by Barbie Wilde
“A skin specialist looked at it a couple of years ago. He disobeyed my advice not to touch it and he got a brain embolism. If it hadn’t been for my ‘Good Hand’ and the fact we were in a hospital at the time, he’d be dead. Luckily, he’s only paralyzed on his left side now.”
“Damn.” Billy Bob was worried. Now he realized what Tiffany was talking about when she mentioned exorcising the kid.
“Okay, let’s see the other one.”
Again, Mikey did a slow, smiling, striptease with his glove, revealing his “Good Hand.” In many ways, Billy Bob was more frightened of this appendage. It reminded him of one of DaVinci’s drawings of the hand of God, or Jesus maybe. He had a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, like when you see a beautiful woman for the first time. The hand—and even as he was experiencing the sensations, he knew how weird it was—the hand was so perfect, so beautiful, so golden, so fine, that Billy Bob felt like he was falling in love with it. He reached out to touch it and Mikey snatched it away.
“You got to be careful. This one’s more dangerous than the other one.” Mikey hurriedly put his gloves back on.
“Why?” Billy Bob asked. The pain of “The Good Hand” being withdrawn was palpable. The loss was heart-breaking.
“Whatever evil ‘The Bad Hand’ reveals about a person’s soul, ‘The Good Hand’ seems to have the power to put right, but sometimes it doesn’t work out the way that person wants it to,” Mikey said.
“Just one touch, please.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking. I don’t want to hurt you. When I figure it out, I’ll let you touch it.”
“Has your momma touched it?” Billy Bob said, trying, unsuccessfully it turned out, to not sound jealous.
“Of course,” Mikey replied. Billy Bob’s face flushed with a quick anger and a covetousness that not even he could understand. “But Mom is immune. She doesn’t get hurt by ‘The Bad Hand’ and she can’t receive any benefits from ‘The Good Hand.’ She’s lucky.”
Billy Bob gazed into his son’s clear blue, guileless (or were they?) eyes. The wave of rage and jealousy had passed. This child, preternaturally intelligent, well-spoken and mature, had a gift. An idea came to Billy Bob. An idea that could make him—and his son, of course—very rich. Very, very rich.
* * *
As Billy Bob tossed and turned that night—the very same night that he and his son returned from Biloxi and settled into his mansion in a smug suburban backwater of Spokane, Washington, he wondered how this could have happened. How could a child of his turn out this way? Maybe he should have some kind of DNA test done, but what would it show on his side: that he shouldn’t have gone to work as a janitor in the nuclear power plant at Hanford all those years ago? Or that he should have bypassed that stint slaving away in that pissant little gift shop in Love Canal, New York? Of course, Billy Bob’s experimentation with certain prohibited substances in his college years probably hadn’t helped his over-stimulated genes either. Whatever had happened, whether it was drugs, toxic waste, or an overdose of radiation, he’d fathered some kind of mutant kid.
On the other hand, who’s to say that it wasn’t an “Act of God?” Not that Billy Bob believed any of that horseshit, but his devoted, deluded followers didn’t need to know that. Yes, little Mikey, born of the Reverend Billy Bob Bannon, out of an illicit relationship with a fallen, Mary Magdalenesque, red-haired call girl called Tiffany—well, that sounded a hell of a lot better. And little Mikey was blessed with a talent that needed to be nurtured into something BIG. The Church of Michael the Young Redeemer and Healer. That had a nice ring to it.
* * *
It took a few months to set everything up. Billy Bob’s business advisors, Deke and Stevo Highdecker, were hot for the idea, although he could tell that neither of them personally warmed to Mikey, but what did they care, as long as the cash rolled in? And shark-souled as Deke and Stevo were, they could size up the kid and scent his potential like their fishy kindred could scent blood in the water.
So, the Church of Michael the Young Redeemer and Healer opened up in a converted TV studio on Main Street in Spokane, just down from the Jehovah’s Witnesses and across the way from the Buddhists’ store front temple. Billy Bob had a conference with his TV people and when he revealed Mikey’s “Hands of Good and Evil,” they freaked out for two minutes and then immediately started to figure out how they could get enough footage for an Easter Special.
The only problem was—and Billy Bob guessed he should have known this—was the young man himself. Mikey didn’t want to show his hands off to a bunch of “crazies in a church” as he put it and he certainly didn’t want to “perform like a monkey” in front of TV-viewing millions. As far as Mikey was concerned, the Bible was for the birds, written by amateurs—just like Wikipedia, but without the fact-checkers. However, Billy Bob wore him down eventually, feeding his ego and intelligence, telling him that he, Mikey, could hoodwink hundreds of thousands of people into sending him money and it was all legal. Nobody could touch them, because in America, all sorts of religious stupidity were allowed.
The first Michael the Young Redeemer and Healer Show went out on Good Friday and Billy Bob spent days beforehand with his advisors working on his sermon. It had to be worded carefully, as Billy Bob’s claims were, as far as he knew, completely without foundation. But he worked the sermon, shaped it, contorted his words, snaked around the issues and generally made up the biggest load of tosh-filled, Bible-referenced windage in the world. He was very proud. He showed it to Mikey and was pleased to see that, after his initial hilarity, even the kid had to admit it was a masterpiece.
On his end, Mikey rehearsed with a few well-chosen subjects, mostly street people gathered from alongside the railway tracks and the riverfront park. There were a few glitches along the way, but nothing that showed up in the news, or that couldn’t be cured by a free bottle of Jack Daniels.
* * *
Lights. Camera. Action. Billy Bob walked out to welcome the studio audience, who were sitting comfortably in the gleaming Church-TV Studio oak-hewn pews. He spoke and his followers saw that it was good:
“My friends, if you are watching me today, you know the tenets of my ministry well. You know that I abhor all adulterers, all sinners, all fraudsters, all fakes, all bankers, all politicians, all abortionists, all gays and lesbians, all liberals, all journalists and especially all those God-denying atheists out there propagating like flies. All those who spit in the face of Our Lord. Unless they repent. Yes, if only they would be penitent. We would forgive them if they gave up their heathen wicked ways and atoned for their sins,” Billy Bob said.
“My friends, you all know that for many years, I’ve been a lone man, fighting a losing battle against the transgressions and corruption that are infesting this nation. I’ve had my dark nights of the soul, as you all have. When my wife left me all those years ago, although she broke my heart, I knew that it had to be for a good reason. God’s reason. For we were without issue; we could not have children. Not that I’d blame my poor, benighted, adulterous wife for that, but she did leave me for greener pastures.” Billy Bob allowed a manly little sob to escape his lips.
“But I know now that it was God’s will,” he continued. “For I also found a green pasture to lie down in, to give me comfort unto the Lord. ‘He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.’ Psalm 23:2. That soothing green pasture was a beautiful woman named Tiffany.” The audience buzzed with this new revelation.
“My friends, she was a fallen woman, as Mary Magdalene was, but remember, our Lord loved Mary as he loved himself and he said: ‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’ John 8:7. Jesus forgave Mary Magdalene and I forgave Tiffany her sinful life, for underneath her surface corruption I could see that her soul was pure. We lay together as a married couple, even though we were not wed, but
through the darkness of sin, came a light. A light of divinity, a light so bright that it blinded me when I first saw it.” Billy Bob shielded his eyes dramatically as the studio audience leaned forward with anticipation.
“My son, Michael, he of the light, named after the Angel of Light, entered my life a short time ago and I now know that God saw fit to make my one night of sinfulness into something so powerful and so good, that it nearly struck me dumb. ‘Fear not, for you will not be ashamed; be not confounded, for you will not be disgraced; for you will forget the shame of your youth ...’ Isaiah 54:4.
“For Michael, in whose name I have christened this new church, has been blessed through our union by God and hence he has been given a great gift directly from God. A gift that passeth all understanding. A gift that only angels could comprehend.
“Michael has the power of life and death, of good and evil, in his hands, my friends. His touch will either redeem you, it will either save you—or it will send you straight to the bowels of hell to burn for all time. It is not his decision, for his power comes directly from God. But take comfort in the fact that Michael is your ally in the fight against eternal evil. ‘And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon.’ Revelation 12:7.
“Michael’s sole purpose in life is to be here for you. Each and every one of you. Yes, my friends, my son is prepared to sacrifice the normal, everyday life of a normal everyday child to become your savior. Remember Daniel 12:1: ‘And at that time shall Michael stand up, the great prince which standeth for the children of thy people: and there shall be a time of trouble, such as never was since there was a nation even to that same time: and at that time thy people shall be delivered, every one that shall be found written in the book.’” Billy Bob paused dramatically, just before the last sprint to the end.
“Now, prepare to witness the miracle, the miracle of my son, the miracle of Michael the Young Redeemer and Healer!” Billy Bob shouted. “Michael is here for all those who want to be healed. All those who want to be saved. All those who seek the truth.
“Now, we just happen to have here today some willing volunteers who will be happy to test Michael’s power—his God-given power. Yes, every one of these brave and strong believers in the faith will give themselves up to Michael and allow his ‘Hands of Good and Evil’ to decide their fate. They will literally put themselves in Michael’s—and God’s—‘Hands.’ And remember, God moves in mysterious ways. Hallelujah!”
To thunderous applause, Mikey walked out on the stage, wearing a startling white outfit that was a carbon copy of his father’s, with the addition of a pair of bejeweled gloves: one decorated with black crystals and the other one with silver. They were so blingful that Michael Jackson himself (if he’d still been alive, that is) would have coveted them. The lights picked up on the crystals and reflections danced across the studio floor, as if they were coming from two miniature mirror balls—like God’s own disco.
People gasped at the sight, as both Billy Bob and Mikey had calculated his appearance very carefully for maximum effect. Mikey did look almost divine, in an over-freckly, Billy-Mumy-from-the-TV-series-Lost-in-Space kind of way.
Mikey mounted a specially built podium, so he appeared to be taller than his father. He took in a long, shaky breath, unaccustomed to public speaking as he was. But deep in his heart, Mikey knew he was up to the task. Showmanship was as thoroughly ingrained in his DNA as his mutated hands were. Mikey raised his arms up and spoke. The crowd and the TV audience listened with rapt attention.
“‘And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our HANDS upon us; yea, the work of our HANDS establish thou it.’ Psalm 90:17,” Mikey intoned.
He reached over his head and ripped off the glittering glove from the “Good Hand,” which Mikey then dramatically pointed up to the heavens. Everyone in the studio audience and all those watching on the box at home gasped as one. People cried and prostrated themselves in front of their television sets. It was truly the most beautiful hand in the world, especially as it was set off so artistically by the studio lighting.
Mikey continued: “Our Lord Jesus Christ said, ‘Behold my HANDS, that it is I myself ...’ Luke 24:39.” People in close proximity fell to their knees. The phones started ringing off the hook. Mikey was instantly hooked on the adulation.
In another dramatic gesture, he ripped off the black crystal glove covering his “Bad Hand” and then lifted both up to the ceiling, while he shouted (backed up with impressive reverb effects from the sound technician), “‘Now therefore, O God, strengthen my HANDS.’ Nehemiah 6:9.”
A woman fainted and was almost trampled by the crowd as they surged forward towards Mikey. Luckily, Billy Bob had anticipated this and had some hunky bodyguards move in to contain the mob.
“Please, my friends,” Billy Bob pleaded. “Stay back. Return to your seats. Everyone will have a chance to see.”
The bodyguards shoved the crowd back to the pews. When things had quieted down, Mikey gestured for the guinea pigs to be shepherded over to him.
One man stepped forward and said, “Michael, my name is Brian and I’m a bad man. I’ve spent time in prison for rape. I’m no good, but I want to change, honest. Will you help me?” Mikey looked at Brian closely. He looked like a “bad’un,” as his mother used to say: squinty-eyed, shabbily clothed, dirty and smelly. Mikey didn’t like him, so he thought that this was the ideal man upon which to test his powers for the first time in front of the TV cameras. Mikey quietly directed Brian to turn around so he faced the audience.
Mikey raised both arms heavenwards again: “O God, strengthen my hands. Search out the evil in this man!” and then he clapped his “Bad Hand” on the top of Brian’s head.
Brian shrieked with pain and surprise. Blood squirted out of his eyeballs. His knees buckled, but Pork Chop and Duffle, two of the heftiest bodyguards, were on hand to catch him and prop him up.
Mikey hollered: “‘And when ye spread forth your HANDS, I will hide mine eyes from you: yea, when ye make many prayers, I will not hear: your HANDS are full of blood.’ Isaiah 1:15.”
Brian juddered violently, as if he was having an epileptic fit. Blood spouted from his nose, dribbled from his open, silently screaming mouth and his ears. The audience was stunned into silence, some even noticing that blood was seeping through Brian’s pants in his nether regions. They thought they were going to experience a ceremony of healing, not witness a horror show.
In his previous encounters, Mikey had never felt anything untoward with his (what he truly considered) accidental victims, just a rushing, “channeling” feeling as he called it, but this time, everything seemed to work in reverse. He was receiving a barrage of images from Brian’s brain: countless women being raped and murdered, their naked, brutalized bodies being disposed of like garbage—carelessly dumped in rivers and forest thickets. Mikey realized that not only was Brian a convicted rapist, he was a murderer as well—a serial killer. Mikey felt like throwing up, but he continued on:
“May the power of God compel the malicious spirits out of this corruption that is your body!” Mikey shouted.
Slumped between Pork Chop and Duffle, a stinky, drooling Brian looked a goner at this point and the same woman who had fainted earlier stood up and vomited spectacularly over the man seated in front of her.
Mikey whipped away his left hand and placed his right hand on top of Brian’s head, at the same time yelling, “Brian, go forth and sin no more!” Heavenly lighting and sound effects accompanied his movements as Brian jerked upright and his mouth opened in an enormous “O” of surprise, uncannily mimicking the expression of a blow-up sex doll. Now, with a little help from the special effects technician, myriad lights were swirling around Brian, making him look like a refugee from an ancient Jefferson Airplane video. Brian gurgled some very disturbing sounds, a combination of whale song and great ape calls:
“whoooo, whoooo, whoooop!”
Mikey removed his “Good Hand” and Brian shook himself free from Pork Chop and Duffle. He boogied a crazy, hopping-on-hot-coals kind of dance and hollered, “I’m saved!”
The audience went nuts, applauding frantically. Brian collapsed in a heap. Pork Chop and Duffle swiftly dragged him off to an ambulance that was waiting in the wings. White-coated janitors leapt into action, cleaning up the slug-like trail of blood on the studio floor. Billy Bob felt the teensiest little swirl of jealousy. This was truly spectacular. Billy Bob moved forward to take over the proceedings. Everyone had agreed that the first show should only have one “Purification Rite,” or whatever they were going to call it.
Mikey slowly knelt down on the podium on one knee, his arms crossed over his chest in a Knights Templar pose, trying to compute the murderous show-reel that was playing over and over in his head. He stood up and looked straight at the camera and announced, “Brian has revealed his sins to me. Brian is not only a rapist, but he is a murderer as well. I witnessed his crimes. I saw his victims. Hidden away for years, they cry to me for justice. I will speak for them now.”
Billy Bob’s jaw dropped. This hadn’t happened during rehearsals. The other guinea pigs looked uncomfortable. What hidden miserable secrets could Michael winnow out from their hearts? Michael raised his arms again and this time a woman frantically ran towards him. “My name is Eileen and I’ve been told over and over that I am a sinner. Michael, can you seek out the truth within me?” she cried.
Mikey was tired, drained, with the thoughts of a serial killer rampaging through his brain, but, in spite of his mental exhaustion, he gestured to Pork Chop and Duffle, who moved into position. Billy Bob felt like his show was being hijacked, but the crowd was baying for more and he might cause more of a ruckus by stopping the proceedings than by letting them continue.
