Chapter 9
Percy Pryce made every effort to perform his duties as assistant pastor to the best of his now limited abilities. Conducting marriage ceremonies for young, starry-eyed couples. Officiating over funerals and comforting the families of the dearly departed. Today’s tasks included counseling a parishioner who was contemplating suicide after losing his home to foreclosure and, shortly after that, his wife.
The man, whose name Percy could hardly remember, sat across from him in his office at New Testament Cathedral and poured the troubled contents of his heart onto the desk between them.
“The day after I received the foreclosure notice, she just got up, packed a bag, and left. Her mother was waiting in the car out front. The bitch didn’t even say good-bye. I’m sorry, Reverend, but this has got me so upset.”
“That’s all right . . . umm, Brother. I understand,” Percy said on auto pilot. “Go on.”
Percy could not stop his mind from wandering as the man spoke. The troubled parishioner’s words soon turned into a bothersome buzz in his ears. Even though Percy looked at him with sympathetic eyes, he could see only the faint blur of a brown suit and a head with glasses.
Percy’s mind drifted to the first day he had heard the name Danny St. John and to the events that followed.
“Hello, Catherine. Sorry I’m late,” he had said on that afternoon, when he entered the office of Catherine Birdsong, the church’s then chief operating officer.
Percy remembered Catherine’s troubled face when he saw her that day.
“You look terrible. Is there something wrong? Have you been crying?” he had asked, approaching her with an outstretched hand. “What has Samantha done to you now?”
The comment was initially said in jest, but as he walked closer, he detected the faint remnant of a tear in the corner of her eye.
Catherine extended her hand and allowed it to be enveloped by Percy’s hearty grip. “I’m fine, Reverend Pryce,” she said, pointing to the chair in front of her desk, inviting him to sit. “What did you want to see me about?”
“Catherine, you can’t fool me. I know something is wrong. We’ve known each other a long time. I think of you as a friend, and I hope you feel the same about me. Has Samantha done something to upset you?”
Catherine looked away, avoiding his sympathetic gaze. There was silence for a moment, and then she spoke. “Percy, something terrible has happened, and I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Then tell me about it. Maybe we can figure it out together.”
“It’s about Hezekiah, but he told me to not discuss it with anyone.”
Percy threw his head back and laughed aloud. “How many times have we both heard that over the years? But we each know that sometimes it’s necessary to discuss our concerns with others we trust to make sure our perspectives are clear and unclouded by fear. Now tell me. What’s going on? Maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”
Catherine proceeded to recount the antagonistic meeting with Lance Savage. She told him how the reporter had confronted Hezekiah with the information he had on his affair with Danny St. John.
Percy listened attentively, shifting several times in his seat and occasionally interrupting to ask questions, such as “What did Hezekiah say?” and “When is the story supposed to run?”
Catherine concluded her tale with, “I’ve never been this worried about anything in my life.”
Percy’s last question was, “Who else knows about this?”
“I made the mistake of telling Kenneth. He’s threatened to call Lance and sue the Chronicle.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to Kenneth.” Percy then flashed a comforting smile and said, “Catherine, it doesn’t sound all that bad. You know these crazies come out of the woodwork every few years. This St. John person is probably some nut who’s obsessed with Hezekiah. I’ll bet if I put a little scare into him, he’ll stop spreading these lies.”
“That’s just it, Percy. I’m not convinced it’s a lie. Hezekiah never denied it and swore me to secrecy. Why would he do that if it wasn’t true?”
“What kind of mood was Hezekiah in this afternoon?”
“I have no idea,” she said fretfully. “He canceled all his appointments. I haven’t seen or heard from him all day.”
“That’s not like him. I’ll see if I can reach him on his cell later this evening.”
“Please don’t tell him you spoke to me,” Catherine pleaded. “Tell him you ran into Lance in the hall and he told you.”
“Don’t worry about that. I won’t even mention your name. In the meantime we should meet first thing in the morning with Kenneth and see if we can come up with a plan for damage control, just in case the story does eventually run. Will you set that up?”
“Are you sure he can be trusted?” she asked. “How do we know he didn’t leak the story in the first place?”
“Why would he do something as stupid as that? If Hezekiah goes down over this, we’ll all be out of a job.”
“I know, but I just don’t trust anyone,” Catherine said. “How’s eight thirty tomorrow morning for you, in the conference room?”
“I’ll be here.”
The two walked toward the door and embraced.
“Oh my God,” Catherine said. “You wanted to talk to me about something. I’m sorry, Percy. This has got me so distracted.”
“Don’t worry about that. We can talk about it later. This is much more important.”
The next day Catherine, Kenneth, and Percy met in the conference room. Percy took the seat of power at the head of the conference room table.
Catherine broke the silence at the table and asked, “Where is Hezekiah? Shouldn’t he be here to talk about this?”
“I thought the whole discussion might make him uncomfortable,” Percy replied. “He doesn’t know we’re meeting.”
“I think that was a mistake,” Kenneth said nervously. “If he finds out we discussed this behind his back, he’ll be furious.” As he spoke, he picked up his cell phone from the table and said, “I don’t want any part of this.”
Reverend Pryce leaned forward. “Wait a minute, Kenneth. There’s no reason for him to find out. I just wanted us to put our heads together and come up with a plan. This meeting never took place as far as anyone outside this room is concerned.”
Kenneth looked at Catherine for signs of agreement. She signified yes by nodding.
“All right. I’ll stay. But if he finds out about this meeting, I’ll deny I was ever here.”
“Good then,” Percy said with slight relief. “I spoke with Hezekiah, and it’s not alleged. He confirmed the whole story. There is in fact a Danny St. John, and they are involved in a sexual relationship.”
“How long has it been going on?” Kenneth asked.
“He said for about a year. If that story is printed, all hell is going to break loose.”
“We’re all aware of that, Percy. But there just might be some way to convince Lance Savage to kill the story.” Kenneth looked at Catherine. “You know Lance better than we do. What do you think? Can he be bribed, frightened off?”
Catherine shook her head. “I don’t think there’s any way he’s going to let this slide. I’ve seen him in action. He’s relentless once he gets his hands on anything sensational. He stands to build a national reputation on this.”
“Come on, there’s got to be some way,” Percy interjected. “Every man has a price. We just have to find out what his is.”
“The construction budget has one million dollars in discretionary funds,” Kenneth said to no one in particular. “I think we should offer to buy his silence. That’s the only way.”
Catherine sat silently while the two debated the plan’s merits. The conversation progressed more rapidly than she had wished. She finally spoke. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves here. What I’d like to know is, who leaked the story in the first place? That’s what’s most important.”
Percy looked at her impatiently and said, “That’s irrelevant. It’s out, and now we have to deal with the consequences.”
“I disagree,” Catherine protested. “Let’s say we are able to silence Lance. Whoever the source is could easily find another reporter to pick it up. Eventually, we’ll have to buy off every reporter in the city.”
Kenneth leaned back in his chair and said, “She’s right. Whoever this person is, they are obviously very close to Hezekiah and have something to gain by him not being the pastor. Any ideas?”
“It could be anyone,” Catherine said. “Even one of us.”
Catherine’s last words unleashed a flurry of retorts. Kenneth bolted to his feet. “If you’re suggesting I’m responsible, you’re crazy. I’ll be out of a job if this ever gets out.”
Percy raised his voice. “I take personal offense at your accusations, Catherine. I’ve devoted the past five years of my life to this church, and I deserve better than that.”
Kenneth held up his hands in an appeal for calm. “Hold on, everybody. Let’s not accuse each other. Who else could have gotten that close to Hezekiah to know about this?”
“How about Dino, his driver?” Catherine asked. “He must know about it, but I think he would rather take a bullet in the head than see any harm come to Hezekiah.”
Everyone nodded in consensus. Puzzled expressions formed on their faces as they pondered who the Judas might be.
Catherine, with great caution, broke the silence. “I know this might sound crazy, but I’m going to say it, anyway. What about Samantha?”
The puzzled looks quickly changed to shock and horror.
“Catherine, how could you even think something that horrible?” Kenneth said. “Samantha worships the ground Hezekiah walks on. She would rather die than see him publicly humiliated.”
Catherine recoiled in her chair. “I know. You’re right. I just wanted to put it out there.”
“Well, please don’t ever say anything like that again,” Percy said in a fatherly tone. “She’s going to be hurt enough when she learns about the affair. I’d hate to see her hurt even more if a rumor like that started circulating.”
Having been chastised, Catherine said, “I’m sorry. I’m not suggesting she did it, but we have to look at all possibilities.”
“Look, this idle speculation isn’t getting us anywhere,” Kenneth said with his hands clasped in front of his face. “We could be here all day trying to figure out who did this. I say we go back to our original plan and offer Lance money. If the story resurfaces again later, then maybe we’ll have more time to flush out the source. But not now. We don’t have the time.”
“Kenneth is right,” said Percy. “If we’re going to act, we have to do it quickly.”
“Are we all in agreement, then?” Kenneth asked.
Percy said yes, but Catherine simply stared out the window.
“Catherine, what about you? Do you agree or not?” Percy asked.
“I don’t think it’s going to work, but if that’s our only option, then yes, I agree.”
Kenneth clapped his hands and said, “All right, then. I’ll meet with Lance this afternoon and make the offer and hopefully—”
“Wait a minute, Kenneth,” Percy said, “I want to come with you. I’d like to have a few words with him myself.”
“You don’t want to upset Lance,” Catherine said. “He’s in control. If you threaten him, he’ll turn you down flat.”
“I won’t threaten him. I just think we should hedge our bet with a little intimidation. Let him know that if he reneges on the agreement, there will be serious consequences.”
“It’s risky, but it might help in the long run,” said Kenneth. “Okay, Percy. As soon as I set up a time for the meeting, I’ll call you.” Kenneth stood and said, “Wish us luck, Catherine. We’re going to need it.”
Percy now wished he had never heard the name Danny St. John. He regretted getting involved and taking the lead in trying to get the reporter to drop the story about Hezekiah.
I should have stayed out of it, he thought as the man across from him wrapped up his tale of financial and marital woe. I should have let the Cleavelands just deal with their own mess themselves.
Now his life would never be the same. A man had died at his hands. His own wife was the source of the e-mails that had launched the newspaper article. And in spite of the fact that she knew he had killed a man, she was more determined than ever for him to become pastor.
“Reverend Pryce . . . ,” said the parishioner sitting across from him at the desk in his office.
Percy did not hear him.
“Reverend Pryce . . .” the man said again. “So what do you think? Should I beg my wife to come back to me?”
The second call pulled Percy back to the counseling session. “Yes, I’m sorry, Brother. I . . . I . . . Yes, you should call her. She’s just afraid and confused right now. Call her and tell her you forgive her, and let her know how much you love her. Tell her you two can work this out together.”
“Thank you, Reverend Pryce,” the man said, standing with Percy. “That’s exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you.”
As the man exited the room, Percy sat down behind his desk. He knew the parting words of advice he had just given were more for himself than for the man whose problems he hadn’t heard.
I do love her so much, he thought warmly. She’s just afraid and confused.
The waters off the California coast between Catalina Island and Long Beach were calm and tranquil, the occasional wave causing the yacht to rock gently from bow to stern. The rear deck held a series of wooden chairs and chaise lounges with blue-striped cushions. A brown lacquered table with chrome pedestal legs held a vase filled with orchids, a bucket filled with champagne and ice, and two flutes.
Cherrywood covered much of the walls of the main cabin below deck. A big-screen television was positioned on a wall next to a state-of-the-art sound system. Overstuffed tan chairs and couches had been placed seemingly in no particular order around the large space. A wet bar complete with stools and taps was in one corner of the cabin.
It was 199 feet of floating elegance, complete with six staterooms, a formal dining room, a six-person sauna, a Jacuzzi on deck, and a wine cellar, and had a range of 5,380 nautical miles.
Samantha and David sat looking out a bank of tinted windows at the endless Pacific Ocean, while the three-man crew labored above deck, unseen and unheard. They each held a glass of champagne.
“You can’t screw it up this time, David,” Samantha said calmly without looking in his direction. “There’s too much at stake.”
David did not speak. He took a gulp of champagne and stared blankly at the horizon. The gentle rocking of the boat intensified the churning in his stomach.
“Danny St. John has been living with Gideon Truman for the past four weeks. You’ll find them at his home in Hollywood Hills.”
“How do you know that?” David asked, looking in her direction.
“I know everything about Danny and Gideon. I have a man in Switzerland that will tell you the number of hairs on anyone’s head in the world for the right price.”
“What else do you know about them?” David regretted asking the question as soon as the words left his mouth.
“I know that Danny has a hundred twenty-seven dollars in his bank account. I know that he’s estranged from his mother. That he has a cat named Parker, and that he’s a social worker at a nonprofit agency that works with the homeless. What else would you like to know?” she asked confidently.
“How about Gideon?”
“He has a net worth of twenty million dollars. His only living relative is his grandmother in Texas. He’s never been in a long-term relationship. Before he met Danny, he occasionally hired male prostitutes, who would visit him in hotels downtown. I also know the alarm system on his home has been temporarily disabled.”
“Disabled?” David said in disbelief.
“That’s correct.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You would be surprised how responsive the manager of his security company was to an anonymous offer of ten thousand dollars to accidentally allow his service to lapse for one week,” she said with a disdainful smile. “It’s a shame what some people will do for money these days.”
David looked away in disgust.
“It has to be done this week, David. I want it done before the cathedral opening this Sunday. I don’t want this hanging over my head that morning. I need to be able to focus on my sermon and nothing else.”
David was silent.
“Do you understand me, David?” she asked. “You have to do it this week.”
David had resigned himself to the promise he had made during the throes of passion they had shared. Her intoxicating scent in the cabin caused his senses to reel. He was weak in her presence. He was weak in her absence. Just the thought of her made his legs wobble. But the thought of killing a man caused his nerves to fray. Now the thought of killing two men had left him in a state of unbridled panic.
“Isn’t there any other way you can shut them up? Did you try offering Gideon money?”
“Weren’t you listening when I said he’s worth twenty million dollars? Plus, now that he’s fucking Danny St. John, he won’t be able to listen to reason. Look what Danny did to Hezekiah, for God’s sake. He was willing to walk away from a multimillion-dollar ministry and, even more amazing, away from me,” she said without a hint of modesty. “I’m sure Gideon is no match for him.”
“He can’t be that great.”
“You didn’t look in his eyes. For a moment I thought I was looking in a mirror,” she said admiringly. “He’s stunning. I understood as soon as I looked at him why Hezekiah fell in love with him.”
As she spoke, David felt his head sway with the rhythmic motion of the boat. With each wave the cabin seemed to spin to the left and to the right, then to and fro. He sensed the beginnings of a debilitating panic attack. David fumbled in his coat pocket for the vile of pills that had grounded him so many times before. But they were not there.
“What are you looking for?” Samantha asked as she saw him grope his pants and jacket pockets.
“My pills,” he said guardedly. “I need my pills.”
“What kind of pills?” David had her full attention now.
“Diazepam.”
“Why do you need Valium?”
“Panic attacks, all right!” he snapped. “I’ve had them my entire life.”
David had had his first anxiety attack when he was eight years old. He had innocently placed his hand his chest and for the first time had felt the gentle beating of his heart. He instinctively knew that it was the source of his life and that if the beating stopped, he would die. For the next hour his mind had been awash with frightening thoughts of what he could do to make sure his heart continued to beat. But at eight years old, he could not find the answer. The more he thought, the faster his heart would beat. And the faster his heart beat, the less he was able to control the frightening images that flooded his mind.
Then, finally, the sight of his young body lying lifeless there on the living room floor sent him running for the comfort of his mother’s arms. She calmed his fears and wiped away his tears as only a mother could. Since then, whenever David found himself in situations that presented him with pressure he was unable to handle, his head would begin to spin, his heart would race, and sweat would pour from his brow. Diazepam, Prozac, Zoloft, Paxil, and Cymbalta were now called on to replace the comforting arms of his mother.
“Here. Drink this,” Samantha said, waving a half-full brandy snifter in his face.
David’s trembling hand took the glass, and he quickly downed the quivering brown liquid.
“You can’t fall apart on me now, David,” Samantha said, closely studying him. “I need you to get ahold of yourself.”
“I’ll be fine,” David said, panting. “Just give me a minute and I’ll be fine.”
David stood before the bank of windows and took three deep breaths through his nose, the way his psychiatrist had instructed him. “I’m better now,” he said self-consciously. “They usually pass pretty quickly.”
Samantha stared at the man standing at her window, surrounded by the deep blue sea. She expertly recalculated the level of care, flattery, and physical attention she would need to apply to ensure that he would do her bidding.
“David, darling, are you okay now?” she asked gently.
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“Good. I need you to keep a level head. At least until Sunday. Are you going to be able to do this for me?” she asked, turning her back to him. “If not, then I’ll have to . . .”
David could feel her slipping away. “I told you I would do anything for you,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want to, but if this is what it will take for us to be together, then I’ll do it.”
Samantha turned to him. They were now only a breath’s length away from each other. “I’m afraid, David. You won’t let me down, will you?” she asked, gently brushing his cheek. “I need you to be strong for me.”
David slowly wilted under her touch. The cabin began to whirl, and his heart raced again. Not from panic this time, but from lust. The warmth of her breath caused him to shudder. He could feel her touch pierce his body down to the soles of his feet. No need for Xanax or his mother’s arms when Samantha was near him. The overwhelming complexities of life and the reality of murder became insignificant trivia, easily swept from his mind when she was within his reach.
“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Mrs. Shackelford,” Gideon said politely. “I know this has been a difficult time for everyone at New Testament Cathedral, especially for the members of the board of trustees.”
“I’m sorry I don’t have much time,” Scarlett said, directing Gideon into her living room. “I have to pick up my daughter in an hour.”
“Oh, you have a daughter? Is that her there?” Gideon pointed to a photograph of a little girl, with pink barrettes dangling from pigtails, sitting on the fireplace mantelpiece. “She’s adorable. What’s her name?”
“Natalie,” Scarlett replied guardedly. “Please sit down. So what is this about? Why do you need to speak with me?”
Gideon took a second look at the picture on the mantel. There was something familiar about the cute little girl in the photograph.
“As I mentioned on the phone, I’m doing a story on the life of Hezekiah Cleaveland. I’ve had the opportunity to speak with Samantha, Hattie Williams, and a few other members, but I don’t think my story would be complete if I didn’t interview all the members of the board of trustees.”
Scarlett did not respond.
Gideon sat in the comfortable chair she had directed him to. From his vantage point he could see the little girl in the photo staring down at him just to Scarlett’s left. “Would you mind if I recorded our conversation?” he asked, pulling a small recorder from his breast pocket. “My handwriting is so bad, I sometimes can’t read my own notes.”
Scarlett looked suspiciously at the little device. She made a mental note to watch her tone and to show no emotion. “Not at all.”
“How long have you been a member of New Testament Cathedral?”
“I joined a few years after it was founded. It’s been about eight years now.”
“At that time it was still a small church. Why did you choose it as your church home?”
“I was actually an employee at first. I was Pastor Cleaveland’s assistant for a year before I joined the church.”
“Really? I didn’t know that. What was it like working for the Cleavelands?”
“I didn’t work for the Cleavelands,” Scarlett replied, bristling. “I said I was Pastor Cleaveland’s assistant.”
“I see. Well, what was it like working for Hezekiah?”
“He was a good boss. Very compassionate. Very professional. I didn’t have any complaints.”
Gideon knew instinctively there was more to the story, and proceeded with caution. “What were your duties at that time?”
“I was primarily his scheduling secretary. I managed his calendar and made all his travel arrangements for speaking engagements outside of the city, and I handled some personal things, like doctor’s appointments, car maintenance, small things like that.”
“Why did you quit?”
Scarlett hesitated. She had not anticipated this line of questions. “I’m not clear what this has to do with Hezekiah.”
Her slightly defensive tone did not go unnoticed by Gideon. “Understanding your role at the church and with Pastor Cleaveland helps me establish a context. I hope I haven’t offended you in any way.” Gideon watched closely for her verbal and nonverbal responses.
“I’m not offended at all,” she said as she crossed her legs on the couch. “I left when I married and became pregnant with my daughter.”
“I see. So that was five or six years ago. Is that when you married David?”
“No, David is my second husband. He’s not Natalie’s father,” she responded and looked nervously at her watch. “Her father and I divorced when she was two years old.”
“I’m sorry. How did you become a member of the board of trustees?”
“Hezekiah asked me personally.”
“And why do you think that is?”
“I’m not sure. I suppose he trusted me.”
As she spoke, Gideon looked at the photo of the little girl again, and now it was clear. She looked remarkably like Hezekiah. “She really is a lovely little girl. Was your first husband related to Hezekiah?”
“No,” Scarlett replied with a puzzled look. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between your daughter and Hezekiah.” Her nervousness served as the answer to his questions. “She has his eyes and nose.”
Scarlett turned and looked at the picture over her shoulder to avoid eye contact. She did not respond.
“Do you have any other children?”
“No, she’s an only child.” Scarlett looked at her watch again.
“What was your relationship like with Samantha Cleaveland?”
“I didn’t have much contact with her. She had her own assistant.”
“If I can be frank with you, Scarlett . . . May I call you Scarlett?”
She responded with an affirmative nod of her head.
“Thank you. As I was saying, I’ve spoken to several people, and some have told me in confidence how difficult Samantha can be. That the woman the public sees is actually nothing like the Samantha Cleaveland they know behind the scenes.”
Scarlett did not respond but simply looked down at the recorder that sat on the coffee table between them.
“This can be off the record if you would prefer,” Gideon said, pressing the STOP button on the recorder. “I would really appreciate anything you can tell me to help me get a true picture of Hezekiah and Samantha. I can assure you that I will attribute nothing to you that you do not approve in advance.”
Scarlett stood and walked to the sliding-glass door behind the couch. She crossed her arms and looked out into the yard.
“Samantha Cleaveland is a horrible woman,” she finally said.
Gideon remained silent.
“The only things that are important to her are money and power. I don’t know what’s going to happen to the ministry now that she is pastor. I’m sure it will keep growing, but at what cost?”
“You’re a beautiful woman, Scarlett. Did Samantha have a problem with you working so closely with Hezekiah? Is she the real reason you quit as his assistant?”
“Yes,” was her anguished reply. “She made my life miserable. Hezekiah tried to shield me from her, but the more he tried, the more hostile she became toward me.” As she spoke, a tear fell from her eye. She tried to wipe it away discreetly, but Gideon recognized the gesture even with her back turned.
In a split second Gideon calculated his next move. He weighed the risk of asking her the question he already knew the answer to, and reasoned there was nothing to lose.
“Scarlett, is Natalie Hezekiah’s daughter?”
Scarlett was too weak to form a believable denial. The lies, the death, and the betrayal had taken their toll. If only her life could have been as neat and tidy as the perfect living room. She slowly lowered her head and was silent.
Scarlett had arrived in Los Angeles as a young girl from the South. Her mother had wanted a better life for her, so she had sent her to live with relatives in California. She had been smart and beautiful her entire life but had never really known it. Her shyness was often mistaken for conceitedness. Boys found the shy Southern girl captivating. Her naïveté and her soft voice garnered proposals of marriage long before she turned eighteen.
Scarlett thought back to when she was nineteen, to the day she found out she was pregnant with Hezekiah’s baby.
Gideon could see that she was crying at the window. He stood and walked behind her and gently placed his hand on her quivering shoulder and asked again, “Is she his daughter, Scarlett?”
Scarlett could no longer contain her tears. She covered her mouth and sobbed, “Yes,” into her cupped hand. “She is Hezekiah’s daughter.”
“It’s okay, Scarlett,” Gideon said in his most comforting voice. “Your secret is safe with me. Does your husband know?”
The question caused her sobs to intensify. Gideon’s heart told him to stop, but his reporter’s mind urged him to push harder. Through his touch on her quivering shoulder, he could feel her pain. She was so gentle and fragile, he felt any additional pressure would cause her to shatter into a million pieces on the peach carpet.
Against the gentle pleading of his heart, he pressed on. His instincts told him David knowing about Natalie accounted for a large portion of her pain. “How did David react when you told him?” he asked gently.
“He was furious,” she said through tears. “I can’t blame him. I made a mistake by not telling him sooner. He feels embarrassed that Hezekiah and Samantha knew and he didn’t. It was stupid of me. I just didn’t know how to tell him.” The entire time she spoke, she kept her back to him. “I’ve made a mess of everything, but I didn’t mean anyone any harm. I just wanted to protect my daughter.”
Gideon had interviewed enough battered women to recognize some of the signs. Overwhelming guilt, shuddering under the touch of a man, blaming herself rather than the perpetrator. The signs were there.
“What did he do when you told him?”
There was no answer.
“Did he hurt you, Scarlett?” he asked with the voice of a seasoned therapist.
“No,” she said in a dismissive tone. “David would never hurt me. He’s much too gentle to hurt anyone.”
“Then what happened?”
Gideon allowed the words to linger in the air. He knew there was no turning back for Scarlett. Once the floodgates of confession had been opened, few could resist the rushing tide.
“He’s threatening to leave me for . . .” She hesitated and seemed to brace herself for the next words.
“Leave you?” Gideon said, tenderly goading her.
Scarlett took a deep breath and said, “Yes. For Samantha Cleaveland.”
Gideon froze. It was unbelievable on so many different levels. The glamorous grieving widow already connecting with another man. The pastor stealing another woman’s husband. The board of trustee member giving birth to the pastor’s illegitimate child. It was almost too much for him to grasp. Blackmail, love triangles, and murder. The seasoned reporter who thought he had heard everything was now presented with a story so fantastic that even Hollywood would be challenged to do it justice.
“Are you sure?” Gideon asked with the deepest sincerity. “Why would Samantha do that to you?”
“You don’t know her,” she replied with a mixture of scoffs and tears. “She doesn’t care who gets hurt as long as she gets what she wants. She almost destroyed my life once, and now she’s trying to do it again. I c-c-ould . . .” she stammered. “If I had the chance, I would kill her.”
It was well after midnight. Hattie sat in her favorite floral wingback chair in her living room. The steam from a cup of chamomile tea that sat on the tea table released a wisp of mint into the quiet, dark room. Hattie had raised three children in this house. Her husband had died years earlier, and she now lived alone. The newest piece of furniture in the entire home was a small ottoman that her husband had purchased twenty years earlier so she could elevate her leg and take the pressure off her arthritic knee.
There was a chill in the air. The only light came from the dial of a transistor radio sitting on a hutch across the room. A minister she had never heard before chirped his message of damnation to insomniacs, who were either enthralled by his words, too tired to turn the dial, or otherwise preoccupied.
No need to turn on the heater, she thought while pulling her terry-cloth robe tight around her chest to ward off the cold. Lord willing, I’ll be asleep soon.
It was in the midnight hours like this that Hattie had been guided through decisions that shaped her life. Alone and in the dead of night. The world was asleep, and the air was clear of the blizzard of thoughts that often distort the mind.
Her philosophy was that since the beginning of time there had only ever been one man and one woman. Adam and Eve. There was only one mind, and we all drew our wisdom, inspiration, and creativity from the same source. If one person had an idea, then every person on the planet had access to that very same idea. If one person suffered, then we all suffered. If one person succeeded, we all succeeded.
Hattie had inherited the gift of empathy, and the particular wisdom that accompanied it, from her grandmother. It placed Hattie in the unique position of knowing the hearts of people and being able to anticipate their actions. Only a few people knew she had this gift. Her grandmother knew the moment she laid eyes on the gurgling little baby girl. Pastor Cleaveland realized it when she told him he was going to be one of the most famous men on earth.
Now, on this quiet night, Hattie could feel the universe had something to tell her. She sat patiently in the chair, tolerating the ranting preacher on the radio. If my arthritis wasn’t acting up on me, I’d get up and turn him off, she thought. But it was, so she sat captive to his misguided perspective on the Gospel. Her defense was to reduce his voice to nothing more than white noise as she sipped the herbal tea and quietly hummed one of her favorite hymns.
“Walk in the light, beautiful light, come where the dewdrops of mercy shine bright. Oh, shine all around us by day and by night, Jesus is, Jesus is the light of the world.”
Hattie knew her Bible, and she knew the truth. She had never relied on anyone to tell her God’s will. “If one man knows the truth, then we all know the truth. God ain’t telling one man a secret that he ain’t willing to tell everybody,” she often noted. Hattie discounted any preacher who said, “God told me to tell you . . . ,” because she knew it wasn’t true and would invariably be followed by him or her reaching into her pocketbook. “God don’t have favorites,” she often said. “If he has a message for anyone on this earth, believe me, child, he will tell them personally. God doesn’t need a middleman.”
“If the gospel be hid, it’s hid from the lost, my Jesus is waiting to look past your faults. Arise and shine, your light has come. Jesus is, I know that He is the only light of this world.”
As the hymn fell almost silently from her lips, she felt a familiar stirring in her stomach. This always meant that either a vision was coming or she would soon need a sip of Metamucil. Considering she had had only cottage cheese and a few slices of canned peaches for dinner, she assumed a vision would soon play out before her.
She gently placed the cup of tea on the table and looked straight ahead into the darkness. Hints of furniture and the shadows on her drawn shades from the trees standing guard outside her window were all she could see.
Slowly, a form began to appear in the middle of the room. At first she couldn’t see what it was, but as the moments passed, it became clear it was taking the shape of a human. She freely opened her heart and mind to what was to come.
Before the image was fully formed, she knew exactly who it was. The room took on a ghostly glow, which emanated directly from the form. She felt a rush of cold sweep through her body. Hattie gripped the armrest to brace herself for the visitor. She felt waves of hate rush over her as the image became clearer.
Then, in an instant, Samantha Cleaveland was standing in the room. Hattie had never seen an image so clearly. Samantha was looking directly at her with a foreboding glare. There was something threatening in her stance. Her feet were firmly planted on the oval braided rug in the center of the room. Her shoulders were square, and her fists were clenched at her sides.
Hattie looked calmly at the figure and waited for it to reveal the purpose of its visit. She could feel the hate. She’d felt it before on so many Sunday mornings. Then Samantha slowly raised her hand and pointed directly at Hattie. The gesture sent a shiver down Hattie’s spine. Samantha took a step toward Hattie.
“Don’t come any closer,” Hattie said out loud.
Samantha stopped as Hattie’s voice sliced through the cold in the room. Her expression said she wanted to come closer, but she could not.
“What do you want?” Hattie asked firmly.
There was no response. Instead, Samantha took another bold step forward. Hattie sat upright in the wingback chair. She reached to her left and took a leather-bound Bible from the table and rested it in her lap.
“I know what you did to Pastor Cleaveland,” Hattie said in a clear attempt to provoke the spirit. “God knows what you did.”
Samantha took another step forward. It happened so quickly that Hattie noticed only that the distance between them had become shorter. She opened the Bible in her lap. This was no ordinary vision. Up until now she had witnessed only visions that seemed as though they were playing on a television screen. This time was different. She could actually feel Samantha in the room. It was almost as if she could reach out and touch her. Hattie was, for the first time, a part of the vision.
She knew the spirit was trying to intimidate her, but she was not afraid. “Don’t hurt anyone else,” Hattie said boldly. “This has got to stop. Stay away from that boy, Danny. Hezekiah loved him. He won’t let you hurt him.”
Samantha began to laugh. There was no sound, only the mocking expression on her face. Her presence was so strong in the room that Hattie had to brace herself so as not to become overwhelmed by it. She was determined, however, to stand her ground.
“God is going to stop you,” she said. “I’m praying with every ounce of me for God to stop you.”
Samantha took another defiant step closer. She was now standing only four feet away.
Hattie stood from the chair. Her arthritic knee functioned as well as it had when she was twenty years old. She looked Samantha directly in the eye and said, “This has got to stop now.” Hattie raised the Bible between them and began to pray. “In the name of Jesus, I rebuke you. I bind you by the power of God.”
She said the words over and over. The intensity of her speech increased with each repetition. As she spoke, Samantha took a step backward. One after another, Hattie unleashed a barrage of scriptures and declarations. The more she spoke, the farther Samantha moved away. But Hattie was relentless. With every step back that Samantha took, Hattie took one step forward.
The hate pouring from Samantha did not diminish. The room remained cold, and her finger stayed fixed on Hattie. Then, as slowly as the figure had appeared, it began to fade away. The two women’s eyes remained locked the entire time. After a few moments, the figure disappeared completely. The last thing Hattie saw was Samantha’s eyes peering at her through the darkness.
Hattie made her way back to the wingback chair and collapsed onto the seat. Suddenly the pain in her knee shot through her entire body. She realized she was panting for breath and her hands were shaking. She felt a bead of perspiration roll down her cheek.
In all the years she had been having visions, never once had she been presented with an image that frightened her as much as this one had. The sight of Samantha standing in her living room, pointing at her, had made Hattie’s heart pound against the walls of her chest.
She clutched the Bible to her breast and said, “Lord, you have to stop her.”