“Hey!” spoke up one of the regulars seated two tables over. “Where you going, mister? I wanna hear about how you healed them people.”
“Maybe another time,” came his hurried reply as he beelined toward the door.
“Hey!”
“Hey, mister!” someone else shouted.
Outside now on Harden Street, he strode quickly north, keeping his head down and staying in the shadows of building overhangs. Anger, like a slow-rolling fog, began creeping into his thoughts.
They wrote an article! They wrote an article about me!
And if writing an article alone wasn’t bad enough, that reporter had written a ridiculously false account of what had happened. He had never claimed to be Jesus—he had just invoked the Lord’s name each time he’d laid hands on someone. To claim to be Jesus Christ was . . . crazy!
He stopped walking and leaned against a bus-stop sign. Looking down at his hands, he felt the palpable urge to spit on them, curse them for having been unable to help the one person who needed the healing most. At any rate, he knew he had to get out of Columbia. Too many people at that diner had gotten a good look at his face, though no one knew his name. Running away like a fugitive on the lam wasn’t a move he wanted to make, but it was the only thing to do. The fewer people who knew who he was, the better.
TRAVIS RECEIVED A CALL later that morning from Florence, claiming the mysterious man had shown up at the diner.
“Whoa, whoa,” Travis replied, nearly choking on his diet Pepsi. He was already on his third can, at a quarter to noon. “You’re saying the mystery man—the man I wrote about in my article—stopped by Five Points Diner?”
“That’s what I just said, Mr. Everett. You hard of hearin’?”
“Uh . . . no. It’s just that—”
“And not only did he come by here,” Florence continued, “but several of us got a good look at him!”
In his haste to grab a pen and his reporter’s notebook from the corner of his desk, Travis knocked his Clemson Tigers cap and several knickknacks over. The noise caused Benny Dodson to peer over the top of his cubicle suspiciously, but Travis didn’t care. Now that he had gotten the front page for the first time in his career at the State, perfect little Benny Dodson no longer intimidated him.
“Y’all got a good look at him?” Travis asked, managing to simultaneously glare at Benny. “What’d he look like?”
“Are you going to put my name in the paper, too?”
The not-so-subtle way Florence asked the question made it clear she wanted to be quoted. Travis suppressed a chuckle—seemed like everybody wanted their fifteen minutes of fame, no matter where or how that fifteen minutes came.
“Sure, Florence. I’ll quote you.”
“Hot dog! Well now, let me remember. I’d say he was around six foot two, medium build. A black man, but handsome, like he could be a model for one of Belk’s department store catalogs.”
“What was he wearing?” Travis asked.
“A navy polo shirt and some Levi’s.”
Travis scribbled furiously on his notepad. “Did you see where he was going when he left?”
“No, not really. Mystery man got outta here pretty quick after I showed him yesterday’s newspaper.”
Travis nearly choked again. “You w-what?”
“Well, sure! I wanted him to know he was famous round these parts, so I showed him your article.”
“And the man read the whole thing?” Travis was starting to get a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach, a feeling that had nothing to do with the hearty stack of pancakes he’d polished off two hours earlier.
“He sure did. But it was the strangest thing—he acted all spooked afterwards. He got outta here like he was in trouble with the law or something. Left me a twenty-dollar tip, though.”
Travis cursed. Florence had just run his front-page story right out of town. “Thanks, Florence,” he finally managed through clenched teeth as the gears in his brain began churning. What would Detective Columbo do in a situation like this?
“Did I do something wrong?” Florence asked.
You betcha, babe . . . “No.”
“You’re still gonna put my name in the paper?”
“Yeah, sure.” Travis hung up the phone, a hundred thoughts bombarding his brain. The mystery man was leaving the area—that much he was sure of. But Travis just had to get his picture—that would be another front-page story, to be sure! Ryman Wells loved this story and had already indicated that he wanted follow-ups.
The thing with tasting success, Travis was quickly finding out, was that it inevitably created a thirst for more success. Whereas he once was a self-described lazy reporter satisfied with getting paid for below-average work, those days were long gone. After all, his byline had appeared on the front page of Metro! What if he could do even better and land a story on the front page of the entire paper?
Talk about your fifteen minutes of fame . . .
“You going somewhere?” Benny asked, his head reappearing over the top of Travis’s cubicle.
Travis sneered at him, reveling in the thrill of now being the alpha dog, and Benny just another nameless member of the pack. “Sure am,” he replied. “I’m going to snare another front-page story.”
Chapter Twenty-one
TRAVIS IMMEDIATELY SET OUT for Five Points Diner, the goal firmly entrenched in his mind like a vision of one of Damon’s mouthwatering barbecue sandwiches.
I’ve gotta get a picture of this mystery man . . .
His initial plan was to canvass the area around the diner, hoping for clues as to where this man might have gone. Somebody on the street had to have seen him; surely he hadn’t vanished into thin air like a ghost.
Parking his car one block from the diner, Travis got out and started walking. It was nearing two in the afternoon, and the sun was now high and hot overhead. Sweat soon began trickling down his face and back, but he continued on, undeterred. His determination for getting the scoop on this story derived from a variety of places. Forever the black sheep of the family who’d never tasted the successes of Maynard and Andrea, well, now he would show them. And while he was at it, he would show Benny Dodson, Ryman Wells, and everybody else who had ever told him he would never amount to anything.
Directly across from the diner was a gas station with a convenience store, and Travis stopped in for a couple of cold diet Pepsis. Determined or not, his body just wasn’t used to being out of air-conditioning for too long. To say nothing of walking . . .
He paid for the sodas (one for his pocket and one for his immediate pleasure) and stepped back outside. He’d no sooner twisted off the top of the bottle when he happened to look up and notice the security cameras positioned atop the filling station. One of the cameras pointed north, in the direction of the front door of Five Points Diner.
Detective Columbo, eat your heart out . . .
Travis turned on his heel and walked back inside the store. The young man working the cash register looked up at him.
“Hot out there, huh?” the clerk said. “You want another Pepsi?”
Travis shook his head. “Look, this is gonna sound strange, but those security cameras on top of the building—how many hours back do the tapes cover?”
The young man shrugged. “I think Mr. Bettis told me the film loops over every twenty-four hours, or something like that.”
“Mr. Bettis . . . that’s the owner?”
The young man nodded.
“Is he here?”
The young man started shaking his head, then stopped and gave Travis a suspicious look. “Hey, mister—what’s with all the questions?”
Travis held up his hands. “I know, I know. This must all sound pretty strange to you . . . uh, what was your name again?”
“Sammy,” the clerk replied, still giving Travis a suspicious look.
“Sammy, my name is Travis Everett.” He pointed to the stack of newspapers arranged by the cash register. “Do you read the State?”
&nb
sp; “Just the headlines sometimes, when business gets real slow.”
Bingo . . . “Did you happen to read the top headline in Tuesday’s Metro section? About the man claiming to be Jesus going around healing people?”
Sammy’s expression perked up. “Yeah, I read that. Pretty crazy stuff.”
“Yeah, well I wrote that article, Sammy.”
“Yeah?” The suspicious look gave way to one of curiosity.
“Uh-huh,” Travis said, reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, and flashing his press credentials. “Listen, that man was in Five Points Diner earlier today, and I’ve got a strong hunch that camera taped him coming out. A picture like that would be pretty valuable, if you . . . ah . . . if you get my drift.”
“Oh, I get your drift, but Mr. Bettis don’t like for me to mess with those tapes.”
“Is Mr. Bettis here?” he asked for the second time.
“Naw. He’s off today.”
Travis moved in closer to the counter. “Then it’s just between you and me, alright?”
Sammy started biting on his lower lip, his curious look now giving way to nervousness. “What’s in it for me?”
Travis reached for his wallet again, knowing Detective Columbo would never stoop to do something like this. But so what? The mystery man was on that videotape—Travis could feel it in his bones.
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, his wallet one hundred dollars lighter, Travis was seated inside the store’s small security room, looking at the images on one of the TV screens. After rewinding the tape from camera #3 to the beginning, he’d spent the last ten minutes watching the images in fast-forward mode. He watched as people entered and exited the diner, moving like little ants; he was searching for someone matching Florence’s description of a black man in a navy polo shirt and Levi’s jeans.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered, his nerves tingling and standing on end. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt more excited in his whole life. It was the thrill of the hunt, he reasoned—after writing an article that everyone in the area was still talking about, he was on the verge of getting the follow-up scoop!
The images quickly flickered past his eyes, and if he hadn’t been so attuned to finding his guy, he would have missed it.
There he is!
Quickly stopping the tape, he slowly rewound it until he saw the man clad in the navy polo shirt and jeans pause at the diner’s front door, turn around . . .
His face!
. . . and slowly enter the diner.
Travis Everett had hit the jackpot once more. And he knew exactly what to do with the videotape, as soon as he smuggled it out of this convenience store. An old college roommate of his had been an expert with analog and digital video, and Travis was sure he could persuade him to enhance this image. At the moment, Travis was sure he could do just about anything.
Chapter Twenty-two
THE MAN PAID CASH for the train ticket at the window, then located a seat nearby in the waiting area. The Amtrak Silver Star didn’t leave for another three hours, but he didn’t have anywhere else to be, or go, at the moment. Sitting in the train station practically felt like home to him, anyway—he’d spent the greater part of his life passing time at bus depots and train stations. There was something nostalgic about riding the rails that always lured him back here.
His pop had been a porter working at both train stations and bus depots, and the best memories the man had of his childhood were sitting at the Ruston, Louisiana, bus station, watching the travelers arrive and depart. Birmingham. Jackson. Gulfport. Longview. The destination cities had been foreign, faraway places to his young mind, and his one recurring dream had been to board a bus with a one-way ticket to Anywhere, USA. Ironically, he now had the means to make that fantasy a reality, but he found no joy in that false freedom. The one place he longed to journey existed only in the past, and time travel was real only in the movies.
Leaning his head back on the wooden bench, he closed his eyes and longed once more for the one thing he knew he could never have again. The one person he knew he would never see again.
Nina . . .
THE OUTREACH EFFORT, given the ever-increasing healing testimonies, was an evangelist’s biggest dream. Lynn had coordinated several revival services among churches in and around Richland and Sumter counties, and the expectancy level among the different congregations was growing by the week.
It was one thing, Lynn knew, to conduct mundane, church-as-usual services and then stamp “revival”on the program and make people think that’s what they were having. But when blinded eyes were being opened, cancer cells drying up, deformed ankle bones being straightened, churches moved beyond ordinary services and began experiencing what could only be described as a move of God.
Lynn had been praying for something like this to happen, and seeing glimpses of it coming to pass radically charged her faith.
“Sister Lynn?” Brother Charles knocked on the door and peeked his head inside her office. Lynn looked up from her computer, where she’d been drafting yet another letter to send to these host churches.
“Yes?”
“Evangelist Barbara is ready to head back to Charlotte, but Mattie hasn’t made it in yet to drive her to the station. Can you drive her back, in case Mattie doesn’t show?”
Lynn smiled and shook her head. If only people realized the day-to-day drama of church operations. Evangelist Barbara Anderson had been helping teach a weeklong course at Faith Community, as she did every other month. Everyone loved her and looked forward to her coming, but Evangelist Barbara didn’t care for flying, so she rode the train from Charlotte, North Carolina, to Columbia. Sister Mattie Hendricks regularly picked her up and served as chauffeur, but Sister Mattie had lately been having trouble with her eldest son, who was in and out of prison.
“Sure, I’ll drive her,” Lynn replied, stretching her fingers. A short break might do her good, anyway. The demand for Pastor Gentry and the outreach team to hold meetings around the area had been greater than usual, and Lynn had been the one charged with staying on top of everything.
Thirty minutes later, Brother Charles knocked on her door again. “Mattie’s not going to make it. Today is visiting day at Manning Correctional, and her son . . .”
“I know,” Lynn finished. The entire church had been praying for that boy for years now; his parole was coming up in two months and everyone was believing God for him to stay out this time for good.
“I’d be happy to take Evangelist Barbara to the station. Just let me get my keys.”
“OH, GOD BLESS YOU, Sister Lynn,” Evangelist Barbara gushed as Lynn pulled into the parking space. “Thank you for driving me. I’m telling you, it’s been such a blessing talking to you. Your testimony of how God healed your eyes stirs my faith every time I think about it.”
Lynn opened the car door for the evangelist, smiled, and hugged the elderly woman once more. She reached back in and retrieved the two garment bags from the backseat.
“I’m going to have you come up to our church in Charlotte and share that testimony with our members. I think it will be really special.”
“I’d love that,” Lynn replied as they walked together to the check-in counter.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Barbara!” the smiling lady behind the counter greeted them. “Did you enjoy your stay?”
“Always do, Loretta. I always do.”
The two made small talk as Lynn handed the two garment bags to the porter, a man who tried to wink one too many times at Lynn.
If you tryin’ to flirt with me, you better know Jesus,she thought.
“Your train’s right on schedule, Ms. Barbara,” Loretta said, checking her computer. “You gon’ ahead and board when you’re ready.”
Evangelist Barbara thanked Loretta and turned to Lynn. “Sister Lynn—don’t forget about coming up to Charlotte, when you find time in your schedule. I know Pastor Gentry keeps you busy as a bee with your work in outreach, but find a few days to squeeze us in, hear?”
Lynn waited until the evangelist was safely aboard the train before turning to leave.
“Excuse me, miss lady, but you sho’ is looking fine today,” the porter said, now sidling up to her and licking his lips. “Anybody ever tell ya that you look jus’ like Natalie Cole?”
It was all Lynn could do to maintain her calm demeanor. Getting hit on was not necessarily new to her, but she never knew how to nicely tell a guy that she wasn’t interested.
Better to go the Jesus route with this one . . . “I try to look my best every day,” she responded, looking the man squarely in the eye and surprising him a little bit. He apparently hadn’t expected her to be so forthright with her comeback.
“I try to look my best every day because I want to reflect the Jesus who lives in me.” She paused for a beat. “Do you know Jesus, sir?”
“Um . . . ah . . . well, uh . . . yeah. Yeah, you know what I’m sayin’? I know God.”
“Well, I pray you’ll know Him better,” she said, reaching into her purse, pulling out and then handing him a brochure for Faith Community Church. “You’re more than welcome to come worship Him at Faith Community.”
“Um . . . well . . . uh, yeah, yeah, I’ll have to check y’all out sometime.”
Smiling politely at him, Lynn stepped past him and walked toward the train station’s front doors. She was halfway to the door when she happened to look down . . .
. . . and noticed yet another run down the front of her panty hose.
Lord, will I ever stop getting these?
She saw a ladies’ room to her right, and she stopped in to change. Out of habit (and now, almost out of necessity) she’d begun carrying extra pairs in her purse. What she needed to do, however, was spring for the more expensive kinds than the generic brand she normally wore. She’d rather not even wear the uncomfortable things, especially during the summer, but as the outreach director for one of the largest churches in the area, she knew the wisdom of looking her best at all times.
Brother Word Page 10
