by Bill Myers
“Well, folks” — Tyler threw a smile to the audience — “looks like I’m in for a little Bible study.”
More nervous laughter.
Brandon was nearly center stage now, twenty feet from Tyler.
“What’s your name, son?”
“My name is not important. It’s what the Lord would say to you that matters.”
“I see.” He gave a wink to the audience. “And what exactly is that?”
Sarah’s hand rose to the scar on her face as she watched Brandon take a deep breath. Dear God, she prayed, what is he doing?
And then he began: “Woe to the shepherds who are destroying and scattering the sheep of my pasture! declares the Lord. Because you have scattered my flock and driven them away and have not bestowed care on them, I will bestow punishment on you for the evil you have done, declares the Lord.”
Tyler was unfazed, remaining cool and calm. “Yes, Jeremiah 23, I believe that is.” Then turning back to the audience he quipped. “Looks like the boy’s been doing his memory verses.”
More chuckles.
But Sarah, whose heart was pounding, knew he was wrong. For the past year the two of them had been poring over Scripture, that was true. But they’d barely cracked Jeremiah, let alone put anything to memory. No, this was something else. Something much different.
Brandon continued, his voice still quivering, but growing stronger. “Do not listen to what the prophets are prophesying to you; they fill you with false hopes. They speak visions from their own minds, not from the mouth of the Lord. They keep saying to those who despise me, The Lord says: You will have peace. And to all who follow the stubbornness of their hearts they say, No harm will come to you.”
“Well, thank you for sharing, brother.” It was obvious the novelty had worn off, and Tyler had had enough. “Now if you wouldn’t mind taking your seat, I’ll finish making my point, if I can remember it.”
But Brandon was far from through. He turned directly to the audience, trying to see through the glare of the lights. “They dress the wound of My people as though it were not serious. Peace, peace, they say, when there is no peace.”
Sarah spotted Tyler signaling the security guards to take over. They moved to action. But seeing them, Brandon held out his hand, motioning for them to stop. And, to Sarah’s surprise, they did. They continued to stand and they continued to listen, but for some unknown reason, they did not move toward him.
“Therefore this is what the Lord says about the prophets who are prophesying in My name: I did not send them, yet they are saying, No sword or famine will touch this land.”
“Guys.” Tyler motioned to the security guards. “Can you help our friend find his seat?”
The guards nodded, but did not move.
“Guys!”
Brandon turned from the audience and back to Tyler, his voice more powerful, almost booming. For an amazing moment Sarah thought she saw a flicker coming from his mouth, almost like a flame. Of course it was an illusion from all the bright lights, and it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. But the rest was no illusion.
Brandon pointed his finger at Tyler and shouted, “Those same prophets will perish by sword and famine!”
The final phrase echoed through the arena until there was only silence.
Sarah’s heart thundered in her ears. Dear God, let it be over. Please, make it be over!
In the silence, Tyler calmly reached for his glass of water, trying just a little too hard to appear nonchalant. He obviously didn’t understand why the security guards were hesitating, but it was important he appear to be in control. “So tell me, uh, I still didn’t catch the name.” He waited, but Brandon didn’t answer. He reached for the pitcher. “Don’t you find that all of this shouting and preaching, ever notice how thirsty it makes a fellow? It sure does me. Not that I’ve had much opportunity these last few minutes.”
The audience chuckled as he poured the water.
Brandon approached, keeping his eyes riveted on Tyler, who tried his best to appear amused. They were ten feet apart when Brandon raised his hand and pointed. “The blood of the sheep will be upon the head of the shepherd.”
“I see,” Tyler said, raising the glass to his lips and starting to drink. But he barely managed to swallow before he gagged, then leaned over to spit it out. He looked down at the glass in stunned surprise. And for good reason. The water inside had become blood red. His eyes widened. He turned to the pitcher. Its contents had also turned to blood. Astonished, Tyler let the glass slip from his hand. It hit the stage with such a crash that he jumped, causing the pitcher to drop from his other hand. It also shattered onto the stage, sending broken shards and splattered blood in all directions.
The audience gasped and began to murmur. Many rose to their feet. The guests on either side of the stage did the same.
Brandon continued his approach.
Looking up from the blood, Tyler took a half step back. Brandon spoke again, “You have lived as a prostitute with many lovers — would you now return to Me? declares the Lord.”
That was all the time Tyler needed to recover. Fighting for control, he shot back, “Listen, kid … I don’t know who you think you are or how you believe these little parlor tricks are going to accomplish anything. But —”
“Repent and return to the Lord!”
Tyler swallowed. “But we’ve got a lot more important things to cover than to listen to some —”
“Be still!” Again Sarah thought she saw a flicker of flame.
Suddenly, Tyler began coughing, unable to finish his sentence.
And still Brandon continued, breathing hard and speaking intensely. “You son of the devil, you enemy of all righteousness, will you not cease perverting the straight ways of the Lord?”
Tyler tried to respond, but his coughing grew worse.
“The hand of the Lord is upon you, and you shall no longer be able to speak or spread your deceit in My name.”
Tyler tried to argue, but the words came out only as coughs and gags.
By now all of the audience had risen to their feet. Some in astonishment, others in anger. Sarah looked around helplessly as they began to shout. “Get him out of here! Get him off the stage!” Others began stomping their feet or booing.
Hearing them for the first time, Brandon turned from Tyler and came down toward the front of the stage to address them. The yelling and catcalls increased. He took a moment and scanned the crowd before breathing deeply and shouting, “Has a nation ever changed its gods? (Yet they are not gods at all.) But My people have changed their Glory for worthless idols. Be appalled at this, O heavens, and shudder with great horror, declares the Lord. My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken Me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot hold water.”
Booing filled the auditorium.
Brandon continued looking out at them, his face filling with compassion. Sarah could see the moisture in his eyes.
“Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.”
The audience was shouting so loudly Sarah could barely hear.
“Like a woman unfaithful to her husband, so you have been unfaithful to Me, declares the Lord.”
Items began flying onto the stage. Wadded-up programs, loose change, pencils and pens, anything the audience could find to throw. Some hit their mark, forcing Brandon to wince. But he continued quoting. “Therefore this is what the Sovereign Lord says: My anger and My wrath will be poured out on this place, on man and beast, on the trees of the field and on the fruit of the ground, and it will burn and not be quenched.”
Tyler remained bent over and coughing. By now some of the more courageous guests on the stage had started to approach Brandon.
“Return, declares the Lord, and I will frown on you no longer, for I am merciful. I will not be angry forever. Only acknowledge your guilt …”
&nbs
p; The group onstage continued to close in.
Sarah started to wave, shouting to get his attention, “Brandon, Brandon, look out!” But he didn’t hear.
“You have rebelled against the Lord your God, you have scattered your favors to —”
A young man from the right was the first to charge. He hit Brandon from behind and tackled him hard to the ground. As they hit the stage Sarah screamed. She started pushing her way toward them, but the area in front of the stage was already filled with shouting people. She looked back up to the stage. Other guests had arrived and also began struggling with Brandon, trying to subdue him.
“Brandon …”
The audience was in a frenzy — shouting, jeering, many applauding his capture.
The group onstage pulled Brandon to his feet. They began to drag him across the stage, toward the wings. He did not go willingly, twisting and squirming, but there were far too many of them.
Sarah was still trying to push her way through the crowd toward the stage. “Excuse me! Please … Excuse me!” But it was jammed, choked with shouting, taunting people. She pushed harder. “Excuse me, please —” until an older teen violently shoved her back, shouting an oath. Sarah blinked and stared. She turned, looking around her, not believing her eyes or her ears. How had it happened? How, in just a matter of minutes, had a loving and caring crowd been turned into a shouting mob? The transformation had been so fast, almost supernatural. Such hatred, such fury. And all directed at one person …
Katherine glanced up from filling her second suitcase when Lucas entered the room. There was no one else with him. Not his secretary, none of the peripheral folks that usually surrounded him. Not that it mattered. There could have been a hundred, and she’d still have taken him on.
“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped. “Nothing you say will change my mind.”
He didn’t have to speak. His presence in the doorway spoke volumes.
Katherine crossed to the cedar wardrobe, threw open its doors, and gathered a handful of clothes still on their hangers. “You said you could help. You said you could find a cure. Well, you haven’t.” She headed back to the bed and dumped the clothes into the suitcase.
He remained silent.
She headed back to the wardrobe for another load. “It’s not working, Lucas. He’s not getting any better. And Heylel’s little visits are only making things worse.”
At last he spoke — softly, with understanding. “So where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Katmandu, for a while. Till we get enough saved to catch a flight home. Anywhere, just as long as it’s not here.” The last phrase was a little harsh and she knew it. “I know you’ve tried. You, the Cartel, you’ve done all you can. But this place, it’s nowhere for a kid to grow up. People treating him like a god, you folks hanging onto his every word, acting like he’s some cosmic guru. It’s not healthy. You can’t blame me for wanting my kid to have some semblance of an ordinary life.”
“Eric is no ordinary kid.”
She threw him a look as she headed for the dresser. It was then she noticed the envelope he was tapping in his hands.
“What’s that?”
He glanced down. “Oh, this. It is two one-way tickets to Seattle along with $5,000 cash to help you get started.”
Katherine came to a stop. It took a moment to digest the statement. “Why?”
“Pardon me?”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because you are right, this is no place for a child. Or his mother. Especially ones I have grown so fond of.”
Katherine eyed him carefully. She’d seen this maneuver before. Sincere concern, mixed with flattery. It was all part of the Ponte charm. She watched as he quietly set the envelope down on the table. Once again she asked, “Why are you doing this?”
“It is the least we can do, considering all we have put you through.” He took a deep breath. “And …” He seemed to hesitate, unsure whether he should continue.
Katherine knew it was a ploy, but she took the bait anyway. “And?”
“And, given the fact that from the moment Eric leaves these grounds we will be unable to offer him any type of diplomatic immunity.”
“What does that mean?”
“The local officials have called twice and have already paid us one visit. They’re charging your son with murder.”
Katherine’s jaw went slack. “That’s … absurd. Deepak had a heart attack. Eric didn’t even touch him. You can’t call that murder.”
“In the West, you are correct. But I’m afraid these people here are of a much more superstitious nature.”
“They’re going to arrest him?”
Lucas shook his head. “If Eric stays on the grounds they will not touch him. The government of Nepal would not risk confrontation with the Cartel.”
Katherine’s mind raced. “But if he leaves the grounds?”
“If he leaves the grounds …” Lucas sighed heavily. “Well, as I have said, it is doubtful they will respect our request for diplomatic immunity.”
Once again Katherine felt the noose tightening. As it did, her anger grew. “So that ticket, that money is completely useless.”
“Not necessarily. A few of the local officials have been known to look the other way … when the right money crosses the right hands.”
“A bribe?”
He shrugged. “Call it what you will. The problem, of course, lies in knowing which individuals will accept it.”
Katherine stared at the envelope. She was being played in perfect Ponte style. “And you just happen to know who those individuals are, don’t you?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. But in time I am sure we could find out.”
“How much … time?”
“The neurobiologist from the States will be planning to pay us a visit and to run some tests.”
“Dr. Martus? When?”
“Shortly, very shortly.”
“And …”
“By the time she is finished with her evaluation and recommendation for treatment, I am sure we will have found the proper officials.”
Katherine could only stare. The trap had been woven so flawlessly that, even now as she stared at him, hating him, Lucas appeared to have nothing but deepest compassion and consideration. The man was a genius.
“But, of course, it is your decision, Katherine. And whatever you decide, we will do our best to be of assistance. We owe a great deal to the two of you. And, as we have proven, the Cartel does not forget its friends.” He gave her a brief smile, then glanced at his watch. “Well, if you will excuse me.” He turned and headed for the door. But before exiting he turned back for one final comment. “I know you will make the right decision, Katherine. You always have. That is one of your attributes. One of your many attributes.” With that he disappeared out the door.
“It was incredible! It was like this fire burning inside of me, and it kept building and building until I thought I was going to explode.”
Sarah and Tanya Chase walked on either side of Brandon as they headed down the hallway of the Hawthorne Police Station. A couple fluorescent tubes overhead were nearly burned out, and they gave the place an eerie blue-green flicker. But Brandon barely noticed. It had been three hours since the event at the Forum, and his adrenaline was still pumping.
“And I knew the words.” He turned to Sarah. “It wasn’t like the demoniacs we’ve worked with, where they don’t have control of their bodies. I had total control. The words were in my mind before I spoke them. It was just up to me whether I wanted to obey and say them.”
“And of course you did.” Sarah’s voice was flat and noncommittal.
“Well, yes, wouldn’t you?”
She gave no answer as they continued down the hall. It was two in the morning and other than a handful of officers, a strung-out gang member, and a couple hookers, the hallway was relatively quiet.
Tanya spoke up. “Seems I remember reading something in the Bible about do
ing things ‘decently and in order.’ ”
Brandon nodded and looked down at the worn yellowed tile passing under his feet. He knew she was right and the thought had crossed his mind more than once. But still …
“The only reason Jimmy’s not pressing charges is because of how it will look.”
Sarah turned to her. “Is that why he’s posting bail?”
“Of course. It’s the only way he can put a positive spin on any of this.”
Sarah quoted the imaginary headline: “‘Merciful Preacher Forgives Nutcase.’ ”
Tanya threw her a look. “Ever consider journalism?”
Sarah gave no answer as they continued walking.
Brandon glanced over at her with his good eye. The other was swollen by a misdirected elbow … or fist. Minutes earlier, when he had first been released from the holding cell, Sarah had greeted him with an embrace and tears of concern. But now, as they headed down the hall toward the front desk, he saw only exhaustion and weariness. The evening had been as rough on her as it had been on him. Maybe worse. He reached out, starting to put his arm around her, but she seemed to anticipate the move and shied away.
The action surprised him, and he looked back at her. She gave no response and continued walking, looking straight ahead. He didn’t press the issue, but there was no missing the heavy realization as it settled over him. It was true; it had been harder on her, a lot harder.
Once again Tanya broke the silence. “Any idea when Jimmy’s going to speak again?”
He turned to her and asked, “He still can’t talk?”
“The doctor says it’s psychosomatic … something about having a multimillion-dollar TV broadcast destroyed, not to mention an entire ministry. Earliest estimates say we had an audience share of fifty-nine. That’s 133.4 million people, more than watched last year’s Superbowl.”
Brandon said nothing. His sadness grew heavier.
She continued. “I still don’t understand that water to blood thing — how you pulled that off.”
