"Jason, I've been riding in pickups my whole life. Don't lie to me."
"No, Lucy, you don't understand," Jason replied, as he looked her right in the eye. "This is a brand new truck. We might make it. We might not. I'm just scared to try. If we get stalled in high water, my old man will kill me and park the truck in the garage until spring. I don't want to be riding the school bus for the rest of the year."
As Jason drove the truck away from the door to a parking space in the dark lot behind the church, Lucy had to concede that this was a real "frog strangler," as her dad would put it. She weighed her alternatives and decided that ten minutes inside the truck was better than ten minutes walking through the downpour. She sat on her side of the truck, listening to the music and watching the windshield wipers as lightning flashed and rain filled the streets. It wasn't long until Lucy began to shiver in her wet clothes.
Seizing his opportunity, Jason said, "I'll hold you and warm you up. Nothing more, I swear."
Reluctant at first, she finally slid over to his outstretched arm and snuggled against his chest. Suddenly, Jason grabbed her chin in his hand and forced her to kiss him. She tried to pull away but couldn't shove him off. When he started to unbutton her blouse, she screamed. Jason backhanded her across the face, "Shut up, Lucy. You want this as much as I do."
Afterwards, he commanded, "Get dressed. I'm taking you home."
Whimpering as she put on her skirt and buttoned her blouse, Lucy retreated to her side of the seat. She couldn't find her panties in the dark. When she finished dressing, her back stiffened. She reached over and slapped Jason as hard as she could. Jason looked startled for a moment, then shoved her toward the passenger door.
"For that, bitch, you can walk home."
He opened the door, pushed her out, and left her standing in the parking lot as he roared off into the night. Lucy stared at the fading taillights, then pulled off her shoes and started the walk home. Uncertain about what she could do, the only thought that came through clearly was what she couldn't do—and that was to tell her mother.
CHAPTER 1
For twelve years the faithful had journeyed from around the world to view the comatose man whose life depended on the feeding tube in his abdomen. This Christmas Eve morning was no different. They began arriving at The City of Miracles on the west side of Fort Worth at dawn. The parking lot resembled Universal Studios. Young men and women in tan slacks and white shirts directed traffic.
By nine o'clock, hundreds were gathered. When the gates opened, a guide escorted the first group inside. The young woman who led them resembled a college cheerleader, blond, blue-eyed, a face filled with eagerness and religious fervor. As they walked, she explained where they were going and what they would see. "My name is Naomi. Twelve years ago today, a demented woman stabbed Reverend Thomas Jeremiah Luther, The Chosen, in the heart as he left a revival at the Cotton Bowl in Dallas. They rushed him to the hospital where he was not expected to live. He refused to die. After months, they could do nothing more so we brought him back here where we could care for him and wait for him to be born once again. You will see him where he lies in state. He has been in a coma for twelve years, fed by a tube and cared for by those of us who believe in him. Five years ago, we took him off life support at the directive of The City's Board of Governors. Since then, the doctors have repeatedly declared him clinically dead, but each time a miracle has brought him back.
"The finest doctors in the world have evaluated his condition over the years. They have reached the same conclusion. He will never wake up. He will always be in a vegetative condition and there is nothing we can do except care for him until his death.
"We know the doctors are wrong. They do not understand the power of prayer or believe in miracles. We know that he will not die. Our Father has much more work for him to do in this life. When the time is right, he will awaken and take his rightful place as the spiritual leader of The City of Miracles. Once again, his voice will be heard throughout the world."
They arrived at the center of the city and found themselves standing in front of an unimpressive, round dome that rose twenty feet above the ground. It could have been a tomb or a bunker or a landed spacecraft. The young woman asked the assembled group to form a single-file line and to bow their heads as they entered. One by one, they vanished into the shadows of the dome. Smoky oil lamps provided a faint light. The circular walkway surrounded a smaller, slightly glowing glass dome, thirty feet in diameter.
"Please be silent and follow your guide along the walkway. There will be room for each of you to view The Chosen. As soon as you position yourselves facing the dome, we will begin," a voice commanded through loud speakers.
The glass dome covered a modern and fully functional intensive care unit fifteen feet below the level where the visitors stood. In the middle of the unit was a hospital bed. On it lay the frail, almost lifeless body of Thomas Jeremiah Luther, a.k.a. The Chosen, covered in white linen with only a red blotch carefully placed over his heart where the knife had entered twelve years earlier. His face was the picture of serenity. A light shone on it, forming a halo above his head. A close look revealed a barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest. To his right a young man dressed in a white robe sat ceremoniously on a rock, reminiscent of the scene that Mary Magdalene and Mary, the mother of Jesus, had seen three days after Jesus had been crucified.
As the visitors took their places, the nurses stopped what they were doing and stood off to the side to permit the faithful to take in the entire scene. A portrait of Jesus hung on one wall. Eyes filled with compassion, he seemed to stare at the man in the bed. Reverend Luther himself had done the portrait when he was a resident in the Tarrant County jail many years before. The portrait had been moved to The City when The Chosen was at the height of his power.
The faithful silently witnessed the scene before them for five minutes before the young man on the rock started speaking.
"…as he cared for us in life we care for him as he lies in limbo before you. The ladies in white provide physical and pulmonary therapy three times a day. He does not need life support. He is on no regular medication. Occasionally, he blinks his eyes. Otherwise, he shows no sign of life. Yet, we know he lives and some day will rise to lead us again. It has been prophesied that on an anniversary of his near-death he will awaken. For twelve years, people like you have gathered here on that anniversary and prayed for his return. For whatever reason, God has not given him back to us. Now the lights are going to dim and you will be in total darkness. Do not be afraid. For the one minute that you are in darkness, think instead about the twelve years that The Chosen has been in darkness and pray silently to our God to return him to us."
The lights dimmed as the lamps were snuffed out and the room went black. The visitors could not see their families beside them. They could only reach out and clasp hands. After about thirty seconds of silence, a woman in the crowd started crying, quietly at first before her crying turned to wailing and gasping for air. Then she sank to her knees as grief overwhelmed her.
"Woman, why are you weeping?" A voice, soft and weak, asked the question.
At first no one knew where it came from until the young man on the rock shouted, "Turn on the lights. It's him!"
CHAPTER 2
Lucy awoke from a horrific night of tossing, turning and nightmares. She lay in bed and wondered whether to tell her mother that she was not feeling well and needed to stay home. Fearing that would only arouse a series of questions, she changed her mind, made her bed and put on a robe for the trip to the bathroom and breakfast table. Her dad, Randall "Bo" Brady, would have left for work an hour earlier.
Lucy's mother, Joanna worked as a bookkeeper and cashier at the Texas City Cafeteria in town. Each morning she left before Lucy boarded the school bus and returned home by five o'clock. Within minutes, she would be joined by her mother at the kitchen table before she had to leave. On this particular morning, breakfast was the last thing on Lucy's mind, but she followed
her routine and was soon seated in front of a bowl of cereal with the Miracle Morning Hour on the television in the adjoining family room. As she toyed with her food, Joanna joined her.
"Good morning, dear. You're running a little late this morning. The bus will be by in fifteen minutes."
"I know. I'll make it." Glancing at the television, she added, "Mom, I know that Aunt Jessie's on the board of The City of Miracles, but do we have to watch that show every morning?"
"That ministry is my sister's life and I like to be able to discuss it with her when we talk. You can change the channel when I leave. What's that on your lip?"
Lucy hesitated and replied, "Oh, it's nothing. Just a fever blister starting."
"You get some ointment on it before you go to school. By the way, who gave you a ride last night?"
"You know, Mom. Jason."
"Seems to me like you were a little late getting home. What were you and Jason doing?"
"Nothing, Mom. We had to wait a few minutes in the parking lot for the storm to let up."
"Exactly what were you and Jason doing in that parking lot?" Joanna demanded, once again recalling how many times she had spent the evening on her back in a pickup and hoping to nip in the bud any possibility that her daughter might develop similar habits.
Putting on an innocent and incredulous look, Lucy replied, "Nothing, Mother. We listened to Garth Brooks for ten minutes. That's all."
"Well, darling daughter, see to it that there really is nothing more. If there is, the Good Book says you will be damned to hell." With that parting comment, Joanna rose, kissed her daughter on the cheek and left for work. Lucy sat at the table with a mixture of emotions, thoughts and questions rampaging through her mind.
Had she caused it?
Was she responsible?
Did she want it as much as Jason did, like he told her?
Should she report it to the police?
Would anyone believe her?
Could she be pregnant? He had barely gotten it in and most of the liquid had gone down her leg. She also remembered conversations with her best friends, whom she considered experts on the topic of sex. According to them, a girl couldn't get pregnant the first time.
She sat in her classes that day, although her mind could just as well have been in outer space. The thoughts of the early morning kept popping up, one by one, like the words in one of those little black fortune telling balls, only these were questions, not answers. During lunch she sat with her usual group of friends. Surveying the table, she considered whether she could tell any of them. As lunch ended, she concluded that not one would keep her mouth shut. She quietly left the table for her next class.
Lucy wanted to confide in her mother. Then she remembered people up in front of the congregation, confessing their sins and asking for forgiveness from the membership, the church, Jesus and God. She had convinced herself that her mother would not believe what had actually happened. She wasn't sure that her mother would make her confess; yet she couldn't be certain, and she wasn't willing to take that risk. She considered her Aunt Jessie in Fort Worth where she spent several weeks every summer, but gave up the idea when she thought of the weekly conversations between Jessie and Joanna.
Over the next several days, Lucy began to heal, at least physically. Her soreness went away. She slept a little better. She was able to pay attention in class and she joined in the conversations at lunch. On Saturday, her dad took his Boston Whaler out in Galveston Bay. His buddy, Al, met him at five a.m. and they fished until mid-afternoon. When they got back to the house, Al hung around, helping Bo clean the fish and wash down the boat. Al was a policeman and Lucy had known him all of her life. By now, Lucy had almost decided that Jason had raped her. Al could tell her for sure. She wandered out to the garage.
"Well, there's my best girlfriend. How're you doing, kid?" Al asked as he gave her a hug.
Al was one of the biggest men she had ever seen. He stood at least six feet, six inches tall and had to weigh three hundred pounds. In full uniform, "Respect" was his middle name. With Lucy, he was like a favorite uncle.
"I'm fine, Al. How was the fishing?"
"Good day, sweetie. We each caught our limit of reds and a couple of snapper to boot. Our families are going to eat good tonight." As soon as her dad went into the house, she broached the subject.
"Al, I'm writing a research paper on the decline in crime over the past several years and the reasons for it. Can you give me some ideas?"
"Sure, honey, violent crime is way down. It's largely due to our cities waking up and putting more money into law enforcement. Part of it is because Texas built more prisons a few years ago. If they're locked up in the crossbar hotel, they can't bother you and me."
"What do you consider violent crime?"
"Murder, assault, armed robbery, rape. Those are the main ones."
"Are they all down?" Lucy asked.
"Well, sweetie, all but rape. That one's not really affected by anything I mentioned."
Seeing her opportunity, Lucy seized it. "How do you define rape?"
"I'd have to go to the penal code to give you the exact definition. With adults, it's usually a man forcing a woman to have sexual intercourse against her will."
"How can you tell if there's been a rape?"
"We've got ways. The first thing is the credibility of the person reporting it. It's particularly important that the woman, and usually it's a woman, report it immediately. The relationship of the victim and the alleged perpetrator is right up there. It's hard to get a conviction if they knew each other before the complaint. The longer she waits, the more likely a jury is going to conclude that she consented, then just got mad at the guy. Physical evidence is important. If there is a rape, we have police officers trained to recognize it. They get the woman to the hospital where they use a rape kit to gather evidence. They look for proof of violence, bruising, tearing, etc. They also take samples, searching for semen."
Al sensed that Lucy was directing the conversation.
"Lucy, do you have something you want to talk to me about?"
"Uh, no. Not me. I'm just doing research. Thanks for your help." She turned and quickly went back into the house before Al could say anything else. In the quietness of her room, she compared his comments to her situation. It had been a week. The soreness between her legs was gone. If there had ever been any semen, it had long since washed away. To make it worse, she hadn't told anyone. The kids at school knew they walked together in the halls. If Jason said that they had agreed to have sex, it would boil down to his word against hers. From what Al had said, the chances were slim that a jury would find him guilty. And there would be the publicity. The thought of being in the Texas City newspaper and having people stare at her was the last straw. She would just have to keep her mouth shut.
On Monday, she returned to school with the events of that Sunday night still in her mind. She managed to push them to the back where they would stay—at least for now.
CHAPTER 3
Lester Higdon, the neurologist on call, arrived at The City in less than an hour. He was whisked through hidden tunnels to the bedside of The Chosen who had lapsed back into a sleep. The doctor was fearful that Luther wouldn't speak again. Dr. Higdon checked his vital signs, listened to his heart and lungs and determined that his reflexes were intact. Fortunately, the round-the-clock nurses had done their job. While the limbs were thin, muscle was present, and more importantly, there were no contractures.
"Dr. Higdon, what is going on? Is it a miracle?" one of the nurses asked.
"Carol, I'm not even sure that I know. I've been practicing neurology for twenty-five years and I've never seen this. There are reports in the literature of patients who were thought to be comatose and turned out to be in what is known as a locked-in state. They appear to be completely unresponsive, and after months or years, something happens to trigger their recovery. For the most part, it remains a medical mystery. Is it a miracle when it happens? I'm afraid I'm not the one
to make that call. I'm a physician, not a theologian. I can't even tell you if he'll wake up again or if he will die tomorrow. All we can do is watch and wait."
And so they did.
Within a week, Reverend Luther woke again and he responded to simple questions with blinks of his eyes. Soon, he moved each of his limbs. Next, came short sentences. While it may not have been a miracle, the improvement in the condition of The Chosen was remarkable. In the fourth week, they moved him to a chair where he sat for thirty minutes. He slept twelve hours each night and took a nap every afternoon. Then, he asked for a TV. When he wasn't sleeping or undergoing therapy, he was glued to it, interested in all of the news shows. He asked for magazines and books that discussed world events that had occurred while he had slept.
As his recovery continued, Reverend Luther's doctors outfitted one floor of the Miracle Tower as a rehabilitation facility. The Miracle Tower rose above The City. Twenty stories tall, it was covered in glass the hue of a good Kentucky bourbon. It housed the administrative and accounting offices, archives, a research and religious library, suites for the members of the board, and a boardroom on the nineteenth floor. The twentieth floor penthouse had been designed for Reverend Luther. When The Chosen was moved to the newly redone rehabilitation facility, The City was sealed off from visitors and T. J. was taken on a tour. He was pleased to find that his work had not been allowed to lie fallow. Many of his original ideas were completed with more on the drawing board. Miracle College had an enrollment of three thousand students. Miracle Foundation, the think tank for The Right Side, occupied its own six-story building, housing some of the best and brightest right wing minds that money could buy. The television ministry had tripled during the twelve years. The Crusade schedule was booked solid for years in advance. The various theme sections of The City were fully operational. T. J. whistled under his breath at the amount of The City's net worth, so much money that The City employed a staff of managers to oversee investments. In studying The City's stocks, one of them caught the attention of The Chosen. It was a company called GreenForest Utilities. He took particular note of the investment because he had seen a business talk show where two analysts were discussing a lawsuit involving that company in Houston.
So Help Me God Page 2
