Eli (31 page)

Julia’s mind raced, trying to comprehend. What was she saying? Why was she telling her? “Does that . . . ,” she stammered. “What does that mean?”

“He’s arrested,” the woman explained. “He’s in V-fib. If we don’t take appropriate measures he will die.”

“Well—well, do something!” Julia demanded.

The nurse held her gaze, making it clear what she was asking. “Are you sure?”

“What?”

“Are you sure you want us to intervene?”

Suddenly, Julia understood. She was being asked the question.
The
question. She had the power of attorney, did she want measures taken to keep her father alive? The

“heroic” measures that he had himself declined?

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Without hesitation, she blurted, “Yes! Yes! Do what you have to do! But hurry! Yes, hurry!”

v

To enter the worship center, it was first necessary to pass through God’s Gifts and Goodies. It was part foyer, part gift shop, and it encompassed a good ten thousand square feet, much of it enclosed by glass. As Conrad entered through the doors, he was not only impressed by Dr. Kerston’s business savvy—the place was swarming with customers and long lines that stretched behind a dozen check-out counters—but he was also struck by the sheer genius of the merchandising.

To his left was the sleepwear section with everything from King Solomon Slippers to Delilah negligées. Beside that was the office supplies section including Scripture-embossed pencils, message-from-God bulletin boards, and the ever-popular verse-of-the-day fax machines—“Share God’s Word with your customers,” the sign read. Up ahead stretched the home-video section with everything from God’s Bods workout videos to various kid vids to
God’s Divine Diet Plan.
And beside that, a music section throbbed with the latest sounds as a handful of teens gyrated to the glory of God.

Conrad looked on with mild amusement. No way could anyone say these people were backward or behind the times.

In fact, as far as he could tell, this place had everything the world had to offer, maybe more. But, when he looked at Eli, he saw anything but pleasure. Instead, the man’s face was growing so red that the veins on his neck had started to bulge.

Others saw it too. Trevor, who was the closest to Eli, leaned over and asked something. But Eli did not hear. Instead, he suddenly broke past the men protecting him and headed toward the nearest check-out stand. With one giant sweep of his hands, he sent the merchandise and credit-card machine crashing to the floor!

People gasped. Some cried out. But Eli had barely begun.

Turning toward the crowd, he shouted, “You may sell your hththt 5/14/01 11:35 AM Page 241

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goods anywhere you want, but not here! This is my Father’s house!” He focused on specific shoppers and clerks, his chest heaving with anger. “This is not a place to satisfy your whims!

This is not where you make profit! This is where you com-mune with God Almighty!” His eyes landed on the nearby Holy Hygiene display. He strode to it, grabbed the top of the cardboard sign, and brought the entire display tumbling down. Mouthwash, dental floss, toothpaste—everything crashed to the ground as bottles shattered, spilling their contents across the floor as people yelled and leaped back.

Eli turned to them and shouted. “You have made God’s holy house a mall of merchandise!”

He crossed to the women’s clothing department. Next to go was the display of “What Would God Do?” tube tops.

More panicked cries filled the air as people scrambled out of his way.

Conrad had never seen Eli so impassioned. But it was working. The gloves were definitely off, and he was definitely making a statement. Next he grabbed a belt from the scrip-tural ties and belts rack and began whirling it over his head, driving back anyone foolish enough to try and stop him.

He stormed over to the book section unopposed. Display after display came down. A hundred different versions of the Bible—
The Bible for Secretaries, The Bible for Athletes, The
Bible for the Disabled, The Menopause Bible.
A moment later he was in the self-help section, clearing off shelves of
How to
Make God Make You Rich,
and
Claiming Your Divine Health
as well as the best-selling classics,
How to Physically Please
Your Godly Husband
and
Ten Steps to Raising Perfect Children.
Finally he hit the Messianic section, pushing over row after row of books with multicolored charts and transparen-cies explaining how each prophecy of the Messiah’s coming would unfold.

Conrad heard more commotion and turned to see four security men hurrying through the crowd. He spun back to Eli, wanting to shout and warn him, but he knew that Eli couldn’t hear. Even if he could, he wouldn’t listen.

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The crowd parted as the men pushed through.

Eli had entered the Holy Health Section and was working on the Spiritual Vitamin display (the one with a different Scripture reference printed on every tablet). And that’s where they finally grabbed him. He put up no resistance, though the men might have worked a bit harder in restraining their force.

A moment later, sweating and breathing hard, Eli was escorted toward the back of the store. Conrad tried to follow, but there were too many people, and Eli was too far away. He could do nothing but stand and stare—and be impressed. For this was, indeed, a different Eli. This was an Eli of strength.

A conquering Eli. Finally, the time had come. No more hiding of his miracles or of his powers or of his passions. At last, he was emerging as the leader Conrad knew him to be. At last he had become a force to reckon with. Yes, Eli knew exactly what he was doing. This arrest would only add fuel to his cause. And from what Conrad had seen over the past seventy-two hours, that cause had suddenly become very, very formidable. Finally, it was clear. Conrad really had backed the right horse.

v

Instantly, the serene ICU came alive. The ICU nurse had shut off the alarm and was already administering CPR as a female doctor appeared from nowhere. She was accompanied by a male nurse, who hustled Julia and her mother out of the room.

Now mother and daughter stood just on the other side of the glass door, numbly watching. Despite the flurry of activity, the staff maintained an eerie calm, a testimony to their professionalism . . . or to the number of life/death situations they faced every week. For Julia, it was like watching one of those medical TV shows, real but not real. As on television, the first thing the doctor did was raise her fist and smack the man hard in the center of his chest. Eyes darted to the monitor above the bed. The erratic readouts continued.

“Defib,” the doctor ordered.

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The word was barely uttered before a third nurse rolled a small portable machine toward the room, nearly colliding with Julia and her mother. “You need to leave!” she ordered as she pushed past them. Julia and her mother nodded, but they did not move. Maybe it was morbid curiosity, maybe it was sensing that this was her father’s last few moments of life.

Whatever the reason, Julia remained standing at the glass with her mother.

Covers were thrown back and her father’s gown torn aside.

How odd it was to see a man once so modest (she had seldom seen him with his shirt off) and so full of life, now lying there naked and pale and gray. She felt her mother leaning more heavily upon her.

The male nurse squirted gel across two electric paddles and placed them on her father’s chest. Then, just as on TV, he yelled, “Clear!” The team stepped back. There was a brief click, and her father’s entire body jerked grotesquely.

Julia heard her mother gasp and turned to her. Her knuckle was in her mouth as she watched in horror.

“Mom—do you want—”

Her mother shook her head. “We need to stay.”

“Go to 300,” the doctor ordered.

The ICU nurse resumed CPR as the second adjusted the settings on the machine. Once again the paddles were placed on his chest.

“Clear!”

This time Julia felt her mother turn her head. She wished she had as well. The body convulsed, causing the right arm to flop lifelessly off the table. Again the team turned to the monitor. Again there was no response.

“360,” the doctor ordered.

The machine was reset. This time, when the paddles were placed on her father’s chest, Julia did look away.

“Clear!”

Once again there was the dull click and the sound of his body jerking on the bed.

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Julia turned back. The lines and numbers on the monitor made no sense to her, but the faces of those watching it did.

They were not pleased. She noticed her own face growing wet, her head feeling a little light. She leaned against the glass door for support.

The doctor shouted out a number, followed by something that sounded like “epi” and the word, “push.”

Immediately the male nurse produced a syringe and inserted it directly into one of the IVs leading to her father’s arm. He emptied all of its contents. Seconds passed as the first nurse continued CPR, as all eyes remained fixed on the monitor.

After an eternity, the doctor reordered, “360.”

Once again the paddles were placed on her father’s bare skin and once again the command was given. “Clear!”

Another click. Another sickening convulsion.

Eyes turned to the monitor.

Nothing.

“Go to lidocaine,” the doctor ordered.

Another syringe appeared in the nurse’s hands. He injected it into the IV. More seconds passed as everyone stared at the monitor. How strange, Julia thought. They were no longer looking at her father, only the monitor. It was as if the man, the human, didn’t exist. Only the machine.

Again the doctor ordered, “360.”

“Clear!”

Another jolt, another body jerk.

How long will they keep this up?
Julia wondered.

“Another epi!”

More syringes appeared. More drugs injected into the IV.

And more waiting.

“Okay,” the doctor sighed, “let’s juice him again.” There was no missing the weariness in her voice.

“Clear!”

Another sickening click, and yet another convulsion.

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How much more of this could her father’s body take? How much more of this could
she
take? Besides the clammy dampness across her face, Julia noticed that the edges of her vision had started to grow bright, like an overexposed picture. And her mother? She turned to her. Her mother was as white as a sheet.

The doctor spoke again. This time too softly to hear. The ICU nurse looked over her shoulder at Julia. Others followed suit until the entire room was looking at her. What was going on? What did they want?

After another moment, the doctor spoke again, sounding even more drained. “All right, give me 375 milligrams of beryllium.”

Another syringe appeared and was emptied into the IV.

Seconds ticked by. Julia glanced down at her mother’s hand. It clutched her arm so tightly that it was leaving a bruise. How much longer? How much more of this would they have to endure?

The doctor stared at the monitor, her own face wet with perspiration.

Again the paddles were placed in position, and again the order was given.

“Clear!”

Another dull click. Another grotesque jerk.

By now, only the doctor and ICU nurse watched the monitor. The others simply stood, waiting. Until . . .

“What’s that?” the ICU nurse asked.

The rest turned to the monitor.

“We’ve got something,” the male nurse said.

The doctor reached for Julia’s father’s neck, carefully feeling for a pulse. She shook her head. “It’s too weak, too slow.

Give me a push of atropine.” The male nurse nodded and prepared another syringe as the doctor, tendrils of damp hair dropping over her face, turned to the ICU nurse. “Attach the external pacemaker.”

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The nurse nodded and crossed toward another machine.

She quickly attached it to Conrad’s chest. As she did, the doctor finally stepped back from the bed and stood catching her breath, wiping her face with her sleeve. The episode had clearly taken a lot out of her. And when the machine was finally attached, she took another deep breath and simply said, “Call me if things change.”

The ICU nurse nodded. Without further word, the doctor turned and headed for the door. As she stepped through, Julia knew she should say something but could only manage a raspy, “Thank you.”

“For what?” the doctor asked as she briskly passed.

Julia turned. “For . . . bringing him back to life.”

The woman slowed to a stop, then turned to face her.

“That’s the last thing in the world you should want to thank me for,” she answered wearily. “Trust me.” With that she turned and continued down the ICU corridor.

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C H A P T E R

T H I R T E E N

“YOU GUYS ARE MISSING THE POINT,” CONRAD ARGUED. “THIS IS

good
news.”

Brent frowned. “Eli lost it publicly, he’s been thrown in jail for assault and destruction of private property . . . and you call that good news?”

“What exactly is your definition of
good
?” Leon asked.

“Look.” Conrad rose from the edge of the bed and started to pace. The tiny motel room smelled of stale smoke, and there were far too many people crammed inside. It was another meeting, this time including Maggie, Suzanne, and everyone else in the group. Well, everyone except Eli, who was busy cooling his heels in the county jail. Conrad continued. “There isn’t a person in this room who doesn’t believe Eli is the Messiah, am I right? That he’s the chosen one of God?”

The group nodded.

“We’ve all heard his claims. We’ve all seen his miracles.

And not just us.” He motioned toward Suzanne. “The entire world watched him raise your brother from the dead.”