By My Hands (43 page)

Silence cloaked the ship, even sea gulls overhead
seemed to know that this was a moment to be still. The only sound
in the air was the soft slapping of the ocean against the hull and
the resonant thumping of the helicopter a short distance away.

The man closed his eyes and a faint blue aura
surrounded his hand. Then, before the astounded eyes of all, the
purple bruises on Adam’s neck lightened until they disappeared
altogether. A moment later, Adam’s body went rigid, jerked in
spasms, and he coughed. Rachel leaped to her feet and covered her
mouth with her hands, stifling a scream.

THE LARGE ROOM AT the rear of DaVinci’s Restaurant
was filled with those who only a few days before had stood together
on the deck of R.G.’s boat, preparing to die. Now, they and the
others caught up in the events surrounding the Healer sat at a long
table eating and laughing.

Adam took a bite of lasagna and shook his head. “I
don’t remember a thing after passing out. Last thing I recall was
seeing Haman’s ugly face; the next thing I remember seeing was
Rachel’s face, which I thought was a considerable improvement.”

“I should hope so.” Rachel smiled. “What do you
suppose happened to Haman?”

“Drowned, probably,” Greene said, twirling spaghetti
on his fork. “We were too far out for him to swim back. The Coast
Guard expects his body to wash up sometime.”

“Can we talk about something other than floating
bodies?” Priscilla Simms asked.

“Sorry,” Greene replied.

“And what about the Healer?” Priscilla asked, taking
another bite of her antipasto salad.

“Gone,” Greene said. “He quit talking, or signing
should I say, as soon as he did whatever he did to Adam. When we
got back to port, he disappeared in all the excitement. I sure had
a lot of questions for him. We checked the address on his driver’s
license. It turned out to be an apartment building, but he hadn’t
lived there for six months, and no one knew anything about him.” He
shook his head in disbelief. “It appears that our Healer has become
invisible again.”

“A deaf and mute Healer,” Art McGinnes said. “Now
that’s irony for you.”

“It also explains why there was no message,” Adam
said.

“Message?” Priscilla was puzzled.

“Adam believes that miracles are always accompanied
by a message from God,” Rachel replied for Adam. “It’s driving him
crazy.”

Adam looked deep into Rachel’s eyes. They had spent
the day together, strolling along the walk at La Jolla Cove and
drinking cappuccino at a nearby coffee house. As they walked, Adam
shared his heart with Rachel. He spoke of his feelings for her and
also of spiritual things. He talked of the hope of his faith; and
for the first time, Rachel listened without interruption.
Occasionally she asked questions and spoke of her attraction to
him. Adam was as honest as a man could be. When he told her that he
loved her, he also told her of the conundrum his affection caused.
She understood the difficulty.

“You know of my faith, and I know of your firm
atheism,” Adam had said stoically.

“Not so firm,” Rachel had said.

“I don’t understand,” Adam replied.

“My atheism isn’t so firm,” she said taking his
hand. “I’ve seen things that cannot be explained. I don’t know for
certain that God is the cause of it all, but I can no longer
dismiss that possibility.” She had reached up, put her hand behind
his head and pulled his lips to hers in a gentle, warm kiss. “I
don’t know if all that you say is true, but much of it makes sense.
I promise you this, Adam: I will consider what you’ve said, and I
will remain open to your God.” She was surprised as Adam removed
his glasses and wiped away a stray tear.

“Well, maybe this will help,” Greene said. His words
brought Adam back to the present. Greene extracted an envelope from
his suit coat pocket. “The Healer paid some kid off the street to
bring it to me and asked that I give it to you.”

Adam opened the plain envelope and pulled out a
small handwritten note addressed to him. He read the note aloud,
“I’m sorry that I couldn’t stay. I imagine we have much in common,
but my task is immense. I’m sure you have many questions. I assure
you that those questions will be answered soon. Wait for the others
who are to come, and listen to what they have to say. They have the
message. Malachi 4:5.”

“Malachi 4:5—what’s that?” Priscilla asked in true
reportorial fashion.

Adam thought for a moment and then recited, “Behold,
I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and terrible
day of the Lord.”

“What’s that mean?” Rachel asked.

“I think he means to say that one greater than he
will be coming, and then . . .” Adam broke off mid-sentence.

“And then the end?” Greene asked reluctantly.

“The beginning,” Adam replied.

The silence was broken by a beeping sound.

“My pager,” Rachel explained. “I’ll be back in a
minute.”

Sgt. Reedly, Priscilla’s date for the evening, moved
away from the table to give her enough room to get out.

The conversation continued after she left.

“What’s going to happen to Paul Isaiah?” Adam
asked.

“Well, his ministry is finished, that’s for sure,”
Greene replied.

“But I don’t think he’ll do any hard time. He didn’t
have anything to do with the abductions—that was all R.G.’s
doing—although he did admit he was a charlatan, at least part of
the time.”

“Part of the time?” Adam asked.

“Yeah,” Greene continued. “He’s a real case for the
psychiatrists. It seems that he lost his wife and two kids in an
auto accident. He was a young preacher then, and the accident made
his mind snap. He blamed God for taking them. He couldn’t
understand how God could do that to him when he was preaching His
message. So he decided to get even, but since he couldn’t attack
God directly, he decided to do it through His people. The odd thing
is that there were times when he thought he was doing God a favor.
At times he would be working against God, at other times working
for Him. That’s where R.G. came in. R.G. simply took control. He
was able to play Isaiah like a fiddle, saying just the right things
to swing Isaiah’s fragile mind whichever way he wanted.”

“That’s sad,” Priscilla said.

“His lawyer is going to argue diminished
capability,” Greene said. “The worst that will happen is that
Isaiah will be ordered to get professional help.”

Rachel walked back into the room. “I’m sorry, but I
have to go. There’s been another healing.”

“Healing?” Adam said. “I thought the Healer
left.”

“Well, if he did, he left us something to think
about. Anyway, I’ve got to go. The hospital wants me there right
away.”

“I’m coming with you,” Adam said to Rachel.

The long table at DaVinci’s emptied with astonishing
speed. Adam, Reedly, and several others hastily threw money on the
table to pay the bill and then raced from the restaurant. Priscilla
was already on her cellular phone by the time Reedly opened the car
door for her.

ADAM AND RACHEL WERE the first out of the parking
lot and the first to arrive at the hospital. A moment later they
stood in the hospital lobby. Neither spoke, for what they saw
astonished them. The lobby, formerly the habitat of the hurting and
ill, was in joyous tumult. The crippled were dancing, the blind
were looking at magazines, and the dying were leaping for joy. Some
sang aloud, others wept. Families embraced and doctors stood
dumbfounded.

Adam looked around the room in disbelief. Along the
walls were the tangled masses of walkers, wheelchairs, and oxygen
bottles, the wreckage of lives formally devoid of hope. As they
stared in stunned silence, a movement caught Adam’s eye. Looking
down he saw the child whose formally sinuous spine was now straight
and normal. He walked to Adam and said cheerfully, “Hi, Mister.”
Then he hugged Adam’s leg.

Tears rolled from Adam’s eyes. Across the lobby the
boy’s mother stood with hands clasped together and pressed to her
mouth. She wept with a joy born of great affliction. Adam
understood.

Placing his hand on the boy’s head, Adam said, “Hi,
Buddy.” The boy smiled, then giggled an infectious little boy’s
giggle. And then he giggled some more. Soon Adam giggled, then
laughed. His laughter was joined by the boy’s mother, then Rachel,
and soon the lobby echoed with peals of thunderous joy.

Adam knew that neither he, nor the world, would ever
be the same.

END

I WROTE BY MY HANDS in the early 1990s. It was my
first novel and proved to be quite the training ground. I could not
have imagined then that I would write over 40 books, fiction and
nonfiction. Returning to one’s first book is an eye-opener. Writers
hope the next book will be better than the last so looking back can
be a fearful thing. In fact, for many years, I refused to read any
of my books after they were published. I always wanted to tweak
something here or there. Returning to something I wrote at the
beginning of my career was terrifying but compelling. There are
many little things—things readers usually don’t notice but writers
do—that I know longer do. Nonetheless, I left many of those things
in as a reminder of how it used to be. Still, I couldn’t resist
touching up the manuscript. In that sense, the book is new.

The two main characters, Adam Bridger and Rachel
Tremaine have remained with me through the years. They were the
heroes in
Through My Eyes
and play a role in my most recent
novel,
Wounds.
I hope you find them as interesting as I do.
I had great fun in preparing this Twentieth Anniversary
republication of the book that started it all for me.

ALTON L. GANSKY is the author of 24 novels and 9
nonfiction works, as well as principal writer of 9 novels and 2
nonfiction books. He has been a Christy Award finalist (
A Ship
Possessed
) and an Angel Award winner (
Terminal Justice
)
and recently received the ACFW award for best suspense/thriller for
his work on
Fallen Angel
. He holds a BA and MA in biblical
studies and was granted a Litt.D. He lives in central California
with his wife

To learn more about the author and his books visit
http://www.altongansky.com
.