we took turns praying. I prayed for everyone’s safety and guidance this coming week. I also included a few prayer requests from the men. Jose’s mother was sick; it was something respiratory but didn’t seem serious yet. Another man in our group, Mario, had a cousin who’d been in an accident. Then another deacon, Paul, was having financial problems. I said prayers for each of them. The other men all took turns praying. Once the prayers were finished, we began our meal.

  Throughout the meal the guys continued to talk among themselves. I sat and watched mostly. During this time I would often study them. There were many times I felt alienated among my flock, even when breaking bread with them. Even though I love being among them, I knew what I wasn’t one of them. I’ve felt like this my whole life. They spent their days going to work, raising families, watching sports. My focus was always on God and his work for me. This was why I was always disconnected from those around me. Some would say I was a sociopath. They could be right, I suppose. I saw it as a gift. With the work God had chosen for me, I could not allow myself any emotional attachments. No telling who God would tell me to kill for His glory. I couldn’t let feelings get in the way.

  The men continued to chat as I started on my pancakes. There was a loud bang at the front of the restaurant. The crash startled me, causing me to drop my fork, getting syrup all over my dress pants. I was trying to clean the syrup off when Mary Ann Westbrook came running through the front door shouting. She also attended my church, and worked as a nurse at a local nursing home.