Inside Lucifer's War (24 page)

I tell her I don’t want to see anyone. That’s almost true. The only person I want to see is Mike, and that will never happen. I ask the nurse to turn the light off on her way out.

At six forty-five the next morning I lay staring with little or no emotion at the crack in the curtains. I hear Dr. Gunthry walk loudly into the room. He flips on the light switch, opens the curtains, and wishes me a good morning. I follow him with my eyes but make little effort to move.

“Thomas, you have a choice to make,” he says.

Oh, joy, I think. More decisions. That’s all I’ve dealt with, and to date, my success rate is pretty poor.

“It’s really a binary decision,” he says. “Either you’re going to choose to live your life and put this tragedy behind you, or you’re going to let this tragedy define you and how you live the rest of your life. As hard as it sounds, that decision starts now. I can’t imagine the pain you’re feeling, but I know I didn’t operate on you so that you can waste away. You were a fighter when we thought we were going to lose you, and now you need to be an even stronger fighter.”

He has my attention. Seeing that I’m listening, he goes on, “I have more to tell you. This is specific to your health. Are you ready to listen to me?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Good. When you were unconscious, we did a CAT scan.” He pulls out my file and removes some pictures and hands them to me. I can make out the structure of my brain. He then takes his pen out and points to a specific section in one of the pictures.

“Do you see this slight discoloration?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say, not knowing where he is going.

“That’s part of the limbic region. It controls your emotions, and recent research suggests it is responsible for dreaming as well.”

“And . . . ,” I press him.

“I’m not sure. That discoloration could mean you have a tumor, or it could be something as benign as some blood vessels that ruptured in that area when you fell to the lobby floor. Or it may be some scar tissue from an injury long ago. Prior to the shooting, had you been experiencing a wide range of emotions, difficulty sleeping, maybe a change in your sleep pattern? Have you had any odd visions and dreams? Or maybe you’ve been dreamless lately?”

“Have I had any odd dreams or visions lately?” I almost laugh out loud thinking about the question. I’ve had more wild dreams and visions than he could possibly imagine. But I quietly answer him, “Nothing I can recall out of the ordinary.”

“Like I said, it might be nothing, especially if you haven’t noticed anything lately,” he says. “I’d like to do some more CAT scans over the next few weeks and months and see if we see any change in that region. I’d prefer not to be more aggressive than we have to be.”

“Okay,” I respond.

He takes the photos back and pats my leg as he gets up. “I don’t want to hear about you refusing physical therapy today,” he says.

“I’ll be a good patient,” I tell him.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, pausing at the door, “ I think you should start seeing visitors. We can limit it until you get your strength back. Write their names down and I’ll drop them off at the nurses’ station.”

“Thanks,” I say.

With that, he leaves the room and shuts the door.

A few minutes later, Mary comes in with my breakfast and a pad and pencil. “Good morning, Thomas. The doctor told me to give this to you for a list of visitors. Would you like me to tell you who has come by to check on you?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say with a little enthusiasm. I probably know who they are.

“One lady has come by every day,” she starts.

“Stacie?” I interrupt.

“No. Her name is Leslie. Stacie has come by, but it’s been a few days. Two men have inquired on a regular basis. Personally, I’m not fond of either of them, but I especially don’t like the bigger man. I’m sorry. That was not professional of me. There were also several people from the university. I don’t have their names, but I can get them.”

“I’ve always been fond of women with strong opinions. Offhand, can you recall any names?” I ask.

“Let’s see,” she says, pulling out a note pad. “One of the men is Kinsley McKee. The other man didn’t give his name.”

“Thanks. I’ll have a list for you in a few minutes,” I tell her.

She smiles, winks, and asks, “Can I get anything else for you?”

I stare at the pad. What a simple task, and yet it’s more of a burden than she realizes. Who would I put on the list? I think about Leslie. She’s easy. As much right as she has to be angry with me, she won’t be. She’ll be caring and helpful. Kinsley is the next person to come to mind. I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want him near me. Somehow, I know the Principal is behind this, which makes him behind it all. Still, there is nowhere to run. Eventually, he’ll get into my room. I add his name on the list. Under his name, though, I include, “Don’t let the big guy in my room.” I know it’s Bishop, and I can’t handle having him around.

I think about Therese and the boys. They’ll need some healing. Healing that I might be able to provide. As hard as it would be for me to talk to her, I feel an obligation to do so, so I write down her name. Then I write an
S
but stop and put down the pencil. Can I really face Stacie? She told me not to go down the path I had chosen. I told her I could handle it. That I could keep everyone safe. I was wrong. So very wrong. I doubt I can face her, but still, I have to add her name to the list. I finish with the names and hand the list to the nurse, not sure if I can face anyone.

My mind drifts all over the place for the next few hours, but mainly I think about Mike. I think about the times we spent together talking, the conversation we had in my apartment. But mainly I think about seeing him surrounded by so much light. Had I really seen him, or was my brain playing tricks on me? Is everything I’m going through the result of this spot on my brain? I want to believe that Mike is truly that happy in the afterlife. The joy he felt was so contagious. I think my sadness over the last day was not about Mike but about what he had to leave behind. I know how crushing his death must be for Therese, the boys, and Stacie. Mike, though, seemed so happy. Was that all just a fantasy of my mind?

I try to recall what he told me: “Submit yourself before God, resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” Is it really that simple?

I suddenly think of the reality around me. I hit the call button for the nurse so I can find out when the funeral is. I have to be at the funeral. My door slowly opens, but the nurse doesn’t enter alone. Behind her is Stacie.

“Hi, Dr. Fields. This is good timing. You have a visitor. What can I get you?”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I say.

The nurse leaves Stacie standing at the foot of my bed. Before she can say anything, I cry. I’m not sure I’ve ever wept this hard in my adult life.

“I’m so sorry, Stacie. I’m so very sorry. I don’t know what to say or do. I hate myself for this. Mike was perfect, and now he is gone.”

Stacie looks toward the window, and I see tears stream down her face. She cries silently, saying nothing. I want so badly to comfort her, but I can do nothing. I’ve heaped this pain on her, and I know she must hate me. I hate me. She walks around the side of the bed, sits down in the chair, and reaches for my hand. I clinch hers in mine, and we cry together. We don’t say anything for a long time.

Finally, I say, “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault. Josephine did this out of spite for me. I never would have involved either of you in any of this had I known.”

After several minutes, she says, “Mike wouldn’t have wanted you to beat yourself up over this. He would have wanted you to move on with your life. He would have wanted you to remember your conversations about Jesus. Don’t let his death be in vain.”

“I can’t move on. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself,” I say.

“I saw her eyes, Thomas. Yes, you hurt her. I’ve since learned the whole story, but there was something else behind those eyes. You are to blame for hurting her, but you aren’t to blame for her shooting at us,” she says. “She wasn’t in her right mind. She made the decision to get revenge. She pulled the trigger, not you.”

“Had I known or even had an inkling of an idea, you know I never would have put you at risk,” I say.

“I know. You told us that morning in your apartment that you wanted to protect us from the things you were going through. Don’t you see, though, you can’t protect us from everything. We make our own choices, and some things are simply bigger than you are.”

“About that morning and our talk in the apartment and everything that I’ve been going through,” I say, “there’s something you should know.” I pause for a moment. “The doctor thinks there may be a tumor or scar tissue or something that’s been causing me to have these visions. You may have been right when we first talked about this. It may all have been in my head. They may have just been fantasies or daydreams.”

I no more than finish that sentence when I feel a hard slap across my face. My head flashes sideways and my cheek burns. I’ve been slapped before, but never this hard. I grab my cheek and work my jaw a few times.

“Don’t you dare do this! Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare waste Mike’s life or his last moments with you! You have a burden to carry now, and so help me, I’ll make sure you make your life worth Mike’s!” she yells.

I don’t know what to say. I sit there in silence, staring at her as she stands and walks to the window. She looks out the window a few minutes before returning to the chair. I put up my hands, half joking and half protecting my nose.

In a calmer manner, she says, “Thomas, I don’t care what the doctor told you. Mike and I both heard your story, and we were convinced that the Holy Spirit had spoken to you and continues to speak to you. I saw that woman’s eyes. They were not her own. You are in a spiritual battle. I don’t know why, but you are.” She grabs my arm and pulls it down. I fight her a bit, but I can see that she doesn’t have anything malicious in mind. I relent. She pulls my arm down, turns it over, and we both look at the scar. “That’s not an accident on your arm. That’s not natural. You can only get through this thing, though, if you know what you’re up against.”

“So you believe everything I’ve told you?” I ask.

“I do. But more importantly, I know Mike did,” she responds.

“Then there’s more I need to tell you,” I say. “I saw Mike. There was some time that they say I was dead after the shooting. I guess it was in that moment I saw him. He was so happy, Stacie. No,
happy
isn’t the right word. He had a peace and joy inside him. I could feel it. It was contagious. He told me he had been in his presence and it was wonderful.” As I tell her this, I see tears running down her face, but they are tears of joy. Her lips turn into a soft smile. “He left me with one thing. He said Jesus wanted me to know something. He wanted me to know, ‘Submit yourself before God, resist the devil, and he will flee.’”

“Don’t you see, Tom? Mike tried to save your life while he was with us. He tried to push you away from that bullet. He’s still trying to save your life—your
eternal
life. What he said was from the book of James. He was giving you the answer. He was showing you how to win this battle. What are you waiting for?”

I look off again.

“Well, what? What will it take?” she asks. “Surely after all you’ve seen and experienced, you have to know what you’re involved in.”

I surprise myself with my answer. “I was hoping to actually see my father.”

“What?” she asks.

I tell her more. “After Mike told me those words, he vanished. Or I should say he was absorbed into a bright light. When he left, darkness engulfed me. Lucifer approached me then. He told me he was giving me a second chance, but I needed to finish what I started for him. Mike told me to test him if I were to face him again. That’s what I did. Before he left me, I asked him if I could see my father. I found, though, that in that moment, I wasn’t so much testing him as I was hoping to see my father. I wanted to see him one last time. There are so many things I wish I could take back. But he couldn’t produce my dad.”

“Was your dad a believer?” she asks.

“If you mean, was he a Christian? Yes, he believed Jesus was his personal savior. It became a source of tension as I grew up.”

“Satan wouldn’t have any power over him,” she states.

“That’s what Mike said.” And then I ask, “When is his funeral? I have to be there.”

“It’s Saturday. I’ll take you, if you’ll let me.”

The thought of going with Stacie to the funeral creates an overwhelming sadness in me. “Therese and the boys! I can’t stand to think about the pain they’re going through. Mike was everything to them. They are such a beautiful family, and I’ve taken the most precious person from them. You need to be there to comfort them. I’m sure they don’t want me near them.”

Stacie puts her hand on my arm and softly says, “I once told you that I would never lie to you, and I won’t start now. They’re hurting. They can’t find the sense in this tragedy, and they miss him terribly. We all do. But they are strong, and they have a lot of support. They’re on a terrible journey, but they will make it, step by step, moment by moment. It’s not going to be easy, but they will survive.”