Eli (37 page)

Leon was the first to recognize him. “Keith! What’s happening, man?”

Keith did not answer.

“What’s going on?” Jake demanded.

But Keith remained silent, heading directly for Eli. The two came to a stop facing each other not ten feet from Conrad and Suzanne.

Eli was the first to speak. “It’s your hour now, Keith,” he said softly, “the hour of darkness.”

The words hit the young man hard, but he held his ground.

Then he stepped up to Eli and, almost violently, threw his arms around him in an embrace. Eli did not resist. Then, ever so gently, Keith kissed him on the cheek. When they separated there was no missing the tears in both of their eyes.

“My friend,” Eli whispered fiercely. “Do you betray me with a kiss?”

Keith tried to hold his gaze, but faltered, looking suddenly toward the ground.

“Eli Shepherd?” an approaching officer called.

Eli looked up to him. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re under arrest.”

Eli nodded.

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“For the bombing and murders at the City of God.”

“I understand.”

The officer arrived and reached to the back of his belt to pull out a pair of handcuffs. His bigger, burlier partner joined him. Conrad could only stare in disbelief. He felt Suzanne’s body begin to tremble.

Jake’s reaction was a little different. He lunged at the two men, landing a quick, powerful punch directly to the first officer’s face—so hard that Conrad could actually hear the cartilage of the man’s nose snap. But it was over before it began.

The second officer’s baton flashed from his belt and rammed, butt-first, into Jake’s stomach, doubling him over. Next came the blow to his shoulders, a quick, hard chop that sent the big fellow crashing to the grass.

Leon and Will moved to his defense, but they were stopped by Eli. “No!” he shouted.

They froze.

“Don’t you understand yet? After all this time, don’t you get it? Those who live by violence will die by violence. If I wanted to, don’t you think I could ask my Father in Heaven to send down thousands of angels?”

He looked at the first officer, who was bent over, holding his nose, groaning softly. Without a word, Eli knelt down and helped him straighten up. For just a second Conrad caught a glimpse of the man’s nose—bleeding flesh and smashed bone.

Eli reached for it. The second officer immediately prepared to wield his baton again until the first moaned, “No, don’t.”

He waved off his partner, somehow sensing that Eli meant no harm. The partner hesitated.

Gently, Eli pulled the man’s hands away from his nose. It was a mess. Carefully, he placed his own hands over the smashed cartilage and bleeding tissue. Everyone stood in silence as he whispered something Conrad was unable to hear. And then slowly he removed his hands. A quiet gasp rippled through the crowd. The nose was completely restored. Except for the smeared blood on the man’s mouth and face it was as if the injury had never occurred.

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The officer stared at Eli, then reached up to explore his face. As he did, Eli stooped beside Jake. “Everything is happening just the way I told you it would,” he said, as he helped the big man to his feet, “just the way the Scriptures foretold.”

Then, turning back to the first officer, he said, “Please, let my friends go. You’re not interested in them. I’m the one you want.”

The officer didn’t respond, still stunned at what had happened.

“Please,” Eli repeated, “let my friends go.”

He hesitated a moment, looking into Eli’s eyes. Then he turned and gave the order. “All right, let the others go.”

His partner started to protest. “But—”

“Let ’em go,” he repeated. “He’s the one we want.” Then, turning to the group, he ordered, “You have exactly one minute to clear the area. Do you hear me? One minute.”

The group traded nervous looks.

The officer repeated louder. “One minute or we start making arrests.”

There was uneasy shifting, more exchanged glances.

Finally, Brent and Scott, who were farthest away, started backing up, slowly easing themselves out of the lights and into the shadows.

But the others remained, at least at first.

The officer turned, trying to look as many in the eye as possible. Some met his stare, others could not.

“Forty-five seconds!”

More shifting. More nervous glances. The tension built.

“Connie?” Suzanne whispered. “What do we do?”

Conrad weighed the possibilities. If they stayed, they would be arrested with Eli, thereby proving their allegiance.

But arrested for what? For trespassing? Not exactly the same as being arrested for murder. What type of allegiance did that prove?

He saw another shadow moving against the lights. It was Maggie. A moment later, Will turned and followed her into the darkness.

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Then Robert.

“Thirty seconds!”

Yes, he and Suzanne could stay at Eli’s side. Yes, they could be arrested, but what good would it do? Couldn’t they serve him better by avoiding arrest, by working for him on the outside?

“Connie . . .”

And what about Suzanne? As far as he knew, the woman hadn’t even had a traffic ticket. How could he subject her to jail—to the humiliation of being booked, searched, impris-oned? And for what? Trespassing?

He saw more movement: Leon was backing up, Then he turned and slouched off into the darkness. Others followed—

Hector, Trevor—each turning and moving up the knoll toward the lights and into the shadows.

“Fifteen seconds!”

Conrad turned back toward Eli, who watched sadly as his friends continued to leave, deserting him one by one.

Then, without a word, Jake slowly turned. He took a step and hesitated. His internal struggle was fierce and obvious.

So was Eli’s. It was clear that he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he watched silently as Jake finally started again, lumbering off into the lights and into the darkness beyond.

Now there were only Conrad and Suzanne. Eli slowly turned to them. Once again his gaze locked onto Conrad’s.

What was he to do? Stay or leave? Be arrested and serve no use, or leave and be of help? What did Eli want? But as Conrad searched Eli’s eyes, he saw no clues. As always, it would have to be his choice.

“Okay, folks,” the first officer sighed heavily and motioned to his partner. The big man holstered his baton and reached for his pair of cuffs.

But he’d barely stepped toward them before Conrad heard himself cry out, “All right!”

The officer stopped.

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“We’re going,” Conrad said. “We’re . . . going.” He glanced at Eli, but Eli no longer looked at him. Instead, he was staring at the ground. And it was that look, that expression of utter rejection that broke Conrad’s heart.

Still, the decision had been made. Without a word he turned and, gently leading Suzanne, they started up the hill.

He knew that part of her was desperate to remain behind, heard a muffled sob as she looked over her shoulder one final time. She could stay if she wanted. He was certain she knew that. Just as it was his choice to stay or leave, so it was hers.

But she continued to walk by his side. And as they headed up the slope into the glaring lights, he said a silent prayer, asking that she not regret her decision as much as he was already despising his own.

v

Julia stepped out of the restroom. Although the knot in her stomach made it impossible to eat, she’d more than made up for it with the number of diet sodas she’d put down. As she reentered the hospital corridor, light from the late afternoon sun poured through the west windows, bringing out tex-tures and shadows—the gurney against the wall with its cracked black vinyl and its stainless steel legs, the fire extinguisher behind the sleek, molded plastic cover, even the threads of the fabric wallpaper—everything was vivid and alive.

She headed back toward the ICU lounge, taking another deep breath. She’d been doing a lot of that lately, taking deep breaths. The ordeal was taking its toll. She glanced at her watch: 6:10 P.M. Seven hours had passed since they’d pulled the plug. Seven hours and he was still alive.

His breathing had grown louder and even more irregular, sometimes stopping for several seconds before starting up again with gasps and chokes. But it was the seizures that really took it out of her. They’d started three to four hours ago.

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all patients, it was perfectly normal for others. Well, what was perfectly normal for others was not perfectly normal for Julia.

To see her father’s body suddenly jerk or contract did not make things easier.

She arrived at the white ICU phone, picked it up, and announced her presence. The door buzzed and she stepped inside. She passed the nurses’ station. It was a new shift; the others had left at five. As she approached cubicle four she began to hear faint music. Someone was singing. The bed came into view, and she saw her mother sitting on the other side, near the window, looking down at her ex-husband and softly singing:

“Jesus loves me, this I know,

For the Bible tells me so.

Little ones to Him belong,

They are weak but He is—”

“Mom,” Julia interrupted as she entered the room. “What are you doing?”

Her mother looked up, eyes slightly red and swollen. “It seems to calm him,” she said. “It gives him some peace.”

Julia looked down at her father’s body. Her mother was right. There were no spasms, no jerkings, at least for the moment. Even his breathing seemed to come a little easier.

She eased herself into the yellow chair beside him, directly across from her mother.

“Do you remember the year he taught Sunday school with me?” her mother asked. “With the first graders?”

Julia nodded, the memory almost making her smile.

“Oh, I know it was so he could duck out of church. You two were always good at dreaming up excuses.”

“You knew that?” Julia asked.

“Of course. Anyway,” her mother continued, “this was one of the songs we taught them. And they wanted to hear it every week, over and over again. So we sang it, over and over again. And your father, he never objected.”

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“No doubt hoping to use up the time so he wouldn’t have to do all those arts and crafts.”

Her mother laughed softly. “He did come home with a few glue-coated ties, didn’t he?”

Julia nodded at the memory.

“But I think it was more than that,” her mother said. “I think the singing gave him a certain comfort. I can’t explain why, but he never said no.” She glanced up to the bandaged head, staring at it for a long, tender moment. Then, quietly, she resumed the song.

“Jesus loves me, this I know,

For the Bible tells me so . . .”

Her mother was no singer, but there was something about her thin, wavery voice, about the simplicity of the song, that brought a tightness to Julia’s throat.

“Little ones to Him belong,

They are weak but He is strong.”

Her mother took a breath and without missing a beat said,

“Sing with me, Jules.”

“Yes, Jesus loves me.

Yes, Jesus loves me.”

Julia opened her mouth, but no words would come.

“Yes, Jesus loves me.”

Instead, her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. She tried blinking them back, angrily swiping at them. But they kept coming. Something was happening, deep inside.

“The Bible tells me so.”

It wasn’t the singing, it wasn’t the words. But whatever it was caused the tears to spill onto her cheeks and begin streaming down her face. Whatever had been unlocked inside of her made it impossible for her to stop.

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Her mother continued:

“Jesus loves me, this I know,

For the Bible tells me so.”

Suddenly a sob escaped from Julia’s throat. Then another.

Her mother looked up in surprise and came to a stop.

“Jules, what’s wrong?”

Embarrassed, Julia took another swipe at her tears, but it was no use.

“Julia . . .”

“I don’t know.” She tried to laugh. “I, uh . . .” She swallowed hard, trying to regain control. “I can’t, uh . . .” Another sob escaped, which she covered with a cough.

“Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.” After another gulp she continued. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I sing that?

It’s just a stupid little . . .” She swallowed again. “Just a stupid little song.”

Her mother said nothing, watching as the tears continued to fall.

Another sob slipped out. Again Julia shook her head. “I don’t know . . .” She looked away, trying to get out the words.

“I mean, I’d give anything to have that kind of faith.”

After a moment her mother answered softly. “You can.”

Julia shook her head, wiping her face. “No.”

“Yes, you can, Sweetheart, all you have to do is ask.”

“No . . .” More tears came. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is, Jules, it’s just that simple. It’s just a matter of choice.”

Julia tried to answer but could no longer speak. Instead, she lowered her head and quietly wept. She was grateful that her mother said nothing more, that she no longer had to answer questions. A full minute passed before her mother started singing again. Softly, gently. And although the song had unleashed powerful unknown emotions within her, and although she couldn’t join in, Julia still found a peace as her mother continued.

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“Yes, Jesus loves me,

Yes, Jesus loves me.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

The Bible tells me so.”

v

As the number of deaths from the bombing rose, so did the public outrage. As early as 8:30 A.M., a small crowd had started gathering outside the Salem County Courthouse where Eli was held. They were not happy. In fact, as far as Conrad could tell, they had all the earmarks of a mob in the making, a mob growing more and more hungry for justice. And, true to form, the media was also arriving—stirring up things, pok-ing cameras into faces, asking people what they felt—not, of course, before telling them about the latest tally of deaths.