Crown of Thorns (Nick Barrett Charleston series)

by Sigmund Brouwer

  “I still see no point to your visit.”

  “Some people would call your church a cult. If you’re not behind the branding, then your church is getting away on you, too.”

  “As you may recall from our first conversation, I told you that few are willing to pay the price of truly following the Lord Jesus.”

  “And that includes branding and torturing?”

  “I find that remark offensive.” Isaiah smiled at Jeremiah. “Brother, please take this man away.”

  **

  I did get a chance to use my cell phone. But not in the way I had hoped.

  It rang just as I settled behind the steering wheel of my Jeep.

  “Nicholas. I’m calling you because I’m too cowardly to talk about this in person.”

  “Hello, Amelia.”

  “I think I’m leaving early. Tonight. Back to Chicago.”

  “Amelia . . .”

  “I wasn’t totally honest with you. I came down because

  I wanted to see if you and I had what it takes. There’s . . .” She hesitated. “. . . there’s someone else. He finds me interesting.

  I haven’t done anything with him, but I’m interested, too. He’s

  a doctor.”

  “Wears the right clothing? Drives the right car?”

  “Don’t be like that, Nick.”

  “Amelia . . .” Why couldn’t I say anything else?

  “My flight leaves at eight o’clock. In a way, I hope you’ll be there to stop me. Otherwise . . .”

  She hung up.

  I set my cell phone on the passenger seat. I wondered how to feel. Without giving it much conscious thought, I reached below me for the keys that I’d hidden under my floor mat.

  Still thinking about Amelia, I fished for the keys, coming up empty.

  Footsteps approached.

  I turned my head. Jeremiah Sullivan held my keys, dangling them from his fingers. “Don’t learn too good, do you?” he said. “Baptism and fire wasn’t enough. Too bad for you that you’re so dumb.”

  I reached for my cell with my right hand. It was still programmed to dial Jubil’s cell.

  “No sir,” said another voice, from the opposite side of the Jeep. I turned my head to see the Marlboro Man, and the muzzle of a shotgun he propped through my passenger window in my direction. “Hand me that phone. Now.”

  Chapter 24

  The sanctuary of the church was so dark that when Jeremiah Sullivan propelled me forward from a side corridor into the choir loft at the side of the pulpit, I had little hope that any of the congregation would notice that my hands were behind my back or that my mouth was covered with a strip of adhesive.

  When he had seated me, he leaned forward and taped my ankles again.

  Briefly, he stood beside me and stared down on the congregation. Dim as it was, I saw Angel and Retha in the front row. Retha’s head was bowed in resignation. Angel sat, arms crossed, with an almost Buddha-like air of patience. Obviously, they, like me, had been brought to their places for the great ceremony that was about to begin.

  Jeremiah checked my wrists to make sure I had not somehow loosened the tape. Satisfied that I would be a helpless observer, he patted my shoulder as if I were his son attending a church service.

  “Shepherd Isaiah don’t know you’re here,” he said in a low voice in my ear. “I’m giving you the chance to listen. Listen and repent. That way you’ll meet Jesus on the other side.”

  Then he leaned back and watched his brother begin to speak to the assembled people of the Glory Church of the

  Lamb of Jesus.

  **

  In the black of night outside the church, the first of the storm hit as a wall of rain that pounded the roof. Lightning appeared in jagged bursts through the small windows, along with the rumble of thunder.

  For Shepherd Isaiah, it was a perfect setting for a Glory Session of the Holy Rod of Chastisement.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!” he began from the pulpit. “We call upon thee and thy Holy Spirit to come among us here. . . .”

  More bursts of lightning and more deep vibrations of thunder. Shepherd Isaiah hid his satisfaction. The church’s sound system had been expensive but well worth it. He wore a lapel microphone that let him walk freely as he spoke. Tonight, with the speakers cranked because of his anticipation of the storm, his voice would easily outweigh the might of the storm, giving his flock the comfort that they could trust his power.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!”

  Shepherd Isaiah had perfected his rhythm and cadence, was so familiar with what it took to build excitement among the flock that half the time he didn’t bother to put full concentration into what he said from the pulpit. This detachment normally gave him the opportunity to scan the flock as he spoke, allowed him to mark which of his followers needed special attention or future discipline.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee! Look kindly upon us, for we are the true followers who obey all thy commands. Cursed be those who bring false teachings to the sheep. Blessed be those who rely only on thy goodness and glory and truth for all their needs. Blessed be those who let thy will be done.”

  This service was not a sunlit Sunday. Tonight was a special meeting. To set the mood, the church was dark, lit only by candles. Whatever the disadvantage of his reduced vision of the flock, it was amply made up by atmosphere. If Shepherd Isaiah knew anything, it was how to put on a good show. He’d situated the candles so that the pulpit was bathed in the flickering lights, so that his own tall white figure seemed to glow, so that every movement of his hands cast giant shadows of radiating power on the wall behind him. Below, on the steps, where Elder Jeremiah would administer the Holy Rod of Chastisement, it was dark, the darkness that the sinners of his flock deserved.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!” Shepherd Isaiah raised his hands high, knowing the shadows of his arms would appear like angel wings on the wall behind him. He listened hard, trying to gauge the fervor of his followers. “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee! This woman’s sins are great! Her need for forgiveness greater!”

  Shepherd Isaiah didn’t need to bore his flock by reciting Retha’s sins of defiance. They all knew through gossip. And the wonderful thing about gossip was how much it distorted things. Shepherd Isaiah had no urge to dispel the wildest of the rumors.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!”

  Tonight, for this special assembly, the church was so full that people stood in the aisles at the center and sides. Already the body heat and smell of humid sweat mixed with the aroma of melting wax, filling the church with a primal charge of anticipation. As his followers chanted in unison with Shepherd Isaiah, the echoes rolled and rolled like God’s own thunderous voice.

  “We beseech thee, Juh-hee!-ze-huss! Forgive this woman for the sins that have placed her at the gates of hell. Where the flames lick and the smell of brimstone scorches the air! Where the groans of sinners cry out to thee for eternity! We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!”

  On the heels of his loud cries of damnation, a bolt of lightning struck so close to the church that the report of thunder was an instantaneous crack of exploding cannon fire. In that instant, the entire sanctuary lit up, showing his flock frozen in positions of swaying ecstasy.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!” Shepherd Isaiah took immediate advantage of the added sound effects. “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!”

  Unlike with the sins of the other Glory Sessions, Shepherd Isaiah had a personal stake in the punishment of Retha Herndon. He’d already heard plenty of whispers and blasphemous laughter about the Glory Session of Healing over a doll. Worse, word had gotten out quickly how Retha had run out of the church. It was necessary for the rest of the flock to see—and enjoy—the consequences of that defiance. Yes sir, Shepherd Isaiah told himself,

  a leader has to be
as infallible as Jesus himself.

  “We beseech thee, Juh-hee!-ze-huss! Forgive this woman for the sins that have placed her at the gates of hell.” Repetition, Shepherd Isaiah knew, was one of the keys of building and cresting and rebuilding the flocks fervor. “Where the flames lick and the smell of brimstone scorches the air! Where the groans of sinners cry out to thee for eternity! We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!”

  Lightning flickered and filled the church with eerie light, thunder hard on its heels, as if the storm had settled above the church, as if God were visiting to help place special punishment. Oh glory, glory, Shepherd Isaiah thought, tonight is going to be special.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!” He listened hard for what he needed to hear, and finally it came.

  “Good Shepherd! Good Shepherd! Lay on the rod!”

  Good Shepherd. The crowd was his. And much more quickly than usual.

  “Flee, you demons of hell! Flee, you spawn of the devil. Flee from the holy might!” Shepherd Isaiah glanced down at the front row. There were the Elders of the Chosen on both sides, and centered in front of him were Junior and Retha, along with that brat of a girl who had made such a scene when Shepherd Isaiah tried moving her that finally he’d given up and left her there. “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!”

  The flock roared and chanted and swayed and swooned. Lightning strobed the congregation every thirty seconds, thunder drumrolled in tempo with the chanting and shouting. Heat and the smell of frenzied bodies filled more and more of the church.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!”

  Shepherd Isaiah wiped the sweat from his face. In front of him, behind the pulpit was the paddle that he would use as the Holy Rod of Chastisement. Tonight he would not delegate the task to Elder Jeremiah. Tonight Shepherd Isaiah intended to take personal satisfaction to dispel the wrath of God. He stepped to the side of his pulpit, took the paddle in his right hand, and raised his arms again. In an instant, every voice in the church stilled. The silence was eerie, powerful, pregnant. Bathed in the glow

  of candles, arms high and almost as white as his robe, Shepherd Isaiah truly did appear like an avenging angel sent down from on high with a sword of retribution.

  “Bring forth the sinner!” he shouted.

  **

  Hours before the service, the Marlboro Man had taken away my cell phone and marched me into a room at the back of church at the end of a shotgun. There, Elder Jeremiah had taped my wrists behind my back, then placed a piece of wide adhesive over my mouth.

  “It was me that drowned the kid in the car,” he said. “He was the only one that knew Grammie Zora had sent for Brother Larrabee. I sent him back to the girl’s house to look for something Brother Larrabee needed. When he couldn’t help me anymore, I gave him a chance to commit his soul to Jesus, and then I killed him to protect Shepherd Isaiah.”

  I sucked air through my nostrils hard, as if Elder Jeremiah were about to drown me, too. If he was telling me this, he wasn’t going to let me leave the church. Ever.

  He caressed my face as he spoke to me; it was an eerie sensation of gentleness coming from such a giant of a man. Especially with the words that came with that caress. “You’ll die, too.

  I promise you that. I will do anything to protect my brother. It’s too bad the police know that Bingo brought us to Grammie Zora, but she’s not going to talk about it. And neither will you. But first, you’ll have a chance to save your soul. Tonight, at the Holy Chastisement, you can learn from the Good Shepherd. Commit your soul to Jesus on your last night on earth.”

  That’s all he said.

  He wrapped my ankles, lifted me in his massive arms as if

  I were a child, and carried me to a small room postered with sheets colored by crayons. A Sunday school room. Then Jeremiah gently laid me on my side, walked out of the room, and left me there to stare at the children’s drawings and think about Jesus in the hours before the Holy Chastisement and my execution to follow.

  **

  Another flash of lightning outlined Shepherd Isaiah in his glory. The rain had quieted, and because of it, the thunder boomed more, shaking the church as if God now held it in the palm of his hand.

  “Bring forth the sinner!” he repeated. A man’s a fool, Shepherd Isaiah thought, to waste a good bolt of lightning.

  Earlier, Shepherd Isaiah had coached two Elders of the Chosen to bring her forward from the front pew at this moment, one on each side to ensure she would not speak as he rebuked her. Her sin was so great, he had explained, that Retha was not to be given the chance to repent but would have to endure her punishment in silence. The truth, which Shepherd Isaiah did not want known, was that he feared what she might say in front of the flock if given the chance. So another elder held the boy, Billy Lee, as hostage to ensure her silence.

  Shepherd Isaiah had wondered about the girl who insisted on staying near Retha and decided the brat could witness his wrath, too. Two other elders had been placed on the front pew in case the brat girl tried shouting out. They were instructed to drag her away at the first sign of rebellion. This, Shepherd Isaiah had decided, was the best alternative.

  “We shall close the gates of hell,” Shepherd Isaiah shouted. “The sinner will not be spared the Holy Rod, and in so doing, she shall be spared an eternity of burning brimstone!”

  “Amen!” an enthusiastic follower shouted.

  Shepherd Isaiah slowly turned his head toward the source

  of the noise and stared. This was his show, not to be disturbed unless he wanted it disturbed.

  “We beseech thee,” Shepherd Isaiah finally said softly, so the flock would remain silent. No further amens burst forth. They had understood his look of stern anger. “Juh-hee!-ze-huss! We beseech thee.”

  Shepherd Isaiah slowly moved down the steps of the pulpit area. The elders held Retha’s arms and guided her forward. Shepherd Isaiah wasn’t worried about Retha resisting punishment. Not with her baby held hostage.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!”

  Candlelight and more bolts of lightning illuminated Retha clearly as she knelt on one of the steps.

  With gravity, Shepherd Isaiah beckoned Junior forward to hold his wife in submission. No need to hurry this. Everyone had been waiting for this moment, and it was good showmanship to drag out the suspense as long as possible. And, with luck, another—

  Lightning struck outside. The rain had completely stopped. A boom of thunder hit, then complete silence.

  His face now hidden in shadow with the candlelight behind him, Shepherd Isaiah moved toward Junior.

  Lightning again, then another rumble of thunder. Candles flickered as if a spirit were moving through the church.

  Shepherd Isaiah waited for Junior to position his disobedient wife for punishment. Shepherd Isaiah stood poised to bring the paddle down and punish the woman for disobeying the will of the husband.

  As one person, the entire crowd drew in breath.

  “We beseech thee! We beseech thee! We beseech thee!” Shepherd Isaiah roared. “In his most Holy Name, I command you to follow his will! We will not spare the Holy Rod of Chastisement.”

  A crack of lightning flashed so bright that the crowd gasped; then thunder drowned out their awe.

  Junior had not made an effort to ready his wife.

  “I will strike her!” Shepherd Isaiah commanded. “Strike her in the name of Juh-hee!-ze-huss!”

  Junior hesitated.

  “I will strike her!” Shepherd Isaiah cried again. Didn’t Junior understand the cue? That he must now allow Shepherd Isaiah the chance to bring down the rod? “By the will of Juh-hee!-ze-huss, we must chastise this sinner!”

  Junior still hesitated.

  “Juh-hee!-ze-huss wants us to punish this wayward sinner! We must do it now. Do it now! Do it now!”

  Slowly, so slowly it began as a tremble, Junior began to turn away. Shepherd Isaiah saw that he was about t
o take his wife with him.

  Disobedience! Shepherd Isaiah moved a step down to strike quickly.

  Lightning hit, showing clearly for an instant the fury on Shepherd Isaiah’s face.

  “No,” Junior said. Shepherd Isaiah’s lapel microphone picked up every word, throwing the softness of his voice all through the church. “I can’t do it. I’ve stood aside too many times. I love her. I can’t let it happen again. Ain’t Jesus supposed to be about love?”

  **

  Angel could see the disbelief on Shepherd Isaiah’s face. But only because she was so close to the front. For the rest of the congregation packed in the church, the shadows from the candles behind Shepherd Isaiah put him in black outline.

  “Boy! It is the will of the Lord that all sinners be chastised. Do it now or suffer the wrath of God yourself.”

  “No!” Junior’s voice grew stronger. “I’ve been thinking on it and praying on it. Jesus don’t want people hurting other people. She run off and it wasn’t until she was gone that I knew how much I loved her. It tore my heart into pieces, thinking it was me could have stopped it from happening. I’m leaving the church and taking her with me.”

  Jagged light flashed through the church, showing that Junior was pointing his hand at Shepherd Isaiah in anger. “When Retha put our boy in the hospital she disobeyed you,” Junior said, “not Jesus. If she hadn’t disobeyed you, our boy would be dead, and

  it would be you to blame.”

  Shepherd Isaiah fumbled for the switch of his lapel microphone. The man’s words had carried too clearly in the calm that followed the thunder.

  “Maybe it’s Jesus’ will that doctors help us, doctors who care like Jesus did,” Junior continued. “Ever think of that?”

  Retha had risen, turned to her husband.

  More rumbles in the church. Not from thunder. From the congregation.

  Shepherd Isaiah frantically gestured to his elders. They moved forward and began to drag Junior to the side. Others hauled Retha into position again.

  Shepherd Isaiah lifted the Holy Rod again. “Blasphemer!” His voice carried through the church, drowning out Junior’s angry protest. “The sinner shall be punished!”