Eli (10 page)

“What nonsense is that?” Charlene Marshal asked.

“You know, all this silliness about angels, spirit guides, and ‘connecting to some great cosmic force,’ whatever that is.” He finished the phrase with a chuckle that sent ripples through both double chins.

Conrad stared at the monitor in the control room. He never understood why men so heavy insisted on wearing shirts so tight that their flesh literally spilled over their collars. Still, Dr. Kerston was powerful enough to wear whatever he wanted and get away with it. During the commercial break Charlene had regained her composure. They had removed the girl and had shuffled Keith Anderson backstage. Now she was hosting the final segment, a satellite link with Dr. Thomas J.

Kerston down in Georgia. As leader of one of the largest denominations in America, host of his own talk show on his own network, EBN, he’d been steadily rising in popularity, even becoming a serious political force. All Southern charm and good ol’ boy on the outside, he was steel and grit underneath. Both Republicans and Democrats had been courting his favor, and by never committing too strongly to either side, he managed to hold everyone’s feet to the fire.

Besides being a shrewd politician, he was also a remarkable salesman. In the first sixty seconds that he’d been on the show he’d already managed to work in the opening of his new facility, the City of God. “The world’s largest worship center, complete with a giant food court with food from all around the world, an elaborate water park for the kiddies, plus workout facilities, tennis courts, and shoot, we even got our own dating service. There’s something here for the entire family, just a short two-hour drive from Atlanta, right in beautiful Salem County, Georgia.”

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It had been a remarkable piece of salesmanship, but with Charlene’s gentle prodding, they had managed to return to Eli and to bring up the gentleman’s concern regarding any affili-ation he may have with the New Age movement.

“So,” Charlene said, turning back to Eli. “How would you address that question?”

“I think the doctor is right to be concerned about these issues,” Eli said. “Most of today’s supernatural experiences—

channeling, spirit guides, and the like, are cheap counterfeits of the real thing. And they can prove to be quite dangerous.

But, the question we have to ask ourselves, Doctor, is why? If people are so starved to find God, why aren’t they coming to us? What are we doing wrong that causes a person to look to counterfeit experiences instead of—”

“—instead of the Word of God,” the doctor interrupted, nodding in agreement. “Which, of course, is the real source of life.”

Eli shook his head. “No, that’s not correct.”

“Pardon me?”

“The Bible is not the source of life. Although it does point to that life.”

Once again a scowl crept over the Doctor’s face. “And that life is . . .”

“Me.”

The studio audience stirred.

“Oh brother,” Conrad sighed from the control room. “Here we go again.”

Eli continued. “You see, Doctor, I am the ultimate truth. I am the life.”

“Wait a minute.” Charlene smelled blood and went in for the kill. “Are you telling us that you are the only truth, that none of these other religions matter?”

Eli turned to her, his gaze riveting. “I am the way, Charlene. No one comes to my Father, but through Me.”

“Your . . .
Father
?” Charlene pretended to cough in surprise.

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Dr. Kerston’s image chuckled. “I see. So tell me, Eli, how does that make you any different from, say, the David Koreshes of the world, or any other half-baked delusionist with a Messiah complex?”

“It doesn’t. Except for one minor detail.”

“And what is that?”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

Back in the control room, Conrad turned to Suzanne.

“What’s he doing? He had them, they were on his side.”

“Give me audience reactions,” the director ordered.

The program monitor cut to an audience growing more and more unsettled.

“I am the door, Dr. Kerston. It is impossible to enter the Kingdom of Heaven without entering through me.”

There was another good-natured chortle from Dr. Kerston.

“Don’t you find that, oh, I don’t know, just a little bit ‘exclusive’—being the only way to Heaven, I mean?”

Eli turned directly to Kerston’s video-link image and spoke. “You know nothing about the Kingdom of Heaven, Doctor. My Father’s Kingdom is not about food courts, dating services, or water parks. It has nothing to do with day planners or becoming the CEO of a great, flourishing congregation.”

“Go split screen,” the director ordered. Immediately both faces were side by side on the monitor—Eli, speaking earnestly, Dr. Kerston striving to maintain his smile.

“The Kingdom of God is about dying. It is about pouring your life into others, regardless of the cost. It is about laying down your life so that you can receive Mine. Bigger is not better, Doctor.” Eli leaned closer into the camera. “The Kingdom is not part of the American dream. Hear Me carefully. In the Kingdom of Heaven, there is no greater temptation, no quicker road to ruin . . . than worldly success.”

“Tell her we’ve got thirty seconds,” the director ordered.

Then turning to the sound booth he said, “Give me closing music.”

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Charlene took her cue and turned toward her camera.

“Well, guys, that was more than a little enlightening. We have just a few seconds left. Any closing comments?”

Dr. Kerston cleared his throat and smiled. “Well, despite our differences, I want Eli there to understand he’s still welcome to come on down to Salem County when we open this Fourth of July. And that same invitation goes to all of your audience, Charlene. Come on down to the City of God, just a short two-hour drive from Atlanta, and let us offer you a little old-fashioned, godly hospitality.”

“This guy doesn’t miss a beat,” Conrad mused out loud.

The director nodded. “Your friend could take a few lessons.”

“And if you don’t want to eat at our food court”—Dr. Kerston gave another chuckle—“shoot, you don’t have to. But if any of you are thinking about a vacation or just wanting to see what great and mighty things our God is doing here, well, come on down, our door is always open.”

“Eli?” Charlene asked.

Eli swallowed quietly. Finally he answered, “I think the doctor has said it all.”

“Come on,” Charlene prodded. “What does that mean?”

“It means Dr. Kerston is not building my Father’s Kingdom . . . but his own. On the outside it’s a beautiful complex with good and decent things. But on the inside it is exactly like the doctor . . . full of death and stench and decay.”

The director let out a whoop.

Dr. Kerston’s smile quivered.

And Conrad shook his head mumbling. “Oh boy.”

“Give her fifteen seconds,” the director ordered. “Wrap it up.”

Conrad turned and motioned Suzanne toward the exit.

“Let’s get in there and get him out before the audience goes after him.”

Suzanne nodded and they headed for the door. Conrad could tell she was just as embarrassed over the performance hththt 5/14/01 11:34 AM Page 70

70 as he was. Too bad. It had been going so well. But now . . .

now when the show was aired, folks across the country would begin cutting him up and serving him for lunch. You don’t lash out at one of the most respected religious icons in America (not to mention the most powerful) without major repercussions. And you certainly don’t go around claiming to be the only way to God.

They headed down the thickly carpeted hallway until they reached the studio door. He tugged it open. It was thick and heavily padded to dampen the sound. Once inside, he spotted Eli off to the right. The audience had already started shuffling out while Charlene talked to the floor director. It was obvious she was avoiding Eli like the plague. The same was true for the rest of the crew. And who could blame them?

“Eli.” Suzanne walked across the black, concrete floor and gave him a brief hug. Conrad was right behind.

“So, how did I do?” Eli asked with his trademark twinkle.

“Well . . .” Conrad gave a little grimace.

Eli chuckled, “That good, huh?”

Conrad shrugged, pleased to see Eli wasn’t taking it too badly. “Let’s just say a few more lessons in diplomacy wouldn’t hurt.”

Eli smiled. “But it’s truth, Conrad. You of all people know the value of truth. ‘A person is only as good as their word,’

remember?”

Conrad opened his mouth, but for a second no words would come. How did he know? Had Suzanne—no, that was too personal, too private. Finally the question formed. “Who

. . . who exactly are you?”

Eli’s smile broadened. “I think you know, Connie.”

Again Conrad was speechless.

After a moment, Suzanne stepped in. “It’s too bad about that Keith boy,” she said.

Eli turned to her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s too bad you didn’t heal him.”

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“I didn’t?”

Before Suzanne could respond there was a loud cry backstage. All three turned to see a small crowd gathering. In its center stood Keith Anderson. “I’ve got it!” he shouted. “I’ve got my leg! I’ve got a leg!”

Eli turned and started toward the exit. “Come on,” he said.

“We should be going.”

Suzanne nodded and started to follow. But Conrad could only stand staring.

“Conrad?” Eli turned back to him. “Connie, you all right?”

Conrad slowly turned toward him, still stunned, still amazed.

Eli waited patiently until Conrad could finally find the words. “You . . . you really are him, aren’t you?”

“Who’s that?” Eli asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Jesus . . .” Conrad’s voice caught in his throat and he tried again. “Jesus Christ.”

v

Julia jerked awake and looked toward her father’s unconscious body. Impossible. The respirator hose was taped to his mouth, making it impossible for him to speak. But she heard it. Clearly. Unmistakably.

“Jesus . . . Jesus Christ.”

It had been his voice, there was no denying it. She rose from the yellow fiberglass chair and leaned toward him, looking down at the swollen, bandaged head. “Dad . . . Dad, did you say something?”

No response.

“Dad, it’s me, Jules. Did you try to speak?”

There was no movement, no indication he’d heard. How could he answer even if he had? But he had said something, she was certain of it.

Or had he? In her half-asleep state, had she only thought she’d heard his voice? No. She shook her head. She’d heard it.

Somehow, someway. As clear as a bell. It was her father’s voice.

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“
Jesus . . . Jesus Christ
.”

She suspected it to be an oath that he’d mumbled through his pain. Then again it could have been some sort of prayer, who knows. But she’d heard something.

And if it was something, that meant part of him was still there. His brain hadn’t been entirely destroyed. There was some consciousness left. And if that was true—she felt herself growing uncomfortably cold—then if she gave permission for them to take him off life support . . . there was something, some part of her father’s consciousness, she would be killing.

“Dad . . . Dad, if you can hear me, let me know. Dad?”

Nothing.

“Dad . . .” She felt her voice filling with emotion. “Dad . . .”

The more she looked at the taped mouth, the more she knew how impossible it was for him to have spoken. Maybe it was just a grunt or a groan. But why had she heard a name

. . . much less that one? Whether he was swearing or praying or groaning, she did not know. But she did know this: her dad was still there. Under the bandages, under the wires and hoses and hardware, some part of him was still there. He’d found a way to tell her. And as long as he was there, she would not, she could not let them take him.

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C H A P T E R

F O U R

ALONE IN HIS JAGUAR A FRUSTRATED CONRAD NEGOTIATED THE

snaking twists and turns up Brooke Street as he headed high into the Hollywood Hills. What was Eli doing now? What had he blundered into this time? It seemed that whenever the guy turned around, he was making a wrong move. And if Suzanne was right, this could be the worst one of all.

After Charlene Marshal’s program aired—receiving impressive ratings along with sound bites on many of the softer news shows—word of Eli began to spread. Not that he was a major topic of conversation, but people across the country were beginning to take notice. As far as Conrad could tell, opinions fell into three camps. One group looked upon him as a potential Jim Jones or David Koresh, some guy with a Messiah complex who used parlor tricks to woo the masses.

Then there were the masses, those who admired his testos-terone level for publicly challenging a powerful religious figure like Dr. Kerston. And finally there were the religious leaders. Some considered him an embarrassing annoyance that would self-destruct; others looked upon his words as blasphemous, his miracles as works of the devil.

All of the attention over the piece and over Eli had been good for Conrad. It more than made up for his failed parallel-universe story, and it had put him back in good standing with 73

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74 Phil Harrison and the
Up Front
team. But at the moment, that didn’t much matter. At least not tonight. Tonight he was being a friend. He liked Eli. He appreciated his honesty and his no-nonsense approach. Then, of course, there was the other matter . . . the question of his true identity. For if Conrad had indeed entered another world, one in which Jesus had not yet appeared . . . well, the similarity to Eli and his actions was growing more apparent every day. Now if he could just stop the guy from being so naive and self-destructive.

A white Corvette convertible rounded the corner directly in front of Conrad, taking its half out of the middle of the road. Conrad swerved to the far side, nearly snapping off a row of mail boxes. He could honk his horn in anger, but what good would it do? The guy would just flip him off and continue on his merry,
I’ve-got-more-money-than-brains-and-if-I-break-this-toy-I’ll- just-buy-another-one
way.