Monday, March 23, 1992; 6:00 P.M.
ADAM’S PRIVATE SANCTUARY WAS a bedroom that he had converted to a home office. It was an unusual blend of the old and the contemporary. Books, their jackets worn from use and the passage of time, lined the shelves that covered three of his walls. In a corner an acrylic stand held a tattered edition of Webster’s Unabridged Dictionary.
Spread before him on an old, scarred desk were the copies he had made of the newspaper articles. He had read each of them three times. Only one of them was of substantial length. The rest were short, pithy articles sequestered in the back sections of the papers. Short as the articles were, their substance bothered him. He had considered calling Rachel Tremaine, but decided against it Since they were meeting in a couple of hours, he could tell her in person.
Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his tired eyes. He wondered why he had pushed getting together. He could have asked his questions over the phone. Was it the act of a single man on the prowl? Adam was single, but he didn’t consider himself on the prowl. In fact, he hadn’t had a date since his engagement broke up three years before. Adam considered himself unlucky with women. He had been engaged twice. The first engagement began and ended in college. He thought he had found his true love. She was a bright history major he met in class. They shared many of the same interests: old movies, baseball, and education. They spent every day together, studying, eating in the school cafeteria, and walking around campus. They were the perfect couple—everyone said so and Adam agreed. They became engaged at the beginning of their junior year. Six months later, she transferred to a school in the East and left behind her memories and her affection for Adam. He never heard from her again.
The second engagement was to a woman in the church. She was gregarious and captivating in manner and appearance. Her long blond hair and fine features turned the heads of many men; Adam had been no different. Much to the delight of the congregation, they started dating; six months later they were engaged; four months after that Adam discovered her infidelity. He was broken and she unrepentant. Adam explained the breakup and her absence by simply saying, “Things didn’t work out.” Twice rejected, Adam focused on his work and doubted that he would ever marry.
His meeting with Rachel certainly wasn’t a date, and yet he had to admit that she was attractive. True, she was caustic and remote, with little in her personality to commend her to anyone. She was unlike any woman Adam had ever known. And yet, he found himself looking forward to their meeting.
Two hours. He wondered how to spend the time. Glancing at his answering machine, he saw the light was flashing. He chose to ignore it. He had turned the ringers of his telephone off so he would not be disturbed. After all, it was his day off, and any emergency could be handled by one of his deacons.
Adam rose and removed an old Bible from the shelf. It was the one he had used in college and seminary. Its corners were bent and worn, its pages soiled and covered with notes scribbled by his own hand. This Bible had become a special friend to him. Moving from the desk to an overstuffed easy chair, Adam opened the Bible at random and began to read.
AT 8:10 P.M. ADAM PARKED his blue Volkswagen Rabbit in front of the coffee shop and saw Rachel waiting near the entrance. As he opened the restaurant door, she said curtly, “You’re late.”
“I’m on church time.”
“What is church time?”
“It’s an old saying around the church—if you’re ten minutes late, then you’re five minutes early.”
“Sounds like an excuse for irresponsibility.”
“You’re probably right.” Adam had purposed not to be baited. The coffee shop was small but popular with medical people. The hostess led them to a small booth in a corner. After perusing the menus, Rachel ordered a pasta plate and Adam a hamburger from a friendly waiter.
Although he knew he was being almost too direct, Adam asked the question that had been on his mind for hours. “What happened to David?”
“I’m not free to discuss that. The patient-doctor relationship is confidential.”
“I’m his minister. I was there shortly after he was healed. All I want from you is your medical opinion about what happened to him and how it happened.”
“I wish I knew. The truth of the matter is that nobody knows.”
“Is it your job to find out?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t seem pleased with the task.”
“You’re very observant.”
“I’m in the people business. So why don’t you like it?”
“Because I’m a surgeon, not a private investigator. I spend my life healing, not chasing mystery men around.”
“Have you ever seen anything like this before?”
“No. Just what has happened at the hospital.”
“What about the other healings?”
“What other healings?”
Adam reached into his pocket, pulled out several sheets of paper, then handed them to Rachel. She looked at the photocopied newspaper articles briefly and then handed them back.
“So?” she asked.
“What can you tell me about these? What happened to the Langfords? What happened to Lisa Hailey?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you think the answer may rest with them?”
“No more than the answer rests with the Loraynes,” she said tersely.
Adam realized he had been pushing a little too hard. “I’m sorry. I must be more frustrated by this than I realized.”
The conversation paused when the waiter appeared with their food. “Why does this bother you so much?” Rachel asked.
“I’m not sure. And I don’t know if the word bothered is the right term. Concern is more like it.”
“I would think Mr. Lorayne’s sudden recovery would please you.”
“It does. It’s just that things don’t fit. It’s not the healing that concerns me; it’s the way it took place. A man boldly enters and leaves the ICU unnoticed and David is healed—not just from an anesthesia-induced coma, but even of his surgery. Prior to that a severely burned girl wakes up with new skin. Again no one knows how. Bill Langford was healed of inoperable cancer. And then there are the occurrences at the other hospitals.”
Rachel stopped mid-bite. “What other hospitals?”
Adam reached into his coat pocket, this time removing several more sheets of paper. “I wondered if you knew about these. I did a little research at the library today, and here’s what I came up with.” He handed her the paper. “As you can see, there have been reports of similar events in San Francisco, Fresno, and Los Angeles. It forms a pattern. Our mystery man has been working his way south for the last two years.”
“Why haven’t we heard about it before?”
“Simple. Look at the press coverage. There aren’t more than ten paragraphs for the whole time. It appears that no one took the reports seriously.”
Rachel looked at the copies of the articles and then ran her eyes down the handwritten list that Adam had prepared. The paper was divided into columns, one each for date, place, the newspaper that carried the article, hospital, name of patient and ailment from which they recovered unexpectedly. She was puzzled. Why would Adam pursue this information with such fervor? Could Dr. Morgan be right? Was Adam Bridger the Healer? The thought made her uncomfortable. “So, what do you think?” he asked, as if a child searching for praise. “Well done. But what does it mean?”
“It means we have more avenues to pursue.”
“We?”
“Why not? We can help each other. You want to find this guy because you have to. I have my own reason for wanting to know what’s going on.”
“And just what are your reasons?” Rachel raised an eyebrow. “What motivates you?”
“That’s hard to say. Making the pieces fit, I suppose.”
“What pieces?”
“Nothing fits. Okay, suppose there is someone who is endowed with a special ability, or maybe heretofore-unknown treatment. Why keep it secret? Why not do as many have done in the past— develop a following? A following that would provide support. Why does this person slip in and out unnoticed? What’s his goal? What’s his message?”
“Message? Who says he has to have a message?”
“History. Recent history and biblical history. In every case of healing in the Bible, there was been an accompanying message. In the Old Testament, it was to authenticate the messenger, to distinguish him from the others who might pretend to speak for God. Jesus healed out of love, but also to authenticate His claim of Messiahship. The disciples worked miracles that authenticated their message. So, why is it there is no message?”
Rachel cocked her head to one side. “What makes you think these occurrences have any spiritual connection? From my perspective, our Healer could have walked off a flying saucer somewhere to bring peace and health to mankind. Or, perhaps he’s some medical genius who is too shy to accept credit. Or, perhaps—”
“Okay, I get the idea,” Adam interrupted. “I’ll admit my intellectual bias. But then again, you have some pretty strong biases yourself.”
Rachel responded by taking another bite of pasta.
They ate in silence for a few moments. Adam struggled with Rachel’s comment. It was true that he was approaching this mystery with a biblical bias, but was that wrong?
The Bible was the sole authority for life. He had found its teachings true and sound—indeed, life-changing. The miraculous was a primary principle of biblical history and, as a student of the Bible, he would naturally apply it to this situation as he did with all others.
Adam broke the silence. “I assume you have interviewed the other families who have had similar events.”
“You mean the Langfords and the Haileys?”
Adam nodded.
“Actually, I haven’t talked to them.”
“I would think that would be one of the first things you’d do.”
“They’ve disappeared—all gone on vacation or something.”
“Let me get this right. Both the Langfords and the Haileys have left town?”
“Well, they’re never home. Their neighbors haven’t seen them. Other family members don’t know where they are. Both have had their houses broken into. That Priscilla Simms woman almost got herself killed. In fact, her boss did get killed. Didn’t you hear about it on the news?”
Adam felt the pit drop out of his stomach; his anxiety registered on his face.
“What’s the matter,” Rachel asked. “You don’t look unwell.” Then a moment later, “You’re not thinking that . . .”
“Excuse me,” Adam said, as he rose quickly from the table. “I’ve got to find a phone.”
Within three minutes he had returned. “Come on,” he said. “We re leaving.”