Absence of Faith (17 page)

"Satan?"

"There is real evil in the world
and everyone is exposed to it in a lesser or greater degree. If you
are unfortunate enough to experience it to a greater degree then
you have a stronger belief that it really exists. Take someone who
has never had a bad experience. Luck seems to favor them;
everything goes their way; they are successful, happy, and content.
These people see the world through rose-colored glasses and cannot
even fathom anything bad happening to them. They don’t have strong
beliefs in evil, and don’t do much to fight it. They believe evil
is something that happens to other people. When a crisis happens,
they half believe it is happening to them and make the wrong
decisions."

Carson shook his head and remained
silent the rest of the way home. When he opened the door to his
darkened house the dim light from a small plug-in nightlight in the
foyer cast a soft yellow sheen over the varnished oak floor. As he
stepped inside, the floor creaked and the air was motionless filled
with the ancient smell of a house that had weathered more than
eight hundred seasons. He went upstairs and pushed the
partially-opened door to his bedroom. The hinges struggled to move
producing an eerie creaking sound that startled Linda sleeping in
their king- size bed.

"Is that you Carson?" she said in a
sleep-filled voice.

"Yeah, I have to fix those hinges.
Sorry, I woke you."

"I was half awake anyway. You know
I can't sleep when you're not home."

Carson took off his clothes, put on
striped pajamas, and slipped under the covers next to Linda. He
stared into the endless darkness thinking. He looked at the clock -
12:10 am. He dozed for what seemed like a few minutes, and then
awoke, and looked at the clock a second time - 1:13 am. He turned
on the small light on his nightstand with the stained glass shade
and picked up the small silver cordless telephone.

"Hello, Centers for Disease
Control," a woman answered.

"I'm looking for Frank Tessler,"
Carson said.

A few seconds of white
noise.

"He’s not in. Do you want to leave
a message?"

"Sure."

The call was transferred to
Tessler’s voicemail. Carson listened to his friends voice and hung
up. He held the phone in his hand and stared at it as if it were
going to tell him something, give him more information. Then he put
it down, turned off the light, and finally fell into a deep
sleep.

C
arson felt
a change in the air as he and Linda stepped out of their Victorian
house onto the wrap-around porch. The air was cool, clear, and
smelled of the ocean, an indication that summer was ending and fall
was approaching. He loved the cool breezes that blew off the ocean
during a hot humid day, but now the weather was changing to its
unpredictable patterns - one day could be hot and summer like, the
next could be cool and damp like the fall. He felt lucky that he
could afford a home where the cool winds prevailed and the smell of
the ocean permeated everything.

But, this evening, however, was
different. A fear fell upon him like a dreaded weight with an
intensity that was stronger than usual. He was skittish and
nervous. He walked down the six steps off the porch and towards his
car in the gravel-blanketed driveway. Linda went around to the
other side of the car. His hard leather shoes forced the stones to
rub together making a crunching sound. He dismissed his fear as a
reaction to his lack of sleep and the strong coffee Linda made for
him after dinner. He got in the car, waited for Linda to settle in
and drove to the church for Friday night Bingo. Linda had
volunteered Carson and herself to help distribute the cards and
playing pieces, confirm winners, and hand out prizes.

They arrived early and sat at the
head table in the large meeting room in the church basement. It was
especially crowded this Friday since the story of the Hellfire
Syndrome was published and since Pastor Millard was supposed to
make an appearance and talk about the most recent events. Carson
heard his name come out of the whispers around him and he knew
people were talking about him and the strange events.

A door in the front of the meeting
room suddenly opened and a robed, elderly pastor came out and stood
next to Carson at the head table. He took his time preparing his
paperwork then looked up in a gesture indicating that he was ready
to start.

"I see we have quite a turnout this
evening," he said, his voice booming through the room’s loud
speakers.

The crowd fell silent and all eyes
moved forward.

"I'm Pastor Herbert Wilcox,
formerly of the Grace United Methodist Church in Red Bank. Pastor
Millard asked me to fill in for him while he attends a meeting of
the World Methodist Council in London," the pastor explained with
some difficulty. "I'm sure you all have your lucky charms with you
tonight and I hope there will be a lot of winners."

His voice faded losing its
intensity and vibrancy.

"I know many of you are concerned
about what's been happening lately..." Pastor Wilcox said stopping
to catch his breath.

Carson watched him carefully. The
fear he felt earlier returned like a tidal wave, but he didn't know
why he was afraid - the fear was just there.

"If you have faith in God, we can
overcome this evil...if you have lived a pure life, a good life
then you have nothing to fear," the pastor said. "Heaven awaits
those who are good and hell awaits those who are evil."

The pastor’s eyed rolled upward,
and he clutched his chest slowly collapsing to the floor. The crowd
gasped in horror. Carson instinctively grabbed hold of the minister
as he fell and awkwardly lowered him to the floor. He quickly
opened his robes and shirt and checked for a pulse. The
parishioners surrounded Carson until he pushed them away with the
movement of his hand. The crowd backed away slowly, but several
elderly women remained and knelt down to help him.

"It's cardiac arrest!" Carson
shouted. The faces looked down at him unmoving. "A heart attack!
Call an ambulance!"

Carson administered mouth-to-mouth
resuscitation alternating with cardiopulmonary resuscitation, but
the pastor did not respond. He worked harder and harder, and a few
of the older women standing nearby began to cry. Carson's fear
returned when he noticed that the pastor's mouth felt warmer and
warmer each time he placed his mouth over it and blew into his
lungs. He thought the man was coming around and worked harder and
harder, but then Carson smelled a foul odor - the odor was familiar
to him and brought back painful memories. The visions of those
horrible memories flashed through his mind like a slide show. Then
the pastor's body jerked and convulsed, shaking and thrasing
uncontrollably like a fish out of water. Everyone backed away and
Carson tried to hold him down. Then there was a searing sound like
that of meat cooking in a frying pan and pastor's skin bubbled and
pulsed. His skin turned yellow, then red, and then brown. Several
women fainted; others ran out screaming.

"It's the devil, I tell you. He's
come to get us all and God can't help us anymore!" a voice yelled
out of the crowd. "There's the proof!"

"It's an omen. It's the end of the
world!" a woman screamed.

"The gates of heaven are closed and
we are all going to hell!" another man yelled. "If the devil can
take a pastor, he can take us all!"

The crowd bolted out of the church
like spooked wild horses. The older, less capable seniors, who
moved slower, were trampled in the mad rush. People ran in all
directions outside of the church nearly knocking down the three
paramedics making their way into the church. The paramedics moved
up the church steps as fast as they could - two carrying a
stretcher, the third carrying a small bottle of oxygen and two
large medical bags. When they entered the meeting room, five
seniors lay on the floor moaning. One paramedic attended to
them.

"Over here!" Carson
yelled.

The men with the stretcher walked
over the people on the floor and rushed toward Carson. Carson knew
the paramedics.

"He's gone," Carson said
sadly.

"What happened to him? Was there a
fire?" one of the paramedics asked. "I've seen bodies like that
come out of a fire."

"It's a long story. Let's get him
to the hospital," Carson said. "Try to keep this to yourselves. I
don't want the media to get a hold of it until we know what's going
on."

"Sure," one man said. The two
nodded in agreement. As they moved out of the church with the
pastor’s body on the stretcher, one talked into a walkie-talkie and
ordered two additional ambulances for the others.

"Are the others ok?" Carson said as
they passed the one paramedic attending the fallen
seniors.

"I can handle it until the others
arrive," he said.

Carson rode in the ambulance with
the dead pastor and Linda went home. When he arrived at the
hospital, he sat down in one of the cushy blue chairs in the lobby
and pulled out his cell phone.

"Hello, Centers for Disease
Control. Can I help you?"

"Yes, this is Doctor Carson Hyll
from Ocean Village Hospital in New Jersey. Is Doctor Frank Tessler
available? I have to talk to him; it's an emergency."

"I'll check," the receptionist
said.

The few seconds seemed like an
eternity to Carson.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Hyll. Doctor
Tessler is not on duty tonight. Can someone else help
you?"

"No. I must talk with Doctor
Tessler. Please contact him and tell him it's an emergency. He can
reach me at the hospital here. Here's the number."

Carson closed his phone and
wondered if he did the right thing. He got up and headed for Stokes
office. He waited a few minutes in the hallway until Stokes
arrived. Once inside, Carson told him what had happened.

"This is going to blow wide open,"
Stokes said frantically. "It's out of control unless we can prove
it's a disease of some sort! Have you found that patient in the old
records, yet?"

"No, but I will spend all night
looking. Those people were hysterical," Carson said
fearfully.

"This is so terrible. I feel so bad
I wasn't there. I knew Herbert very well. We were good friends.
Mary was sick all day with a stomach virus and a fever and I didn't
want to leave her in the house alone. What are we going to do now?"
Stokes said sadly.

"I called a friend at the Centers
for Disease Control," Carson said.

"You did?"

"I'm just as confused as you are,
but deep down I believe we have an unknown, undetectable disease on
our hands and it's becoming an epidemic," Carson said.

"What's that?" Stokes
said.

"What's what?"

"Listen. Do you hear all that
noise? Something's going on! Come on!"

The two doctors rushed out of the
office and headed down the hallway towards the emergency room.
Several doctors and nurses were also running in the same
direction.

"Oh my God!" Carson
gasped.

A wall of people pressed up against
the double glass doors to the emergency room. The crowd behind it
grew thicker and wider as the mob pushed and shoved to get into the
hospital. The people at the doors were pushed harder and harder
into the doors, and began pushing back with little effect. Carson
saw the glass waver slightly from the weight and then he spotted a
small crack in the lower corner of the door.

"OPEN THOSE DOORS!" He screamed at
the nurses at the reception desk.

The head nurse quickly pushed a
button activating the automated door opening mechanism, but nothing
happened. Carson looked at the doors and at the nurse
again.

"OPEN THE DOORS!" he
screamed.

The nurse pushed the button several
times, but the doors stayed closed. The crack was now about eight
inches long and growing. Carson ran towards the doors waving his
arms.

"GET BACK! GET BACK!" he screamed,
but the crowd ignored him.

The people against the doors
squirmed in pain as they were crushed against the glass. Others
desperately tried to move their faces away from the glass to
breath. Carson pulled on the door handles, but the doors refused to
move. Stokes joined him, each one pulled on one door. The crack was
now about a foot long and still growing. The crowd grew and it
pushed even harder.

"CRAAACK!" the glass burst into the
emergency room like a rogue wave. Hundreds of shards scattered like
a stream of high-pressured water. Stokes jumped back at the right
moment avoiding the explosion of glass. People quickly buried
Carson in a heap of mangled limbs, blood and glass. Most of the
crowd spilled over the bloody pile; others rushed in to find a
doctor or an open bed. Stokes and several orderlies pulled several
people to their feet, some had lacerations, and others had broken
arms. Many were dazed. A nurse led each to a bed in one of the
curtained examining areas. Carson pulled himself free from the man
that lay on top of him – the man’s limp body did not move after it
slowly fell onto the cold tile.