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A monitor on the stage showed slow-motion footage of a little boy who kicked and screamed as the focus tightened on the child’s hemorrhaging eyes and the erupting sores on his forehead and cheeks.
Ed’s voice continued to narrate as the footage cut to old grainy photos of the corpses in Jonestown: “On November 18, 1978, 914 men, women and children shocked the world when they committed mass suicide in Guyana.”
Next, Ed’s audience of more than 3,000 followers cheered when they saw themselves on the screen. “Today, we’re here to break that record in a mass protest against God’s injustice.”
With that, most of the crowd swallowed cups of poisonous liquid and fell to the ground in convulsions.
Ed wiped his eyes as the portal closed. He doubted he could become the maniac he saw in the portal. He walked to the base of a large stairway and shivered when he saw the wallpaper on the opposite side of the wooden handrail – a patchwork of large flat strips of dried, human skin peppered by wrinkled, disfigured human faces that moaned as he passed. When he made it upstairs, he found the bedroom where he had slept, closed the door and buried his face in the pillow.
He raised his face again when he heard the door close on the ground floor. Moving to the window, he saw the senator’s driver grip the limousine’s steering wheel while taking the old man to Capitol Hill.
“God, it didn’t have to happen this way,” Ed said. “All you had to do was speak directly to me. I give you one final chance. Speak now or face your own perverted justice.”
The room remained silent.
“Why did you create me to ignore me? Whatever happens next is your own fault.”
Ed leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes, imagining God in the form of a whirlwind in the Book of Job – refusing to give straight answers. He grew angry as he recalled the lecture from the woman with the crystal-blue eyes and angrier as he recalled his brother’s explanation that we can’t expect God to serve human whims or submit to threats.
…
Soon, Ed drifted back to sleep, dreaming of an evil power building inside him like water pressure in a geyser.
In the dream he wore a black robe and had no physical body. He hovered over Stephen’s car as the priest drove home with cold sweat, pouring from his armpits.
“Holy Spirit, give me guidance,” Stephen prayed as he walked from the car to his house.
Ed hovered above his brother and probed his thoughts without being seen. When Stephen turned off his bedroom light and waited in the silence, a dog barked in the distance. The bark reminded Stephen of a voice directing him to to “kill, kill, kill.”
“Forgive me, God. I love her. Tell me if I can marry her without disappointing you. I submit to your will, whatever it is.”
A high-pitched tone pierced the air. Stephen suffered the pinch of a severe migraine behind his right eye. The smell of diarrhea blanketed the room, and a dancing, multi-colored ray of light shot through the darkness. He fell on the ground and felt a strange chill on the floor near the light.
Still unseen by Stephen, Ed spoke with a booming voice: “I forgive you. Jennifer will go away. Continue to serve my church as my priest. I’ve chosen you to strengthen the faith of millions.”
Stephen looked at his arms and felt invisible metal spikes piercing his flesh. Two visible puncture wounds erupted on his wrists. Blood trickled down the side of his torso, and his feet burned with the wounds of Christ. When he looked in the mirror, he saw sores on his forehead from an invisible crown of thorns.
Thinking of St. Francis of Assisi and the late Padre Pio, Stephen imagined himself wearing bandages at the pulpit, preaching a homily to a crowded church with standing room only. He felt a renewed sense of zeal that he had not experienced since the day he took his religious vows.
“I’m sorry for hurting Jennifer. I’ll do anything you ask, Lord. Treat me like an empty vessel. Fill me with your love, and spill me across the world.”
Stephen prayed the rosary until he fell asleep. When he woke up the next morning, the wounds and all traces of blood had disappeared. He panicked when he smelled rancid feces and couldn’t trace the odor to any source.
…
Ed awoke to find one of the nurses, tapping his leg and pointing at a flat-screen TV.
“It’s a live feed from the Senator’s office. He’s called a press conference and wanted you to see it, too.”
Ed sat up in bed and saw Senator Walker at a large antique wooden desk. The old man’s hair stuck up like it had just left the pillow. As the senator unbuttoned his collar and loosened his tie, Ed thought the old man looked drunk.
Senator Walker’s voice grew agitated as spoke before a group of reporters. “Years ago, I believed I had everything human existence could offer: A healthy body; wealth, power, fame and glory; married to a gorgeous, talented actress. Then one day, it seemed so transient. The flames of time will burn all we love and cherish into oblivion.”
“Senator, excuse me,” said a man, off camera.
“Don’t interrupt me. You’ll have more than enough time for questions.” Senator Walker took a sip of water. “Human civilization has moved far beyond the horizons that contained our primate ancestors on the Serengeti plain. We’ve conquered Earth, sea and sky; mapped large regions of our universe; split the atom; built the multi-ton structures of the pyramids and Stonehenge without modern equipment; produced cities where millions take sanitation for granted; handed the beauty of Michelangelo, Shakespeare and Beethoven to posterity. All for nothing. Like the Tower of Babel, the Creator will watch our fleeting glory crumble, long before our universe collapses – just as He intended.”
The senator continued ranting until another reporter tried to squeeze in a question.
