Emmanuel Jones

By Donn

EMMANUEL JONES tells the story of a man and his mission as a healer and messenger of God.

Bobbie Thompson works on her latest human-interest story about Emmanuel Jones. Many people have witnessed EJ and his ability to heal the sick and encourage the distressed. He preaches the word of God to all who need it. Bobbie has been fascinated by EJs way of life, but she also wants to know what has led him to become a minister and the origin of his healing power.

Delving into EJs past, Bobbie begins to unravel his complicated life. EJ did not have an easy childhood, and his teenage years were even worse. Despite the hardships he endured, he refused to give in or go astray, He held onto his faith and belief that God has a plan for him. He healed people and steered the lost souls inspires Bobbie to write his story, to give other people hope and make them follow his lead.

Emmanuel Jones might appeal to readers interest in stories of faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Apr 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456747787

Donn

Donn is an ordained minister. During tenure as pastor, assistant Pastor, and prison minister he became part of the church political movement in Washington, D. C... A rich conviction in theology led him to write about the religious climate in the United States. This is his first of many books he has written to be published. Donn writes for the full enjoyment of the reader, and he claims the best is yet to come.

Book preview

Acknowledgements

Emmanuel Jones is the blessed collaboration between me and some incredibly gifted friends. During the start to the present of my lifetime these people have been in place. When I drifted astray they were there to set me back on course. At times when I started to give up they would give me a push back into the ring. My friends consist of the following Gray siblings: Jimmy, Beatrice, Barbara, Geraldine, Gracie, Dorothy, George, Leroy, and Ray My Siblings; The people who started it all James Oliver and Nettie Mae. My Mama and Daddy, two strong people who raised the ten of us during a very difficult period of time. Mama is a very religious woman who with hidden wisdom set us on the correct paths to life. My daddy was the strongest man I have ever known. He was an unskilled laborer who worked hard his whole life to provide for his family. Those who knew him understood that he was on a quest, against extremely difficult odds. I thank you mama and daddy for preparing me for the world; Medford Epps, Leo Campbell, Tyrone Nowlin, and Charles Campbell, my best friends from Clay Terrace. They are the Road Warriors who got me through puberty; Hugh Robertson, Joe Rogers, Harold Jones , Leon Roddy, and Tom Harrison are Gentlemen that served as my steady source of owl’s wisdom and lion’s strength; Three amazing women who patiently walk at a pace, easy for me to follow. They are my pillars’ of faith, Delores Adair, Charlotte Thomason, and Shirley Frippe; Wilbert Miller, and Tony Lee are amazing bacons of light that brighten up the darken passages, showing me the way to success; a supporting cast like no other, Earlene L. Anderson, Rebekah Israel-Belk, Josesett Omasakai, Tyrone Cobb, Michael Page, Sherrie Curtis, Simaye Solomon, Karen D. Jackson, John Washington, David Foote, and Iris Garner. Thanks for all that you do and all that you have done for me.

There is one who married me during a very difficult transitional period of my life. She is my hero, my heart and the very essence of my being. I am talking about the love of my life, my wife Shirley Pamela Gray. I love you Pam with all of my heart. If it wasn’t for you there could be know me; There are two gentlemen that I must mention. They helped to give me purpose in life. I speak of my two wonderful sons, Dan Y. Gray and Rashawn Austin. Let me say this, if I were given a second chance to live this life over, without hesitation, I would come back as one of these two. I am so proud to say that they are very impressive young men.

My Love and thanks to you all,

donn

The Convention Center is packed. An elderly man seated among others behind the podium gets the nod from someone off stage to start the program. He steps onto the podium and is immediately recognized by the audience. After a thunderous standing ovation for this legendary journalist, he addresses the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen,

"Throughout history mankind has experienced and recorded unbelievable happenings. Some phenomena affected the very existence of the world today. Labeled wonders, miracles, or just plain old mysteries, these phenomena have more than changed the very lives of those who have witnessed them; in some cases, they have heavily influenced many generations that followed.

"During certain times, it has been noted that because of man’s limited resources and intelligence, he tends to uplift, or worship, the unexplainable. We fashioned a faith in a god, or gods, to carry us through difficult periods. In some cases, the faithful believed that such phenomena offered the nutrients of life itself! If the positive influence is there, why not grab it, if it benefits society? Perhaps someday we will closely observe and absorb that which has been offered—hopefully, before we destroy ourselves!

"Our guest today has attempted to document one such phenomenon, which she has witnessed. I hope you find her works and words as credible as I have.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our guest speaker, Bobbie Tammy Thompson.

Bobbie Thompson stands, and while she acknowledges the applause, the scene in front of her fades away. She reflects on the past.

Finally, I’m able to go to sleep … what is this? Am I dreaming? Here it is, three o’clock in the morning, and the phone is ringing. Well, it will just have to ring this morning! Just as the weatherman predicted, I can hear a major storm brewing outside. Ring on, you stupid phone! I’m not going to answer you. Good grief! Is this thing going to ring forever? I better answer it. Okay, I got it!

Here I am, fumbling in the dark, and this stupid phone receiver keeps slipping out of my hand. Now, here comes Mr. Frustration setting in! Who in the pit of hell could be calling me at this hour? Finally—got a grip on this stupid receiver!

Hello?

Hello, says a female voice on the other end. May I speak to Ms. Bobbie Thompson, please?

This is she—speaking to you at three o’clock in the morning! I scream. Who may I ask is this?

Hey, hey, hey, Sleeping Ugly, wake up, she says. Guess who this is? Or, wait—was it really a she at all? That crackling voice can only belong to one person. It’s Kendall Turner, from the office—one who considers himself the queen of the city!

I can’t stand that high-pitched voice of his. Why must I listen to it so early in the morning at home?

What do you want, Kendall? I ask.

So sorry to wake you up, Ms. B. T., but I think one of your boys is in deep blank! I have to be careful what I say; rumor is you have gone religious on us. However, child, you might want to get in on this!

I’ve got to stop this fool from talking with his nerve-racking voice! Let me try screaming at him. What are you talking about, Kendall? At three o’clock in the morning!

Like I said, Ms. Lady, one of your boys has a problem … and just because of the tone of your voice, I don’t think I’m going to tell you about it!

With effort, I manage a much calmer and more settled tone. I’ve always found it such a challenge to keep cool so early in the morning, Kendall. Since I haven’t had that first cup of coffee in my system to start me off, I’m just not myself. I’m trying very hard not to scream at Kendall, but it’s impossible. I start screaming. Kendall, listen to me! I am tired of this game!

Child, I been tired of you since the day we met, he says.

I try to settle down before saying another word. I need to think clearly, even under this pressure. I know he is not trying to get me upset; I remind myself that he is just stupid. Mr. Turner, I say, "there is a strong possibility that I may snap when I see you today, so I wish to apologize to you now for what I’m going to do to you when I snap! Trust me, sir: I will not be myself. If you live through the experience, I beg you to please not hold me responsible for my actions.

Now, for the last time, I continue, please tell me what you’re talking about. Why did you call me so early in the morning?

Okay, okay! Keep your training bra on, Bobbie baby—I was just funning with you! It just came over the police scanner, my dearest: some street thugs were escorting, with intent to harm, someone with whom you had a relationship a while back. He laughs with that ear-piercing laugh of his.

I have now reached the boiling point with him! Why are you calling me at three in the morning, Kendall Turner? I scream. Couldn’t this have waited until a decent hour?

Excuse me, he says. Somebody tell me, please: is Bobbie Thompson there? The same crazy person who bit my head off not long ago? Oh, she demanded that I keep her informed of any news on a particular person—news of a person that she was doing a human-interest story on awhile back … an individual who goes by the name of Emmanuel Jones, aka EJ. Good-bye, Bobbie Thompson! Have a good day … or a bad day. Who cares? Peace out! His sinister laugh gets louder.

EJ! Wait a minute! Did you say EJ! What about EJ! He can’t hear me, because his laughing is so loud. Kendall, answer me! What about Emmanuel Jones? The phone went click over the laughter. Wait a minute, Kendall! Kendall! No, he didn’t hang the phone up on me! Yes, he did hang the phone up! Got to call him back—must get that fool back on this phone!

I keep trying to call him, but get no answer. I slam the phone down too hard. Sure hope I didn’t break it! My EJ has been around those thugs many times in the past—some of the most unsavory characters I have ever seen! He has always counseled them, stood in the middle of evil and never received a scratch! Why am I acting so silly? There is nothing to be alarmed about. EJ enjoys the challenges of his teachings. I’ll try to find him when I get up. I would love to see him again. Now, let me try to drop back to sleep. One thing is for sure: I’m not going to think about Emmanuel Jones, or anything else but slumber.

Looking at this stupid clock on the table is not going to put me to sleep. Wow—what was that? Something cold just touched my foot! Let me get out of this bed. I must have put my foot in a wet spot; my pad must be taking on water from the storm. Let’s see … it doesn’t appear to be anything leaking from the ceiling. Shucks, I had a feeling all along that whatever touched my foot was far from a water leak.

It felt more like a cold hand touched my feet! I know one thing: I don’t want to feel it again. Let me sit down on the foot of this bed and gather my thoughts. I can’t explain this feeling of restlessness, but I’ve got to get dressed and leave this apartment. Why? Why must I leave? I don’t know the answer to this puzzle, but I know one thing: I need my sleep, too! Lay down, Bobbie girl! Force yourself to disappear into far-off la-la land.

Good grief! Now what’s happening to me? Sweat’s rolling off my body. It’s like I’ve been working out. I’m not experiencing any hot flashes … maybe I was having a bad dream. What was I thinking about that could upset me? Bobbie girl, something is not right, and I think it’s something you forgot to do. I just can’t put my finger on it. Whatever is going on, a long, hot shower will cure it, and maybe I can get back to sleep.

That was refreshing—the longest shower of my life! Here I am, at the kitchen table. If I can just eat this toast and drink some warm milk, I’ll be okay. There, now let me try to get some sleep. This is crazy! I am trying my best to go back to sleep, but I just can’t keep my eyes shut. What is wrong with me? Am I losing my mind? Something seems to be pushing me out the door. There is a very bad storm going on outside, Bobbie, so you know you are not going out there! Besides, you sleep well when it’s raining outside, so try to get some sleep. Here comes that feeling again … I feel as if I’m going to blow up if I don’t leave.

Okay, okay! I’ll get dressed and see what’s out there. Let me get the dog leash and walk my mutt.

Smiley, where are you? Come here, boy! Now, where is that hound? Every time I move, he’s wagging his tail in my face, waiting to be patted. He will scratch the door down to get outside. That’s what it is—I forgot and left my dog outside! Now, I’m grabbing my shoes and night coat, racing to the kitchen door. Hang on, Smiley! I’m coming, boy! I can hear his whimpering.

Wait a minute … the sound is not coming from outside. Smiley is not out there; he’s in here somewhere. Let me look in the pantry. Oh, there he is, on his bed. He’s dipping his head and just managing a couple of wags of his tail. That means he must have had an accident on the floor or has been in the trash again. No, the trash is okay, and the floor is not wet. Everything seems to be in order.

I’ll show him the leash again. Look, big fellow! We’re going for a walk! I don’t believe this: Smiley is placing his head on his doggy bed and closing his eyes. What’s wrong, boy? My Smiley must not be feeling well. Let’s take a nice walk, and maybe you will feel better. Come here, boy, and let me put your leash on. He acts as if he doesn’t want to go out. Hey, are you growling at me, Smiley? Are you snarling and showing your teeth at the one who feeds you? Let me get this right: you don’t want to go outside? Is it because of the rain, big fellow?

No. Oh, no. This dog is sick! A little rain never stopped him before. Dog, I remember you wanting to go out in a hurricane. Hey, you better stop growling at me! Well, stay here if you want. You keep tripping, and I’ll say you are mad and have you put to sleep! Let me get out of here. Smiley, if I get mugged out there, let it be on your head. I didn’t mean to slam the door.

Bobbie girl, you just got through screaming and arguing with a dog! Now you are standing out here in the rain. It’s coming down like a giant waterfall, with repetitious lightning flashes to boot! Can’t you see, fool? Can you not see how strange you may look to the neighbors?

Now, I’m walking down this lonely street, and the rain is starting to come down harder. I can see why Smiley didn’t want to come out here in this mess. This may go on record as the grandfather of electrical storms. To top it off, the noise of this storm is so loud, it could cause deafness! But does this stop me? Oh, no! Something is still pushing me forward.

Do your worst, I say. Let’s get it over with! Lead on to the unknown!

At the end of the street is a fork in the road. Which way should I go? Should I go to the right, for destruction, or to the left, for glory? I know: I’ll take the same route I use when walking Smiley. Hey, wait a minute here! I’m being pushed back toward the house! Look at me, walking through an obstacle course of water holes, toward my car. Please don’t tell me I’ve got to drive in this mess! Great—I just stepped in a deep hole full of water, and another. My socks and shoes are now soaked. Finally, I’ve reached my car. No, I am not getting in that car! I scream. The car door opens all by itself!

I get in the car, and the door shuts. Well, at least I’m out of the rain.

I’m taking the key out of my pocket and placing it in the ignition. What is this? My car doesn’t want to turn over. I stop trying the key. When I put my hands in my lap, the car starts. You go, girl! That’s the way to start when I don’t want you to! I’ll just drive you around the block once and park this vehicle back here. I can’t believe I am going to drive in this mess … and at this hour of the morning … in a storm, mind you!

Something is compelling me to do this, so let’s get it over with. If I must drive in this stuff, let me take it slow. Okay, this is the right speed: ten miles an hour, tops.

The car is speeding up to twenty … now thirty-five. Oh, why am I doing this?

Who or whatever you are that’s behind this, please stop it! This is an unnatural act. It is a dream! I know it’s a dream … but it seems so real!

The visibility out here is zero, and my car is acting as though it has a mind of its own. I bet I can take my hands off the steering wheel … oops, I almost went off the road! I think I had better keep both my hands on the steering wheel. It does seem as if the car is guiding itself. I’ll go to the right up here, back to my apartment. Wait a minute! Just what I thought: the car is turning to the left, not the right. Well, if you want to go to the left, car, then left we shall go. I do not want to piss this car off! I’ll just make a larger loop back to my apartment.

There, made the left turn … into some heavy traffic! What’s going on here? Why is traffic heavy on this street at this time of night, especially in a storm? There must be an accident or something. Maybe when I get around this bend in the road, I’ll be able to see something. Now I see it: something is wrong up ahead. Lots of emergency lights are flashing, and the traffic has slowed down to a crawl.

Strange, but it feels as though this place is my destination. Let me park on the shoulder of the road and walk up to where the action is. That is, if it is all right with you, car! Okay, I’m pulling off the road. The car door flew open by itself! Good! I can’t wait to get out of this crazy car.

I’m out! I’ll just walk toward the flashing lights. It’s probably a bad accident caused by this crazy storm.

I didn’t think it was possible, but this rain is falling even harder now. I’m coming up to the lights. A couple of police officers are standing in the opening with clipboards, questioning what appear to be some witnesses. I wonder why the areas to my right have been roped off. Some of the cops are guarding a small path through the woods.

The path is very active; emergency people are coming and going through there. It must lead to the crime scene. Oh, no—there’s that crazy policeman! His name is Dave Johnson. He’s standing on the other side of the road, looking right this way. I hope he doesn’t see me! I crushed his reputation in print a few years ago. He reminds me of the Peter Sellers character in that movie The Pink Panther: always pretending he knows what is going on, but he doesn’t have a clue.

A couple of the rescue people are over there, drinking coffee. Let me put my head down and walk toward them. Hopefully, the cops will think that I’m part of their team. I hope that stupid Johnson doesn’t recognize me.

Hey, what are you doing in here? Who is that guy talking to? Maybe he’s not calling me. I’ll just keep walking.

Stop, lady, he says. Hold it right there!

Oh, no, I’ve been spotted by one of the deputies.

Stop! he repeats.

Ignore him, Bobbie! Just keep walking. Try to lose him in this crowd by ducking down. Duck down—now!

Good, he’s walking right by me. I must stay down and keep moving. If I can just make it to that path up ahead, I’m home free.

Made it … but two cops are walking toward me. Let me smile at them and keep going. Great! They are parting and letting me through. Wait a minute … one of them is holding out his arm, blocking the path!

Excuse me, officer, is there something wrong? I ask.

You must be hard of hearing, lady, says a familiar voice from behind me. It’s the deputy—just a few feet back and closing fast! I thought I left him in the dust. Hold her right there! he adds. The two cops are grabbing me now. I was almost home free, if it wasn’t for that loudmouth behind me!

Here comes Big Mouth with the handcuffs in his hand. Lady, where do you think you are going? he asks. I told you to stop way back there!

Were you talking to me, officer? I ask.

I sure was talking to you, he says. This is a restricted area, lady! You ain’t supposed to be in here. While he’s talking, I reach in my pocket to show him my press pass. Maybe this was not a good idea; he thinks I’m ignoring him. Boy, he’s really mad now! This clown is screaming at me, grabbing me, and spinning me around! He pushes me up against some trees. Now he’s putting the cuffs on me, still screaming.

Why are you putting handcuffs on me, officer? What did I do? He’s turning me around now. Why is he still yelling at me?

What’s in your pocket, lady? You got something in there to hurt me with? Every time this man opens his mouth, he is screaming at me. Now he’s yelling fifty questions at me. I asked you back there where you thought you were going. But did you stop? Didn’t I try to get you to stop back there? Why didn’t you stop when I called you back there, lady? Will you people ever learn to obey the law?

I’m only thinking about one thing right now: I hope Johnson doesn’t hear this loudmouth fool! I had better try to quiet this idiot down a little. I’ll apologize to him. Excuse me, officer. I’m sorry. Honest, I didn’t know you were talking to me back there.

Now he’s snatching me and leading me out the way we came in, screaming at me every step of the way. Like hell you didn’t, lady! I ain’t going to lose my job because of you! Do you have some ID?

Cooperate, Bobbie, and try to stay cool, so he will not get louder!

I’d love to give you my press pass, I say, but I’m restricted by these handcuffs, officer!

His eyes are getting bigger. Now what did I do wrong?

That’s just what I thought, he says. All we need is another crazy reporter running around in here. Let’s get you out of here, lady. He’s manhandling me, but I dare not say a word; I’ve got to keep really quiet, because I don’t want Johnson to hear. This area is restricted from the press, too, he continues. Wait a minute … I know you, lady! Come with me.

Do I have a choice? This clown is grabbing me by the arm, almost pulling me through the bushes!

I recognize this clown. He’s one of idiot Johnson’s flunky sidekicks! Now he’s pulling me back toward the street—straight toward Johnson and the group standing by the road.

Oh, Lieutenant, here she is! You said she would be here.

Johnson has his back to me. Now he’s turning around slowly toward me. Well, well, well. Look who’s here, says Johnson. It’s the one and only queen of the sleazy news programs! Gentlemen, she’s one who loves to trash police officers! Ms. Thompson tries hard to destroy their careers.

Oh, that familiar, scratchy voice, I say. Well, if it isn’t my dear friend Lieutenant Johnson. He’s the one who hates reporters, because he never learned how to read and write!

Johnson and his cronies laugh at what I say, but the laughter soon stops.

I am close enough to see the look of satisfaction on Johnson’s face.

Should I book this smart-mouthed reporter, sir? asks the deputy.

No, Jeff, says Johnson. She’s a dear friend, and we must treat our friends with kindness! Tell me this: what took you so long to get here, Thompson? I mean, I can’t believe this. You were always first on the scene of the breaking story. The great Bobbie Thompson is almost scooped on her own story. You must be getting old!

What are you talking about, Johnson? What story? Wait—before you answer that, please excuse me. I’ve got to say something to this goon holding my arm! Johnson punches his fellow officer, alerting him to listen to what I’m about to say.

I’m sorry, Jeff, I say. It is Jeff, isn’t it? The deputy nods. Jeff, you are hurting my arm, you idiot! You see, my arm is tender—more so than those of the men and women you are accustomed to dating or locking up. Please let go of my arm.

It’s okay, Jeff, says Johnson, laughing along with his colleagues. You can let her go. She’s our guest!

It is hard for Johnson to talk while laughing. They are all laughing louder now, and it’s starting to irritate me. This creep deputy is finally taking the handcuffs off. They made an awful mark on my wrist, and I’m tired of being on this comic revue. Let me confront these fools.

What’s so funny, Johnson? I ask. They’re laughing louder now; I think I’ve had enough, Am I charged with a crime, Lieutenant Johnson? You have no right to hold me here!

You are so right, Thompson. He’s still laughing with his boys. They have tears forming in their eyes! You are not under arrest!

Then I do have your permission to leave, officers?

You are as free as a bird, Ms. Thompson.

I’m walk toward my car to get out of this rain … but somehow I don’t think this is over! The laughter is dying down back there. I can hear who I think is big-foot Johnson walking in the mud behind me.

I turn around slowly. He is closer than I thought. Now what does he want? There is no smile on his face, but a very serious look.

But if you leave, Ms. Thompson, Johnson says, you will miss the story of a lifetime.

This idiot never gives up. What is this fool talking about now? I guess I had better see what’s going on. What the hell? I’m already soaked; I might as well see what this fool’s talking about. I must look like a wet hen walking toward Johnson and his boys. I guess that’s why they are laughing at me as I approach them.

I knew you would come back, he says. Boys, wait until she sees this! His cronies laugh like a bunch of old women; everything he says to them is funny, apparently.

See what, Johnson? I ask. Let’s stop playing games, shall we, Lieutenant?

He leans his head back and flashes his big, brown teeth. Why, you almost missed the main attraction this evening, Ms. Thompson! he says. Or maybe I should say ‘our top story of the evening.’ Right this way, Your Majesty.

Something tells me that I should have kept going toward my car.

Ouch! I just tripped over that stump. Where in the world is this man taking me? He’s leading me toward that path to the right. Now we are walking to one side of this busy little path, and people are exiting on the other side. Most of them are firefighters carrying emergency equipment. This small path is getting me hit by stinging branches bouncing from Johnson. Every time he touches one, it rebounds in my face!

I see bright lights shining through an opening up ahead. I hope we reach them soon.

I can’t help but notice that those people on the other side are leaving in a hurry. They seem upset about something up ahead. Some are leaning on others for support. They look very weak, as if they can hardly stand. Two ladies are passing me now. One appears to be crying, and she is guiding the other, who has her hands over her face. I think I’ve had enough. Let me get out of here! I’ll turn here and follow the others out; Johnson can have this stupid romp through the woods.

Hey, what’s happening to me? I’m getting dizzy, and my feet are frozen to the ground. I’m trying to turn and go the other way, but suddenly I feel as if I’m going through some type of transformation. I must have turned too quickly; my head is starting to pound. It feels as if someone is hitting me on the head with a bat. Here comes the sweat, pouring off my body. My breath is shortening … now, I can’t breathe at all! Nor can I walk. It feels as if weights are strapped on my feet. My heart is racing a hundred miles an hour; it’s coming out of my chest! There’s a knot in my throat. I as if I swallowed a watermelon or something. What is happening to me?

Johnson is coming back toward me. He’s grabbing me by the hand. He’s still got that stupid grin on his face. He’s saying something to me. Now he’s walking and pulling me in slow motion. I think he’s saying Don’t be afraid or Don’t be sad, but he sounds like a record on the wrong speed. Okay, now I’m able walk again. I just snatched my hand from Johnson, but I think it was too soon. My vision is blurred, and my head is spinning. I’m feeling very faint; I’ve got to try to find someplace to sit down. Just let me get off my feet for a minute.

Well, here I am. Johnson is gone, and I can’t see—I’m blind as a bat, and walking toward the unknown! I guess I can use these trees on the side as guides. Hope I get to the end of this path soon. I can see a little now: it’s a light just a few feet in front of me.

There’s Johnson; I can see his silhouette at the opening. I’m still a little dizzy, and I hesitate, if about to walk off a cliff. I know I can’t give Johnson the satisfaction of seeing me afraid, even if I can hardly see this stupid ground in front of me, and each step I take makes me feel as if I’m about to fall.

I’m still compelled to follow him into the area. Just look at this place: it’s dark, with no moonlight, and it’s drenched in this crazy weather. Flashing lights up ahead gives everything a more frightening appearance. Come on, Bobbie girl, get a hold of it! Now, I’m talking to myself: You’ve been in some strange positions before, and have seen it all. What is wrong with you, girl? You know you have to keep moving forward. You wish you could turn around and run, but you must keep on going!

That same something is still pulling me—pulling me toward whatever it is up ahead. Naive is not in my vocabulary, and I know that whatever’s there has something to do with EJ. He just has this talent for doing weird and suspenseful things. Damn you, EJ! Why must you take me through this? You’ve got me following this clown Johnson toward the unknown.

This humorous detective is bellowing out directions: Watch your step! Stay behind me, Thompson! It’s just up ahead. If he says, it’s just up ahead one more time; I’m going to sling some mud at his head.

It doesn’t seem as if we are getting anywhere. Were I am, the whole hike, stepping in large puddles of water up to my ankles! I’m soaked to the bone from the rain.

We’ve reached a narrow passageway. Tree branches are still hitting me in the face each time this clown Johnson brushes one. Now he’s beckoning me to follow him into that roped-off area just ahead. It’s feeding into a large opening. I can see the bright lights ahead. Finally, we are in the opening! I must shield my eyes; a large, yellow light is shining directly in my face.

In the opening are people standing around smoking and drinking coffee, but some look as if they’re standing in a line. Johnson is leading me through by saying, Make way! These people are moving out of our way. I must say that for an idiot, Johnson does a pretty good job taking charge of the situation.

My guess was right: this is a line, and it seems to stretch all the way to the attraction. Here we go again—that Old Man Fear is setting in. I have never known fear like this before.

Johnson stops, and I bump into him. I had still been looking down. He’s flashing that huge smile of his; he acts as if he wants my reaction to something. I guess that means we have reached our destination.

I feel really faint now. I’m swaying back and forth, with no stability in my legs. It feels as if they are made of jelly. Nothing is moving; these people look strange. They seem to be frozen in place. The once intelligible chatter from the crowd now drags at a slow speed. I’m trying to view everything around me while training my eyes on the ground. It’s dark, and with my eyes half closed from fear, I can’t see a thing!

Wait—I see someone moving. It’s Johnson; he’s walking toward that spotlight over there … looks like he’s trying to shine the light on something. I am really shaking! I’ll fold my arms to show these bystanders that I’m just wet and cold. Not afraid!

Everyone starts moving around again, and it startles me. I’m still following the light beam from Johnson as it slides slowly across the damp terrain. It’s stopping at the hull of that lamppost. I’m closing my eyes; that light is much brighter than it really looks, and the rain is getting in my eyes, too. I wish I had a hat with a bill on it to keep the rain out. Wait—I can do this. Yes, I know I can do this—me, the veteran reporter who has seen it all! Raise your head, Bobbie Thompson—not too fast, now! There is something mounted on the lamppost. I can’t see what it is from here. Let me move in some. I think that’s the lifeless figure of a human being! Trying to focus my eyes in this rain is so difficult. I’ve got to get closer. There, I can see it now … but I wish I had stayed back!

This is far worse than I could’ve imagined. Barbed wire is draped around this lifeless body from the head to the feet. A large mallet and some nails lie on the ground a few feet from the lamppost base. This is what was used to secure the body to the post, no doubt, because I can see the rivets stuck in the hands and feet. There is blood everywhere. It looks like a marked crucifixion, but I can’t tell out who—or what—is the victim because of the blood. I don’t see EJ and the others here, and that’s good. Johnson would like nothing better than to pin this on them!

Something dangles from the wrist of the body, and it’s soaked in blood, but I think I can still make it out. It’s a bracelet … that looks a lot liked the friendship bracelet I gave EJ! I’m feeling very faint and much weaker than before. My mouth is wide open, and I’m looking very hard at this corpse on the lamppost.

I want to scream, but I can’t speak. I can no longer stand; I’m falling to my knees. Everything is spinning around … I’ve got to hold on to something. I’m grabbing someone next to me.

Yo, Chief—we got a live one over here! She fainted dead away. Everything is completely black, but at least I stopped spinning around. I can feel the vibrations of many thunderous feet rushing toward me. The rain is coming down hard on my face and sounding like many kettledrums each time it strikes my rain gear.

I hear this distant voice: Bobbie Thompson, are you all right? Hey, are you okay? That’s all the voice keeps saying. It has a strange echo to it, but it’s very pleasant, like it’s flowing down a hillside. There—it stopped. Is it possible that I’m dead?

My eyes are clearing up … okay, now I can see. I’m surrounded by a lot of people. Their mouths are moving, and I know they’re saying something, but I can’t hear a thing. This is so weird! Every time things go black, I hear that gentle voice. It is very relaxing. I can still feel the presence of those people around me. They seem to be trying to revive me, but I don’t feel a thing.

Here I go again—I keep moving in and out of consciousness. This whole episode feels like a dream. I’m coming out of it now. My head is lying on this lady’s lap, and she’s taking to me in a very soft voice. I think for a moment that hers was the voice that I heard in my unconsciousness.

Honey, you sure had us worried. You just lie still. Everything is going to be all right.

Oh, she’s all right. Just getting down on the ground to pray to her God. He’s up there, on the lamppost. There’s no mistaking that voice; it belongs to the idiot Johnson. I can see his head tilt back to initiate a malicious laugh with the others, but now I hear nothing. It’s like an old-time movie with no sound, except in slow motion. I look at EJ out of the corner of my eye.

I’ve got to go to sleep and wake up from this dream. Stinging smelling salts keep bringing me back. I know that this is not a dream. Here I am, lying on this stretcher, with medical people all around me. I’m trying my best not to look up at EJ again. Yes, it is EJ, and now my eyes are trained on him. He is looking directly at me with that patient expression of his, which is one of pity. I know it is not just for me, but for all in the area. Oh, my beloved EJ, who could do this to you? Who could do this to such a wonderful human being as you? I wish I were dead! Please let me die.

We’re moving now. Please let me stay with him awhile longer —that’s what I’m trying to say to these people pushing me away, but not a sound is coming out of my mouth. I’m lying still because I can’t move a muscle. I feel clamped to the gurney, but no restraints hold me to it. The only thing I can move is my head. My ears are super sensitive.

I’m scanning the area as they roll me away. There’s that Johnson and his cronies, just to my right. It makes me sick to my stomach to see the insensitive smiles on their faces. This cop is saying that they caught the ones responsible, and that they are going to put those thugs away for a long time. The perpetrators, the cop says, are those two people sitting in a police car next to the ambulance. Why … it’s Meathead and Slim, in handcuffs! How could they do such a thing to EJ?

Here come the tears; my eyes are again filled with water. It is like peering out of an aquarium. I’m getting weaker and weaker, and feeling very faint. I just want to crawl under something and die.

The screaming siren and screeching of the wheels are unnecessary. Just let me die, people. This stupid driver almost threw me off the cot a couple of times.

They are taking me out of the ambulance. A lot of people are here. Flashes are going off, and people are pushing to get close. There’s a female reporter standing directly ahead of me with a mic, talking to the television audience. She seems to be changing right before my eyes. I don’t believe it—that looks like me! I was just twenty years old. I had just gotten out of law school. My parents had wanted a lawyer, but for this girl, journalism was the true passion.

Oh, I’m starting to fade again. I wish I could stop this!

Okay, I’m back but not in the same place. It’s very dark and quiet in here. Looks like I’m in a large room. It’s very dark in here, but light seeps in from under that door over there. Hey, I can move my body. Let open that door and try to find out where this is. What’s this? It looks like a newsroom—busy, with people moving around, trying to get the news out. I know it’s a lot of noise in here, but I can’t hear a thing. I hope I’m not deaf.

I must still be dreaming, because there’s the young me again standing at the news desk. Wait a minute—I recognize this place. This is the old WTTJ television station! Wow! Look at me, working my first job in broadcasting. I’ve got a clipboard in my hand, and I’m ready to work. What’s great is that I look so young. This seems to be happening now, but this was over thirty years ago.

Look at me! I was a cute little thing. There I was, living my life’s dream, a young TV reporter for that small, independent network. Here I go again, fading out into darkness.

I’m back. Now where am I? Hey, somebody turned up the volume! I can hear everything being said. It’s still a dream, because there’s the young me again. Looks as if I’m live on a news site. Oddly enough, I remember this piece.

The rash of violence has escalated in this neighborhood, with five arson fires set within as many days. This reporter, along with some of you concerned viewers, can’t understand why the police department and the mayor are not able to—cut, cut! Fred, we’ve got people walking in front of the damn camera here. Fred, how are we going to make this work?

Lady, wait a minute. Wait just one minute, please. I am the director—it is my job to yell cut. Not yours, Bobbie—mine! Now, what do you want me to do about it? We’re out here, and we’ve got to take the pictures, baby. Let’s just try to work around the distractions.

Fred was right. So I turned to the location guards standing to the left and snapped, We hired those fat people standing back there to prevent this. They are making good money off us, and for what? They have not done a damn thing.

We ain’t fat, lady, said the largest of the three guards.

Oh, excuse me, sir, I said. How about pleasingly plump? All I know is that you were hired to keep people out of the set, sir, and that is not happening here!

I asked Fred to wrap things up, because I was not feeling well. Everyone could see that I was being difficult for no reason and trying to take whatever was wrong out on everyone on the set. He agreed, so I packed up and left the area. I called my doctor to set up an appointment. There was something wrong with me, and I had no idea what it could be. Why I was bleeding a week beyond my period was my major concern. I called my doctor for an appointment and left the set.

Dr. Williamson had been our family doctor for as far back as I could remember. He had started with my great grandmother and treated us all the way to the present. His office had been in the same location for close to fifty years.

Barbara Jean, you remind me so much of your mother, said Williamson. God rest her soul.

I always had to tell him that my name was Bobbie, and my mother’s name was Barbara Jean. No matter how many times I told this man, he still called me Barbara Jean. He called me by my maiden name, Smith, and he couldn’t hear a little bit. Why did I still go to this man? I guess trust was the reason.

Your mother, along with every one of her children, carried the fetus the same way during pregnancy, said Doc. Their skin tone also was the same. You’re doing just fine, little mother, and the bleeding should stop in about a day or so. Just give it time, my dear. The female body is so miraculous! It cleans itself out once a month, and sometimes it works a little overtime. Don’t you worry now, Barbara Jean. Everything is okay with the new life. Doc went to his desk to write in my records, and that was when it dawned on me.

Excuse me, Doc. He went on with his work, unable to hear, so I screamed at the top of my voice to get his attention.

Yes, what is it, Barbara Jean? He turned and came toward me with my file in his hands, mumbling something.

Doc, listen to me. Put the papers down, Doc. I snatched the papers out of his hands and threw them on the table. Doc, are you trying to tell me that I am expecting a child?

My dear Barbara Jean, he said, you have a new life inside of you, and it’s doing just fine. I stood there, stunned. He told me to get dressed and walked back toward his desk.

I slid off the table and started shouting, Doc! Doc! I had completely forgotten that he couldn’t hear a word I was saying. I got up, walked over to his desk, and grabbed this man by his collar. I looked like a bouncer in a cheap club. His glasses fell off.

Still upset, I started screaming at him. Doc, how can I be pregnant? I’m on the pill!

Pill, schpill, he said calmly. When God wants a child in this world, there’s not a pill made that can stop it. Barbara Jean, it’s the will of the almighty. You must think about that. There hasn’t been a pill made that can stop the work of God. If it’s his will, it shall be done.

Yeah, maybe it’s what the good Lord wants, I said. I hope it’s what the good Tommy Thompson, my husband, will accept. I don’t know how to break the news to him. Just got to get me a second opinion, Doc, because this can’t be happening.

You are overreacting, Barbara Jean. I’m sure your husband will be very understanding.

I ran out the door and sprinted down the street toward the Metro station. Stopping just short of the entrance, I leaned on the gate. I did not want to go in. Standing there, I could feel the tears foaming. I must have stood there for hours before I went home.

There would be no rejoicing in this pregnancy. In fact, things could get really ugly. For one thing, Tom and I were separated. That judge was very stupid. He had wanted us to stay together, but because of my attitude toward the court, that had all changed. Calling the judge and Tom’s lawyer assholes had not helped my cause. The judge had awarded my future ex-husband our two children and alimony. Visitation rights were to be decided in the future. After the decision, it was a good thing the looks I gave the judge couldn’t hold me in contempt of court.

Just when things were not going so great, Fred got tired of me and gave me the boot. Now, I found myself pregnant, separated, and without a job. I was lying in the low-income section of the general hospital. This was just the beginning! They put me in this large, empty room that had two beds, and I hoped the other stayed vacant. I spent a half-day taking different tests, and the doctors tried to stop the irregular bleeding without success. It was on or around the tenth straight day of the flow, and I was very weak. I felt at peace, accepting the fact that I was going to die.

Now, if I can just stay right here, in this large, empty room, until the end of my days, dear God! I screamed out loud. Somebody cleared his throat; an orderly had been making up the other bed, and I hadn’t seen him. Sorry if I sounded crazy. I didn’t know you were here.

Oh, that’s all right, lady. I hear crazy people all the time. Some say I’m crazy, because I talk to myself from time to time. They say, ‘There go crazy Sleepy.’ Sleepy is my nickname, lady. Sometimes, they ask me, ‘Fool, why do you talk to yourself?’ I tell them it’s because I got something to say to me. I have to tell myself something.

The tall, thin man leaned his