Chapter 25
God's Full Disclosure
Newsman, Newsman
They parked the truck and walked towards the tent. The sides of the tent were down because of the November chill; but as they entered, no one noticed, no one except a couple of Irish’s angels and their new husbands.
They mistakenly got the time mixed up so they arrived at the tent meeting after it started and the service was about over. They could tell by the sound of the preacher finishing his sermon. Keel wondered after all they’d been through why didn’t God make sure they got here on time?
The newlyweds had been spending time by themselves since Tuesday. Cole felt awkward marrying them; but as long as Irish said it was okay, it was okay with him. Still, he checked his scriptures. The only thing he found was what the angels already explained to Nash. In heaven, no one, including angels were allowed to be given in marriage. They added God's view on New Jerusalem, but on earth there was no mention of any restrictions on way or another. Irish admired Cole’s decision to match the comments of angels to the Word of God. She didn’t want it any other way.
The angels were surprised and sad to see Keel. They knew that Keel was going to ask them come back. They whispered to their husbands about Keel being there, then they put their arms around each
other, holding tightly. These had been some of the happiest hours of their lives, existences, but they all knew the deal.
The evangelist, Phillip Bellar, was asking for anyone wanting to be healed to come forward, then he and his deacons prayed over them. Phillip noticed the kids coming in, and he focused on the big urn in Keel’s hands. As people came forward, he knew Keel was somehow going to be part of the service.
God spoke to him, "Yield to the boy!"
He was surprised to hear it so loudly. He saw 20 people lined up; and as they stepped forward, he said his Trinity healing
prayer, adding a dab of oil, then he and his deacons laid hands on them. Some fell out in the power of the Spirit while others having difficulty walking seemed to be filled with Holy Spirit energy and new flexibility. There were no serious maladies to contend with tonight, just chronic aches and pains thought Phillip until he spotted Brad Copeland.
Brad came from Nashville just to be at this service. With very few churches left open, finding anyone to pray for him was difficult. He announced the healing services on his morning news program and made up his mind to go himself.
Two months ago, he was diagnosed with lymphatic cancer. His body had since rapidly deteriorated. No chemotherapy or radiation, just go home take it easy and wait to die. As an anchor on the TV News, he refused. He kept the diagnosis private for a while, but he was beginning to show noticeable signs of swollen glands as the cancer spread. It was just a matter of time, some thought hours, before he died. They begged him not to anchor. It was getting too
obvious, but he refused. He had a contract and intended fulfilling it. His pain was more like fire in his blood. He could barely use his arms or walk because of the pain. He wore turtleneck sweaters and other clothes to hide his symptoms.
Phillip caught his breath. He doubted sometimes, and this was one of those times. God certainly had given him the gift of healing, but there were times when God spoke to him about cases that required fasting and "soaking prayer." He had to try, but he knew those cases were so difficult that his own handle on faith couldn’t instantly reach that far. He felt like a fake for trying to heal someone when he knew it took more than a drop of oil and a prayer to do it, but his reputation was at stake. He had to make some kind of attempt.
He took a drop of oil and prayed, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost I claim your healing. In Jesus name." The deacons were around Brad; and when Phillip finished, Brad shook their hands off him.
"You don’t sound very convinced, preacher; but don’t worry, neither am I. So we make quite a bad team right now, don’t we?" Brad almost growled at Phillip.
Keel and the others felt God’s hand pushing them from behind while ushering them forward. Keel turned to Hunter and said, "This is what we are here for. This guy is it."
The girls followed closely, not saying a word. They were still down about Freckles, and their faith felt weak because of it. They both made up their minds that they didn’t have the strength or confidence to pray for anyone’s healing. They left it up to Keel and Hunter.
Phillip saw the kids coming up the center aisle and was almost relieved. This whole Brad situation was getting to be embarrassing. As Brad turned to walk to the back, he saw Keel and the others approaching. He stopped, not knowing why, and stared. These kids didn’t look like they needed healing.
Phillip moved from the front, and to his deacons' surprise, reached his hand to Keel saying, "I yield to you in Jesus name."
Keel nodded slightly and said to Brad, "You came here to be healed, didn’t you?"
Brad was surprised that a 16-year-old would speak to him that way, but he answered anyway, "Of course, but…"
"If you don’t receive your healing tonight, you’ll be dead by morning. You have a family?"
He answered, "Yes, wife and an 11-year-old girl."
Keel said, "Samantha needs her dad." How Keel knew his daughter’s name was another small miracle, but also knew that Brad needed to ask and accept God’s work in His body.
"Brad you must receive Jesus as your Savior, right now, before we go any further."
Brad saw the urn and knew it was full of oil. He knew it had something to do with him. It was this hope that gave him clarity. He knew he hadn’t given his life to the Lord. His Baptist mom and dad had taught him better. He knelt and gave his life to the Lord. He looked up from being born again, but the newness in his heart still didn’t match the shape of his body.
He had some hope, then said to himself, "I don’t want this sickness."
"Please," he pleaded to Keel, "help me."
Keel looked at him as he kneeled in front of him and said, "Stand up, Brad. Ask God."
Brad held to Keel’s free hand and could feel the power of God surging from him. He knew he had to ask, "Lord God, please, heal me of all my cancer."
He broke down crying as Hunter and Phillip moved to his side and held him. He was still having trouble standing, and it was as if the sickness was accelerating and trying to kill him before he could receive his healing.
"Brad, I want you to meet some friends of mine," he motioned to the angels. They stepped forward and stood beside Keel. As Phillip looked at them, he wondered why he hadn’t noticed them before; they were beautiful.
"These young ladies are angels of the most-high God." Brad stared intensely, and Keel noticed he turned his head skeptically as he looked for their wings.
Keel uncapped the oil and let the smell of the frankincense and myrrh, mingled with pressed oil fill the tent. Phillip expected Keel to put a drop on his forehead and pray over Brad, but instead Keel took all the oil and poured it over him. It ran and dripped off his face, head, and shoulders.
Taking his hands, Keel pushed the oil over Brad’s neck and face saying, "In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I anoint you for your healing. In Jesus name, Amen."
Hunter and Phillip held him up as Keel kept his hands on Brad’s face, and the Holy Spirit moved over them all. Phillip had never felt anything like it in his life. The deacons moved back, struck by the oddity of it, and the angels moved to either side of Brad, Hunter, and Keel, then surrounded them all with their wings.
The congregation fell over backwards trying to get out of the tent as fast as possible. This was more than they bargained for. This was too much Holy Ghost and way too much God. Keel breathed on Brad, and the white anointing pushed itself onto Brad’s face as it clung to the oil. Brad saw the angel wings and the white anointing, then he felt the oil flowing down his head and face, but what he felt most was his body being healed. God was driving the sickness out of him. He had been held bondage by it, but God was pulling it out of him and felt t
he lymph nodes shrinking and the pain disappearing. As Brad started straightening up, he knew that he was healed and his pain was gone.
Phillip looked around, and there was no one in the tent, including his deacons. "Who are you?" he asked Keel.
"We're from Sanctuary," answered Keel. "God sent us to heal Brad."
Brad was now sitting on the small stage visibly shaken by what happened. "Did you say you're from Sanctuary?" he asked wearily.
"Yes, including these angels."
The angels went back to sit with their husbands while whispering and talking quietly with each other; Keel thought he heard them cooing. He hated to break them up, but he would have to do what Irish wanted.
Brad took out a little note pad and scratched down a note with a stubby pencil, being the ultimate reporter. "The station said for me to come up and interview the soldiers protecting the kids at Sanctuary. I volunteered because of the tent meeting. Aren’t you glad the state has those men watching over you?"
Anne and Carey gagged, "What are you talking about? Are you crazy? They killed Freckles! We saw it! They shot him down in cold blood!" Their explosive outburst caught Brad completely off guard.
"They’re with us. They’re right. The soldiers are here to drive the kids off the mountain. We figure they want to either capture us all or kill us. They are prisoners, not soldiers. They killed a priest about three days ago and killed a ten-year-old named Freckles hours ago. They’re setting up roadblocks to starve us out if they can." Keel let his words hang in the air.
Phillip sat down and shook his head in shock, then got up and went to his briefcase under his seat. He pulled out a cell phone and made a call. "Henry, this is Brad. Thank you, I’m fine. In fact, I’ve never felt better, just a little tired. I have the news story you wanted on the soldiers near the Sanctuary kids. No, I don’t want to discuss it, but I want a full 15 minutes on the ten o’clock evening news. I want it repeated on tomorrow’s early morning news. Why? Because, call it a used-to-be dying man’s wish. Can you do it? What happened? You’ll have to wait to see."
Keel said, "So that’s why God wanted him healed."
The others heard him say it and nodded. They knew that someone should know about what they did to Freckles; someone has to care.
Agent Charlie
Charlie sat quietly at his Nashville Green Hills home eating supper with his family. His wife Ruth never asked him anything when he got back, but she never did. He wasn’t allowed to talk about his work. They agreed it was all off limits long ago. Charlie
put down his fork after only picking at his food and turned to his son, Charlie Junior.
"Junior, come here a minute." Junior crawled over to sit in his dad’s lap. "How about a big hug? You miss me?"
Ruth said, "Charlie, he’s eating. Leave him be."
"Sorry," replied Charlie, "some things are too important."
"Sure, Dad, I always miss you. You going to be leaving again for the kids’ mountain?"
Charlie was surprised Junior thought of it that way, the kids’ mountain? "No Charlie, I don’t think I’m ever going back there. I’m thinking we might want to go to Grandpa’s farm in Illinois. I thought I might write that mystery novel that I’ve always wanted to write."
"Charlie Oakly!" exclaimed Ruth. "What are you talking about? Are you quitting the FBI?" She couldn’t believe her ears. She’d been trying to get him to quit for years. She’d been talking about moving to
her father’s farm and nagging him about it every chance she got.
"When did you plan to do this?"
"Let’s leave tomorrow. We’ll come back and move later." He smiled weakly and then said to Junior, "Just think, that the saddle we got you is still at Grandpa's, just waiting for you to break it in."
"Oh boy! Oh boy! Do I have to go to school?" Junior was always working the angles.
"Mom is qualified to teach you from home if you want. We’ll work it out. Okay?" He kissed Junior affectionately and held him in a bear hug for several moments.
"Okay! Okay! Okay! I got to bring my 360!" he yelled, then ran from the table to pack some toys.
"Are you okay, Charlie?" asked Ruth.
"No, I’m not, but I plan to be much better soon. The farther away we get from this mess the better. There is something that I have to take care of, first. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Wait up for me, will you? I’ll need you near me, just near me."
He got up and walked out to the trashcan and threw a set of FBI credentials into last night’s supper, a ceremonial toss. He came back in and picked up a small shipping box and inserted his newspaper
wrapped gun, taped it up, and addressed it to the Bureau to be dropped off at the local post office on his way downtown.
He made his way to the downtown morgue in close to 20 minutes. He flashed an extra shield he carried at the night clerk, and they let him into the basement, the keeper section. As he entered and turned on the light, he saw rows of metal doors lined up on either side. He looked briefly down at the incinerator and noticed some clothes that hadn’t been destroyed yet. They were covered with blood, and he instantly got sick, groaning audibly.
They belonged to the boy he shot. He didn’t even know his name. He looked through a couple body storage units and finally found Freckles. He could tell by the damage that he fired at least one of the bullets.
He spoke to Freckles out-loud, "I’m so sorry, kid. It was a reflex. I have a boy of my own, you know? I’m so sorry." He wept openly. This was his act of contrition. "I didn’t even know your name."
He looked at the typed toe tag, "Edward Conner White."
"No, Freckles," came a voice behind him. Lydia stood only inches away from him. "Freckles is what the kids call him."
"Who are you?" he asked as he watched her push her wings out around her.
"I’m Lydia. I’ve come to take Freckles back to Sanctuary where he belongs. Yes, I’m an angel. I know you’re sorry, but you're agonizing to the wrong person. Freckle’s soul is in heaven. It’s God the Father you need to repent to."
Charlie couldn’t move. He was stunned by her presence. He thought, "If this angel is here, it means God, heaven, oh no, hell is real too."
Lydia picked up Freckles, then walked towards the door. She looked back over her shoulder saying, "I heard about going to Grandpa’s, and that's a good idea. When you get there, ask him about becoming a born-again believer. He’s been waiting to talk to you for a long time. You’d better not miss leaving tomorrow."
Lydia felt a certain urgency, more than knew it—like things were winding down, more like coming to an end. She walked up the steps and right by the night clerk in the booking section. No one saw her or Freckles. They were intentionally unseen to them, then disappeared into the evening sky.
Charlie stood for a long time looking at the empty table. He prayed, "I’m sorry, God, for killing one of your little ones. I’m really sorry."
It was quite some time before he got his composure back. As he was getting ready to leave, he saw the toe tag laying on the floor. He picked it up and noticed on the opposite side was the name "Freckles" handwritten, not typed like his legal name. He took it with him, a matter of respect, he thought, but maybe he wasn’t supposed to forget.
Discovery
Alex Tabor watched the ten o’clock evening news in shock as it unraveled before him. He realized that he was stuck in the middle of a big mess. He had tried to prevent the kids from being hurt, but it was obvious that it was out of control. Not even his hand in the mix could stop it now.
Dar-Raven was fuming. "These people at Sewanee knew what we were up to days ago. If I had known, I’d had my men occupy
their downtown and gutted All Saints. I’d have burned it to the ground."
Alex asked cautiously, "What’s next, Dar? You know they’ll send in a federal investigation team to check this
out, now. There’s no way around it. I’ll be getting hundreds of calls about the prisoners and those two killings. It looks like this is falling apart around you."
"Around us, Alex, around us," said Dar-Raven while shaking his finger at Alex. "I’m going to move. Tomorrow, I’m sending in my Westside bunch, and we’re going to stake our claim to Sewanee. After, we’re going to Sanctuary. By Sunday, it won’t matter any more because they’ll all be dead. I’m tired of playing games."
Agent Conrad
After filing the report on the shooting, Conrad sat alone in his Nashville motel room; he hadn’t been home yet. He somehow wanted to avoid seeing his kids. He thought, "Why am I feeling so bad? These things never bothered me before." They always referred to him as "The Mackerel" since he was so cold about those emotional, squishy things others seemed to care so much about. "The kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time, nothing less, nothing more." He spoke openly to himself, then he slammed his pen down on top of his finished report.
This situation was becoming more than an aggravation; it was a form of torture. Conrad’s heart felt so heavy that he thought it might explode. This was totally out of character with him. He saw the way Charlie responded immediately and promised himself that he’d never get involved in such melodramatics. He pushed his report away in disgust
and laid on the bed, then pushed the pillows around his head as if hiding.
In a dream, a vision, he saw Freckles face staring directly into his eyes. He woke with a start, and in the background, the local TV was breaking the Sanctuary story.
"A priest and a ten-year-old kid were recently murdered near Sewanee. A ten-year-old boy, the kids called Freckles, was shot by a convicted murderer and two FBI agents, none are available for comment. Comments from the spiritual leader of Sanctuary, Keel Cramer, were supported by three other teenagers. All were eyewitnesses, vouching for the murderous intentions of the soldiers surrounding the mountain. They spoke about the soldiers as really being newly released prisoners."
Conrad turned it off and stomped his foot, "Freckles, I killed a boy named Freckles! It’s not like I could have killed one named George or Fred! I had to kill a boy named Freckles! Every stinking, soft-hearted parent in the Nation is going to point their finger at me now! It’s going to be the Freckle’s murderer! Not just a kid, but Freckles!"
He felt his heart-rending torture return and couldn’t deal with it. He grabbed his keys and ran out the door. Ten minutes later, he was at St. Henry’s Catholic Church in Belle Meade. He ran in, staring in a panic at what he thought was an empty building with no one home. A young priest came out of the church office surprising him.
"Father!" exclaimed Conrad, "I want to make a confession." He was burning up inside now, and each minute was getting worse.
"Well," said the priest, "I’m on my way out, but I guess we can take a couple of minutes."
"Fine!" said Conrad as he ran towards the confessional booths.
The priest followed hurriedly. As they settled into their places, Conrad plowed into his uncomfortable routine, "Father, I have sinned. It has been 35 years since my last confession. I killed Freckles the ten-year-old boy from Sanctuary."
There was dead silence from the priest. He wasn’t expecting this. Shaken, the priest said, "Is there anything else?" The priest hoped he heard wrong, and he automatically asked what he always asked as he regrouped.
"My God, man! Isn’t that enough? I’m getting eaten up inside, and it’s not like me! I want to get rid of it! Take care of it, now!" Conrad was getting excited and impatient.
For the first time in the priest’s life, he felt inadequate to deal with this. He was so personally offended at the murder of Freckles that he wanted God to punish those men who killed him. Now, one of the murderers was right here with him. He felt like taking him outside and beating him with a ball bat, not give him absolution.
"No, I won’t. I'm not getting between you and God, not this time. I’m leaving, and if you want to file a complaint to the Bishop, do it. There is only one who will forgive you of this terrible sin. It’s God Himself. Stay here all you want, and when you’re ready to seek forgiveness, go to the Lord. I’d be sincere with this. God’s not as lenient with sin as we priests seem to be." He got up and left after slamming the confessional booth door behind him.
Conrad sat stunned as he felt a great sense of abandonment. He wanted this priest to wave his magic wand over him and fix his problem. He didn’t need another guilt trip laid on him. He wrestled with it silently, then got up to leave. He saw the front altar of the church and walked slowly down to it. He stood for a moment and dodged the bullet by saying out-loud, "I’m sorry," then turned quickly to go.
He stopped halfway, then shook his head, but the torture was still with him. He turned slowly, bowed his head in silence, and distinctly said, "I really am sorry, so, so sorry. Please, forgive me." He felt the heaviness leave but still felt an emptiness inside. He felt a strong urge to go home to see his wife and kids. He remembered his wife was an aggravating reborn Christian who went to the Nashville Church. He had an irresistible urge to ask her about it. Somehow, he was ready.