The Apostle. J. Kerley A.

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СКАЧАТЬ to simply Love. Two folding tables had been brought in, pots of bloom atop and below. At the far end a sitting area was in place: couch, low table, a pair of large, soft chairs, a fifty-inch flat-screen television on the wall. The window behind the area was closed with a heavy drape.

      Centering the long room was a king-sized mechanical bed flanked by medical monitors, and centering the bed was the long form of Amos Schrum, his robe thick and dark and running from his shoulders to his calves, the white bouffant of hair like a soft snowdrift over a pitted crag of flint.

      Winkler rolled to the bed where Schrum appeared to be asleep, though when his eyes blinked open they were strangely bright, and focused immediately on Winkler.

      “Hello, Eliot,” Schrum rasped, elevating the top third of the bed to sitting position. “How’s my old friend?”

      Winkler reached out and took Schrum’s hand. “I got a lot on my mind, Amos. How you doing?”

      “The good Lord granted me another sunrise. I’ll take it.”

      “He does it because He loves you, Amos. You’ve carried His sword into great battles.”

      Schrum coughed and Uttleman appeared with iced water. Schrum sipped and cleared his throat. “His … full glory will soon be … mine to behold, Eliot.”

      Winkler’s chair spun to the others in the room. “How ’bout you people leave us be? Go get coffee, or food, or maybe Nessa will show you her butt. Me and Amos need some alone time.”

      Delmont almost ran to the elevator. Uttleman looked unhappy, but followed. Instead of departing, Vanessa Winkler strode forty feet to the balcony window and yanked open the drapes. Light poured inside, and with it the low murmur of prayers and hymns from the street below.

      Winkler glared at his sister, shook his head, and turned to Schrum. “You’ve come back from these heart things before, Amos. He needed you here and He touched you with healing.”

      “That was years ago, Eliot. Perhaps my miracles are all used up.”

      Winkler leaned forward. “I pray that’s not true. But you have one miracle yet to grant: My miracle.”

      Schrum’s wide shoulders drooped. “Eliot …”

      “I’ve done many great things for you, Amos. All I ask is one great thing for me.”

      “I think about it all the time, Eliot. It’s just, just …” Schrum seemed overcome by the effort and his head fell back to the pillow, eyes closed. Breath rattled in his throat and his head drooped to the side.

      “Amos!” Winkler screeched, grabbing at Schrum’s hand. “AMOS!”

      Schrum’s eyes batted open. “I’m fine, Eliot. I’m just … so tired.”

      Eliot Winkler’s face, a visage that cowed Titans of industry, crumbled into that of a child lost in the dark. His hands tugged at Schrum’s robe. “Amos … you promised. It was your idea that day when I was in … when I realized my soul was in jeopardy. You said, you promised, that you had a way, that there was a way …”

      “I’ve been working on it, Eliot. But I …”

      “You promised you’d do it. Please …” Eliot Winkler started weeping.

      Vanessa Winkler turned from the window to her brother. “Jesus, Eliot. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

      Winkler’s head spun to his sister, eyes bright with tears and anger. “I’m trying to save my soul. I’d save yours, too, if it didn’t already reside in the Pit.”

      Vanessa Winkler rolled her eyes. Her brother turned back to Schrum. “Amos, I need you. I’ve never needed anyone more.”

      Schrum’s hand found Winkler’s. “Finish the project on your own, Eliot. It’s nothing to someone with your resources.”

      “I CAN’T, AMOS! Without your blessed presence, it’s unsanctified. You told me that the event is stuck in time, waiting only to be released. Its release has to be engineered by a man of God.”

      “I can’t even stand up, Eliot.”

      “The project doesn’t need you to stand, Amos. You just have to be there to make it real. YOU HAVE TO DO IT, AMOS. IT WILL CHANGE THE WORLD!”

      “Oh, for shit sakes,” Vanessa Winkler muttered.

      Schrum started to lift his head, but it fell back into the pillow. “The daily stress of the project … it’s not something I can manage, Eliot. Not on a daily basis … All I have is the power of my faith in God.”

      “He listens to you, Amos!” Winkler beseeched. “Beg Him for strength.”

      Schrum coughed and his eyes fell closed. Uttleman appeared, his face dark. “You have to leave, Eliot. The stress will kill Amos.”

      Tears staining his cheeks, Eliot Winkler whirred reluctantly to the elevator. Vanessa followed, high heels ticking the floor like tack hammers. Uttleman saw the pair to the first floor, riding down in silence.

      “Andy,” Uttleman said to the singer, sitting at the kitchen table and arranging sheet music, “would you escort our guests across the yard?”

      Delmont scurried to catch the Winklers, now exiting the back door. When it closed, Uttleman took the lift upstairs, where Amos Schrum was sitting up in the bed. The doctor frowned at the open drapes, crossed the floor, and pulled them tight.

      “He’s gone?” Schrum said.

      Uttleman went to his desk and tapped keys on the desk monitor to see live video from six cameras. “Heading through the yard.”

      “Where’s Andy?”

      “Walking beside the Winklers and chattering like a magpie while they ignore him.”

      “Think he’s coming back today?” Schrum frowned. “Andy?”

      Uttleman shrugged. “What’s so important about Andy?”

      “He sings and prays and doesn’t require anything.” Schrum narrowed an eye at his physician. “It’s a nice change.”

      “We’re alone, Amos. And we need to talk.”

      Schrum stood and angled toward the sitting area at the front of the room. “Later. I’m gonna go watch some television.”

      “It’s important, Amos.”

      Schrum grabbed a pint bottle of cough syrup from his bedside table and poured two ounces into a glass as his black leather slippers padded to the sitting area. He sat on a lounger, crossed his legs, tipped back the glass and finished the syrup – cherry vodka actually – in a single swig. Uttleman followed and sat on a wooden chair.

      “Eliot won’t be mollified, Amos,” Uttleman said. “You better get used to him.”

      Schrum started to respond, but only sighed. A sound of singing drifted from the street below. Schrum stood, crept to the front window СКАЧАТЬ