Solomon's Porch (26 page)

Two hundred yards away from where Peter and Alex were enjoying their leisurely stroll, they watched a steady stream of vehicles fill the prison’s small parking area. By the time the sun had fully risen, the lot was packed and cars were overflowing into the dirt field adjacent to the camp. A line formed outside the main entrance. The curious and the faithful had arrived, or at least some of them. If today was anything like the past few days, the human procession into Parkersboro would continue on well into the evening.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Alex said, as he and Peter continued to make their way very deliberately around the oval, sipping coffee as they walked. “All these people seeking the Almighty at a Federal prison. These folks are starting to believe that you’re Moses, Jeremiah, and John the Baptist all rolled into one.”

“Did you get a chance to interview Melissa and Britney yesterday, the mother and daughter who had driven all day and night from Ohio to get here?” Peter asked, ignoring Alex’s reference to the prophets.

“Yes sir. They are on tape and they have lots of company. I’d say you’ve had more documented miracles occur here at Parkersboro during the past eleven months than the Catholic Church has recognized over the previous fifty years.”

“Those two especially touched my heart, Alex,” Peter continued. “Imagine being ten years old and getting melanoma, then being told you had maybe a year to live.”

“But the mother, Melissa, refused to believe it,” Alex added, recalling his mental notes from the interview. “She never believed that her child was going to die.”

“No, she didn’t,” Peter agreed. “Then the Lord told her in a dream to come here. She hadn’t seen any of the media coverage; Melissa had no way of knowing who I was or what was going on at Parkersboro.”

“Faith,” Alex said. “Like all the rest of them, they come by and in faith. They believe, they hope, and some, like Melissa, claim that they absolutely knew that their prayers would be answered here.”

“Melissa had no doubts.” As Peter spoke, they quickened their pace a bit, both aware that their few moments of stolen serenity would soon be over. “She walked right in and picked me out. I hadn’t really even begun to pray over Britney, I don’t think I’d gotten out a full sentence, when the child started laughing.”

“What was it she said?” Alex asked.

“She said, “Mommy, it tickles.”

“People will most certainly allege that we doctored the film on that one, Peter.” In fact, Alex Anderson was quite sure that all of his footage would be challenged by skeptics, religious and scientific alike.

“It was unbelievable. I stopped praying and opened my eyes when Britney spoke, and I could see her lesions disappearing, fading away to nothing. The cancer, the evil, could not survive the power of her mother’s faith.”

“Are you saying you didn’t heal her, Panos?” Alex phrased his question in such a way as to deliberately rekindle their on-going debate.

“I don’t heal anyone, Alex. You should know that by now. The power of the Living God heals them.”

“Yes, Peter, I do know that, but … ” Alex was not allowed to finish his thought.

“No ‘buts,’ Alex,” Peter said, as he stopped walking and firmly took hold of Alex’s arm. “Britney’s healing, perhaps even more than some others, should have been a lesson for you. She was healed at Parkersboro and not in Ohio only because the Lord wants to use the miracle for His purposes, not because I was here. They didn’t need me at all.”

“Are you trying to tell me something, my friend?” Alex said, looking down at the firm grip Peter had on his bicep.

“Most definitely, Alex. It’s what I asked of you back at the estate. Do not glorify me or the brothers, glorify God. We are nothing, convenient and willing servants only. We neither seek, nor want, any credit or fame.”

“And like I told you, Panos,” Alex replied, as he reached out and grabbed Peter’s arm to demonstrate his own emphasis. “It’s not that easy. Like it or not, God chose you as His prophet, and in that role you are highly visible.”

“I prefer the term ‘messenger’ it’s more accurate and less presumptuous.”

“Just be glad Larry didn’t get his way,” Alex shot back, smiling broadly. “Otherwise we’d be calling you St. Peter.”

“Lord have mercy.” Peter did not have the strength to argue about this for the hundredth time with Alex. Besides, Gail had opened the prison to the masses. It was time to do the Lord’s work.

“I’ve been keeping a log, Panos,” Larry said. “Since you returned from Atlanta, we’ve had three thousand six hundred and twenty visitors, not counting today’s group. I’ll bet there are five hundred or more people out there right now.”

“Five hundred and thirty-one, as of ten minutes ago,” Gail confirmed, as she walked up behind Larry and Kenny who, perched in chairs and sitting behind a portable picnic table, had become the unofficial greeting committee for the Parkersboro Federal Prison Camp and Sanctuary. Peter and Alex were standing directly behind them, nodding and saying hello to the people making their way inside.

“Miss McCorkle,” Alex asked, “how have you been able to handle all of this activity? More than a bit unusual for a federal prison facility, wouldn’t you agree?”

“By ‘handle’ I’m sure you mean, Mr. Anderson, how have I been able to keep the BOP regional office in Raleigh off of our backs? You’ll have to ask Peter about that. Everyday now, I’m thoroughly amazed when I come to work and I still have a job. No, check that. I’m amazed that I’m not yet under arrest.”

“Peter?” Alex asked.

All Panos did was point up at the sky and smile.

“We’ve had no complaints, and no contact beyond the routine with Raleigh,” Gail explained. “We answer the phone, try to sound normal. I guess they don’t watch television up there or read the newspapers.”

“What would happen if one of your supervisors saw what was going on here, all these people moving in and out, the lack of security, etc.?” Alex knew the answer before he asked the question, but he wanted to quote Warden McCorkle accurately when the time came.

“Like I said, I’d be fired and probably arrested,” Gail admitted. “Now ask me if that worries me in the least.”

“Well, does it?”

“Everyday I get to see people healed of physical disease, mental anguish, every type of human suffering imaginable. No one leaves here the same, Mr. Anderson, everyone’s faith is strengthened and hope renewed. So, as far as I’m concerned, I could care less about the BOP. God’s got my back, I serve Him without reservation. I’m very blessed.”

And with that Gail stepped away from Alex and Peter to help a child of five or so, whose body was obviously wracked by sickness to come over and shake Peter’s hand. Peter did more than that, he picked up the frail youngster and gave him a hug and a kiss and said “God bless you” before returning him to his mother’s arms.

“What time do the services begin, Brother Peter?” the attractive young mother asked.

“In about twenty minutes,” Peter told her. “Just follow the crowd outside. You’ll see the chairs all set up on the lawn in front of the porch.”

“And what, may I ask, is the topic of your sermon today, Brother Peter,” Gail teased sarcastically, noticing the flirtatious glances the young mother flashed his way.

“Humility,” Peter sighed, “our constant and never-ending battle against the sin of pride. It seems to be that … ”

Peter was interrupted in mid-sentence by a blood curdling scream, followed shortly by another. The pitch of each was distinct; it was obvious that the cries came from two different people.

Malik ran into the lobby, Saul was right behind him.

“Mr. Pete, sir. Come quick, bro. We need you outside.” The look on Malik’s face conveyed imminent danger. Saul was white as a sheet.

In the few seconds it took for Peter to exit the administration building and scramble outside, the screams continued, as did other sounds of general distress. When Peter reached a vantage point from where he could see the stage, he gasped in horror at the scene laid out before him.

A prisoner no one had ever paid much attention to, Warren Sutton, was standing near the rostrum covered in blood. At his feet lay the bodies of two inmates, a pair that had neither embraced, nor were openly hostile to, the spiritual revival at Parkersboro. Both of the dead men had been horribly mutilated, no doubt by the very large and bloody knife Warren was holding in his right hand.

Warren’s left arm was wrapped around a little girl of no more than three. She appeared to be too traumatized to scream, her eyes as big as saucers, and fixed on the blade Warren was dangling a few inches from her face.

“Saul?” Peter asked.

“Oh yeah. I’m sure it’s our old pal Legion. He’s brought company, too. They’ve come in force.” Saul kept close to Peter, using him as a shield against that which frightened him to the depths of his soul.

“Panos Kallistos.” Warren, or rather what used to be Warren, spoke in a low and guttural manner completely unlike Sutton’s usual mid-range Southern twang.

“Put the child down. Now!” Peter ordered.

“Panos Kallistos. You have no idea what you are doing,” the demon said. “You are a child playing with matches, and if you are not careful, you will burn the whole house down.”

“I said in the name of Christ, release the child!” Peter’s rage was evident; his righteous anger directed at his only true enemy, Satan.

Warren’s face then began to change, to twist into a series of hideous, fleshly masks. He began to shake and drool. His skin turned an odd shade of dull purple as if his entire body had become one giant bruise. But he did not let go of the child.

The crowd, that to this point had backed off but had not yet fled, now became a herd of skittish sheep. Most of them scattered in all directions, but more than a few remained, their curiosity and fascination being greater than their fear.

“Kallistos, you are so green. Such a f***ing lap dog. Do you think Christ is the only power in this universe, or even on this pathetic little planet? You s*** eating monkeys are so proud of yourselves! How little you really know.” Warren’s face twisted in a series of bizarre distortions as he spoke.

“You cannot defy Christ, of that I am completely sure.”

As Peter said this, he slowly approached the stage, moving directly toward the sickening, knife-wielding creature that had once been Warren Sutton. Before he reached the edge of the platform he was met by Malik and Gail, who both restrained him.

“Let me at him, Mr. Pete. I’ll send him back to hell for sure.” Malik’s usual mild countenance was gone, murderous blood-lust now filled his eyes.

“If you go up there, you’ll do it with me riding on your back, kicking and screaming.” There was no way that Gail McCorkle was going to let Peter walk into that kind of peril. She’d die first, gladly.

The demon said nothing, but emerging from behind him, visible to all, arose a swarm of hundreds of indistinct, misty black shapes whose forms were surely not human. A stench like that from an open sewer now wafted from Warren as he danced the blade of his knife around the girl’s head goading Peter, daring him to approach.

Peter took a step back and Malik and Gail released him. Then he put an arm around each of his beloved friends.

“Do you trust me?” Peter asked.

“That’s not fair, Peter, I mean … ” Peter cut Gail off.

“Do you both trust me?” Peter repeated. “Do you believe that I know what I’m doing, that God is leading me?”

As Peter spoke, the fury in Malik’s eyes was replaced by his normal gentleness and he smiled. He understood.

“Yes sir, Mr. Pete. I trust you with my life and with my soul.” Malik then stepped to his left and put Warden McCorkle in a tender, yet very firm, bear hug.

Gail could see what was happening and she panicked. Her thoughts were of her holy mission, of Gabriel’s charge to her to lay down her life for her brother. She did her best to try and free herself from Malik, but that was an impossibility for anyone even twice her size.

“Mr. Pete, do what you gotta do,” Malik said, tightening his delicate but unbreakable embrace around Gail McCorkle’s waist.

Peter softly touched Gail’s cheek and said to her, “Don’t be afraid.” Then he turned and faced the demon. He simultaneously began to speak and walk.

“In the name of Christ, I command you to put that child down. You cannot resist the power of the Living God.” Peter repeated this phase three times before he reached a point about two feet away from his enemy, where he stopped.

Peter then closed his eyes and began to pray, audibly but not distinctly. He reached his hands upward summoning the Power.

Legion was in agony. The Force brought forward by Peter’s prayer was tormenting him. Through the body of Warren Sutton, he let loose shouts and curses that sounded as if they came from a thousand different voices. Sutton’s face, indeed his whole body, now pulsed and phased between horrible images of hellish creatures.

After a minute or so of this ghastly drama, Warren dropped both the knife and the child. When he did so his agony lessened. Malik then let go of Gail and swooped in, gathering up both the little girl and the knife in one motion and rushed them off the stage.

Peter continued to stand toe-to-toe with his adversary. They stared each other down like two warriors in a spiritual joust preparing to duel.