By My Hands (29 page)

“Has anyone called my parents?” Michele asked. “I’d
really like to see them.”

“As a matter of fact, we called them just a short
while ago.” Morgan said smiled. “They’ll be here soon, I’m
sure.”

Turning to the others, Morgan asked, “What now?”

“I would like to run some tests—actually, a whole
lot of tests,” Patton said. “I want to compare the results with
tests I’ve run on her earlier. I’ve got to tell you, this is one
for the books.”

“Do you think anyone will believe it?” Morgan
asked.

“Right now, Dr. Morgan,” Patton said, “I’m not sure
I
believe it.”

“When will I be able to go home?” Michele asked.

“I’ll schedule the tests for tomorrow, Michele,”
Patton said. “I don’t see why you can’t go home after that.”

“No!” Adam interjected.

“Excuse me?” Patton said. Morgan stared angrily at
Adam.

Adam said, “If I could have a word with you
privately, I can explain.”

“Well,” Morgan said, “we’ve bothered this young lady
all we need to. Her parents will be here soon, and I’m sure they
will have a lot to talk about.”

Dr. Morgan led the group into the corridor and to
the nurses station. “Gloria,” he said to a nurse as she rose from
her desk to meet him, “the patient in room 314 is not to be
disturbed. I want you to notify all your nurses that you are the
only one to go into that room with the exception of Dr. Patton, Dr.
Tremaine, myself, and her parents. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she replied timidly.

“I also don’t want anyone talking about this,
understood? Whoever leaks this to the outside, especially to the
media, had better have another job waiting.”

“Yes, Doctor, I’ll see to it.”

Adam was amazed at Morgan’s Jekyll-and-Hyde
transformation. In Michele’s room he was the epitome of decorum;
outside the room he was a martinet.

Morgan led the group to the elevators which took
them to his office on the eighth floor. Once inside, Morgan turned
quickly on Dr. Tremaine.

“What’s he doing here?” he demanded, indicating Adam
with a motion of his head.

“I saw a news report that implied that Reverend Paul
Isaiah, who was speaking at the Sports Arena, was the Healer.”
Rachel was unshaken by Morgan’s tone. Adam found himself admiring
her composure. “I thought it worthy of investigation. Since church
and theology are far from my forte, I asked Reverend Bridger to be
my consultant. We were at the meeting when I was paged.”

“All right, Bridger,” Morgan said, spitting out his
words. “Let’s hear what you’ve got to say. Just why shouldn’t we
release that girl?”

“Because if word gets out that she has been healed,
then she very well may be kidnapped, like the others.”

“Kidnapped?” Morgan said.

“It was in my report to you,” Rachel said. “The
Langfords, the Haileys, and the Loraynes are all missing—not only
the person healed, but the entire immediate family. I’m afraid
Reverend Bridger is right.”

“But she is in danger only if word gets out,” Morgan
remarked. “Word won’t get out.”

“How can you be so sure?” Adam asked. “Word got out
about the others. The news media is already snooping around, and if
anyone can find someone to talk, they will. We’re not dealing with
hospital gossip here; we’re dealing with a woman who has been
healed in an unmistakable way. Word is going to get out.”

“I can’t be responsible for everything that goes on
outside this hospital.” Morgan was indignant.

“No, but you can be responsible for Michele,” Adam
said. “Just do your best to keep her here or secretly transferred
somewhere else. You can provide security for her.”

Morgan thought for a moment then said to Patton, “Is
there any medical reason to keep her here after you run your
tests?”

“Only if the tests reveal a problem,” Patton
responded. “But from the looks of her, I doubt they will.”

“Then,” Morgan said sternly, “release her whenever
she wants to go. I doubt that we have any legal grounds for holding
her.” Turning to Adam, he said, “I’m sorry, Reverend, but that is
the way it will be. Now I think we all have plenty of work to
do—especially you, Dr. Tremaine. I want some answers and I want
them soon.”

With his anger barely under control, Adam left
Morgan’s office. Rachel followed close behind.

“What are you going to do now?” Rachel asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never met such a cold-hearted
man. He doesn’t care about the people in the hospital, just the
hospital.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Rachel said. “But doing
something foolish won’t help. Why don’t you let me buy you some
coffee and drive you home?”

“All right,” Adam replied with a grin. “But you have
to promise not to keep me out too late. After all, I do have a
sermon to preach tomorrow.”

The two exited the hospital in silence, their minds
on the events of the night.

A SHORT DISTANCE AWAY, hidden by the dim light, a
man sat in a car and watched as Adam and Rachel drove away. After
making a notation in a small notebook, he dropped his car into gear
and drove out of the parking lot.

Saturday, March 28, 1992; 9:50
P.M.

THE BRIGHT LIGHT ILLUMINATED the night, causing many
in the crowd to instinctively close their eyes. One woman, her
bright-red hair shining under the rays of the small artificial sun,
stared at the three-inch glass lens just under the beam.

“This is Priscilla Simms speaking to you live. I’m
standing just outside the Sports Arena where a short while ago the
Reverend Paul Isaiah finished an animated service. Over 14,000
people attended tonight’s service, many of them hoping for a
healing. Just yesterday at a press conference, Reverend Isaiah
refused to deny persistent rumors that he is the mysterious Healer
who has haunted the corridors of Kingston Memorial Hospital,
leaving in his wake several incredible stories.

“Take, for example, the events surrounding David
Lorayne—an event that many are describing as miraculous. Mr.
Lorayne lay in his hospital bed in a deep coma. Many believed he
would die. Then, inexplicably, an unidentified individual entered
his ICU room. When he left, David Lorayne was well.

“Or consider Lisa Hailey, a seventeen-year-old high
school student whose third-degree burns left her barely clinging to
life. Lisa Hailey went to sleep horribly scarred and awoke
completely healed.

“Our investigation has shown that prior to these
events, a Bill Langford was healed of terminal cancer. Instead of
dying, he was made whole.

“But, as if these events were not strange enough,
each of these people and their immediate families have disappeared.
Police are investigating but state they have little evidence to go
on.

“You, our faithful viewers, may recall how KGOT-TV’s
own news director, Irwin Baker, was cruelly gunned down outside the
Haileys’ home. Police are still investigating.

“Despite the disappearances and Irwin Baker’s
murder, the baffling and miraculous healings have led many of San
Diego’s ill to leave their hospitals and homes to wait for the
Healer’s return to Kingston Memorial Hospital. Because of the
hospital’s limited vacancies, many have begun sleeping in the
hospital’s lobby and corridors. Tonight, many of them are
here.”

The camera slowly panned across the crowd around
Priscilla; the pathetic, pleading faces of crippled and diseased
children were carried via satellite link to tens of thousands of
homes in San Diego County. The camera paused on one particularly
poignant group composed of several teenagers in wheelchairs or on
crutches. Many in the crowd began tearful pleas for the Healer.

“They came tonight hoping for a miracle—a miracle
that didn’t happen. They came with their palsies, their pains, and
their fears. Now they leave just as they came.

“At this point no one can say for certain whether
Paul Isaiah is the Healer. If he is, then one must ask, where is he
now?

“This is Priscilla Simms for KGOT-TV at the San
Diego Sports Arena.”

The cameraman clicked off his spotlight. It took a
moment for Priscilla’s eyes to adjust to the night.

“You were kind of hard on him, weren’t you?” the
cameraman asked.

“I was hard,” she replied angrily, her words short.
“He led me to believe that he was the Healer. I went on the air and
stated as much. People believed me. I wasn’t nearly as hard as I
wanted to be.”

“I thought you were concerned about these poor
folks.” He motioned to the crowd.

“Don’t turn into a moralist on me, Frank. The best
thing I can do for these people is report the truth.” Priscilla
walked to the white KGOT equipment van and sat in the front
passenger seat. “Come on, I want to get out of here.”

Saturday, March 28, 1992; 11:45
P.M.

“SO?” RACHEL ASKED.

“So, what?” Adam responded.

“You’ve been staring out that window ever since we
got in the car. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

Adam grinned sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I tend to do
that when I have a lot on my mind. I was just wondering what to do
about Michele Gowan.”

“What can you do? You’ve already called the police
and informed them that she may be in danger. Other than that,
there’s nothing more to do.”

Adam said nothing and turned his gaze out the window
again.

“You are an enigma,” Rachel said. “I don’t think
I’ve ever met someone so full of contradictions.”

“Contradictions?” Adam replied, puzzled.

“Well, maybe contradictions is too strong a term.
What I mean to say is that you are full of life. You’re fun,
intelligent, and tender; qualities that are too often missing in
men. Yet, you’re so intense. Adam, you can’t save the world. There
will always be people who get hurt by other people. Unfortunately,
these things have happened to those for whom you feel somehow
responsible, but driving yourself to emotional exhaustion isn’t
going to help; and neither is taking on a whole new set of worries
about Michele Gowan.”

“Do I detect a small chink in that stoic medical
persona?” Adam asked, grinning.

“I’m just concerned, Adam.”

Adam stared with appreciative eyes at Rachel. By
most standards, she might be considered plain. Her intelligence
might have frightened some men, but Adam found it exhilarating. It
hadn’t taken him long to see past the critical and hard shell she
used to shield herself from something—a past hurt or a present
fear. Strip away the artificial veneer, and a woman of true beauty
and rare substance would emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon.

Adam,” Rachel repeated. “Are you listening to
me?”

“What? Oh, sorry. I was daydreaming.”

At 11:45 at night? What could you possibly be
daydreaming about?”

“You,” Adam said softly. Rachel cut her eyes away.
“I’m sorry, I’ve embarrassed you.”

“Don’t be silly,” Rachel responded quickly. “Doctors
don’t get embarrassed.”

Adam wanted to tell her what he felt. He wanted to
share his attraction, his appreciation. Somehow, he couldn’t, not
yet. Especially since he wasn’t quite sure what he felt himself.
And most of all, he was aware of her lack of faith. He could pursue
nothing between them as long as she refused to consider her need of
Christ as her Lord.

“Well, I may be embarrassed if I don’t get some
sleep. I have to preach tomorrow. It’s one thing when the
congregation falls asleep in the middle of the sermon; it’s quite
another thing for the preacher. It detracts from my
credibility.”

The idea of Adam bent over and sleeping in the
pulpit caused Rachel to laugh aloud.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before,
Rachel; it becomes you.”

Again, Rachel looked away.

“How about coming to church tomorrow?” Adam
asked.

Rachel shook her head. “Sorry, I’m not ready for
that.”

There was a decisiveness in her tone that made Adam
drop the subject. They had pulled into his driveway, and he wished
her a good rest before getting out of the car.

Sunday, March 29, 1992; 7:00
A.M.

THE ALARM WENT OFF at 7 A.M., and Adam began his
Sunday morning routine. Since he had arrived home late last night
or, more accurately, early that morning, he had not been able to
review his sermon notes, and this added to his always present
anxiety.

He was tired; his sleep had been frequently
disrupted by the reoccurring vision of the crooked little boy; his
mind was besieged by competing thoughts of the Loraynes, the
Healer, and Rachel. Struggling to free his mind of its weariness,
he began to prepare for the day with a hot shower and a strong cup
of coffee. Fifty minutes later he was on his way to church.

The church was packed with regular attenders as well
as those who came only sporadically. Adam circulated among the
crowd prior to the service as he always did. When he first entered
the ministry, he would enter the sanctuary with the choir at the
front of the church and then take his place in the padded oak chair
just to the left of the pulpit. This, however, felt too formal.
Adam felt separated from the people, like an actor in a play. It
wasn’t long before Adam made it a habit to be in the sanctuary when
the congregation arrived and spend time talking with as many as he
could before the start of the service.

Each person he talked to today questioned him about
the Loraynes or asked him his opinion on all the strange goings-on
at the hospital—no one had to mention which hospital. Although
those who asked about the Loraynes were truly interested, each time
it was mentioned, Adam felt pierced.

When the organ began to play, Adam made his way down
the aisle and took his usual place in the pastor’s chair. From here
he could see the faces of the congregation. Unconsciously, he
estimated the attendance, something he did every service. Today it
was easy—standing-room only. Adam felt good about what he saw,
especially since last Sunday had been so abysmal. People were
smiling, and there were many faces he had not seen in a long time.
Despite the anxiety that he felt every Sunday morning, Adam had
missed worshiping with these people during his illness.