The Peculiar Case of Preacher M. Brand, Jr.: A Novel

By Eva Fischer-Dixon

Marion Brand Jr. was a twenty-year-old preacher who inherited his fathers revival ministry after a horrific childhood that left him psychologically scarred for life. He was an incredibly handsome and charismatic young man who had a great effect on people who surrounded him and who attended his revival sessions, primarily young women and girls. When a young woman, Helen McCarthy, was brought to his luxurious trailer, for the first time in his life Marion fell head over heels in love and would do anything to keep her to himself. After moving to a new location in Oklahoma and setting up his large tent to conduct revival sermons, some of his staff members, who were former convicts, attracted the polices attention, as on several locations where the revival personnel stayed for a month at a time, young girls began to disappear, never to be seen again. His life was entangled with two familys own tragedies: his caravans cook, once a famous chef, Sara Weinstein, and a former mob hitman, Giovanni Mano Rossa, who was investigating the disappearance of his two youngest daughters. Preacher Brand Jr. soon began to question his own sanity and the loyalty of the people with whom he surrounded himself and who would cover up all his horrific secrets. Just how far would a grieving father go to find out the truth about his daughters? If only Preacher Brand could figure out if his nightmares were real or just bad dreams, he would not have to worry about his future, but things are not as they may have seemed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 30, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543474893

Eva Fischer-Dixon

I came into this troubled world during the early morning hours of June 17, 1950, in the city of Budapest, Hungary. I was the first and last child of my 41-year-old mother and my father who was 45 years old at the time of my birth. As I did not know any better, I could not possibly understand that we were living in poverty, as I was growing up with loving parents and there was always a bite to eat. My childhood was poor and saddened with tragedies. As a six-year-old child I witnessed the bloody 1956 revolution and received the first taste of true prejudice by those of whom I thought liked us, yet turned against my family. That tragedy did not match the untimely death of my beloved father when I was not yet seven years old, on February 14, 1957. My mother remarried in 1959 and our financial situation was upgraded from poverty to poor. After finishing elementary school I made a decision to earn money as soon as possible to ease our financial situation and I enrolled in a two-year business college (high school diploma was not required). I received my Associate Degree in 1966 and I began to work as a 16-year-old certified secretary/bookkeeper. During the same period I began my high-school education, which I completed while working full-time and attending night school. I discovered my love for writing when I was 11 years old after a movie that my childhood friend and I saw in the movie theater. We were not pleased with the ending and Steven suggested that I should write a different ending that we both liked. Voila, a writer was born. With my family’s encouragement, I entered a writing contest given by a youth oriented magazine and to my genuine surprise, I won second price. My desire to live in a free country and to improve my life was so great, that in 1972, leaving everything, including my aging parents behind, I managed to escape from Hungary during a tour to Austria, (then) Yugoslavia and Italy. I spent almost nine long months in a rat infested refugee camp, located Capua, Italy, while I waited for official permission to immigrate to the country of my dreams, to the USA. In 1975 I met and married a wonderful man, my husband Guy. Thanks to his everlasting patience, he assisted me in my task of learning the English language. He is truly my partner for life and I remain forever grateful to him for standing by me in some tough times. It is difficult for me to describe my love for writing. I cannot think of a bigger emotional joy for an author than to see a published novel in somebody’s hand and to see a story come alive on the screen. I yearn to experience that joy.

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Copyright © 2018 by Eva Fischer-Dixon.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date:12/30/2017

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Contents

Another Hot Day

Praise The Lord

Chastity

Preacher Marion Brand Sr., And Mrs. Helen Brand

The Birthday Gift

The Revival Of Preacher Marion Brand Jr.

The Nuptial

The Story Of Sarah Weinstein

Life As Husband And Wife

The New Location

You Scream, And I Scream, We All Scream For Ice Cream

The Temptation

Sisterly Love And The Disappearances

The Mano Rossa Family Plan

The Story Of Giovanni Mano Rossa,

Us Marine, Sergeant

A Brother’s Love And Revenge

The Aftermath Of The Revenge

The New Giovanni Mano Rossa

The Second Round

Chastity, The Divine

New Kid In Town

ANOTHER HOT DAY

A NOTHER FRICKIN MISERABLE day in the Bible belt, he mumbled and wiped the perspiration from his face. Not even the air conditioning helped when it should have. His long mobile home seemed as if it was on fire. From the outside it looked like a patched up old trailer that was towed by a semi truck, but inside, well, inside would tell an entirely different story. Of the three bedrooms, one was the master bedroom that would make a Rockefeller drool. It was his sanctuary; it was his Heaven on Earth, as he called it. It was a sanctity that only a privileged few have ever entered and left still breathing.

He debated long and hard if he should take a nap or not, when he heard a certain hard knocking on the door. Enter, he shouted because he knew exactly who the arrival was. The tall man who entered was carrying a large and seemingly heavy box and took it to the kitchen that his Master never used, well sort of, but that was another entirely different story.

Do you want one now? The tall man named Samuel Greedy asked from the young man, who was obviously feeling miserable in the unusually hot Oklahoma heat. Where is that bloody rain? He wondered. It is usually pretty wet in June.

Yeah, give me one, replied the young man and reached for the open bottle of beer that Samuel handed to him. He didn’t thank him, why should he? That is what he paid him for, to take care of him and all of his needs. How does it look outside? He wanted to know.

Hot, Samuel summed it up in one word.

Make sure that they put those big fans all over the tent, he told Samuel, his right hand man. It would not be good for business if folks were passing out left to right, would it? Samuel did not reply, he did not have too.

He glanced out the window that was covered by a heavy shade and observed the early afternoon activities. The giant tent had been erected almost a month earlier and that night they would be holding the final Revival for this area, just outside Tulsa. His Master did not like to stay in the same place for long, not wanting to upset the more organized churches in the big or small cities and towns. He noticed the workers who were busy to install fans that hopefully kept some air circulated. They were huge and they are probably going to suck up a lot of electricity, but in that heat without a doubt it was necessary to have them.

As always, they expected a crowd that would fill the tent to capacity, even had standing room only crowds more times than not. He glanced at his Master and while he himself was not a religious man, not even close to being God fearing, he did pray that his young Master’s mood would lightened up. The past three weeks sermons’ aftermath was not a pleasant one. He was yelling at everyone who worked for him and demanded that they must do more. More of what, they asked as they glanced at each other.

There were five men and five women who worked for Preacher Marion Brand Jr., whose sole job was to get healed from the various ailments that had changed along with their appearance from Revival to Revival. Other than that, there was another man who was considered the Preacher’s left hand man, by the name of Scott Hardy. He had the same position as Samuel Greedy, but Samuel was considered one step closer to the Preacher than Scott. And of course, there was the maintenance crew of eight who set up the tent at each new location, made sure that the sound system worked on the podium, lined up all the chairs, the lemonade and water stands where they sold the drinks to the certainly thirsty crowd in that almost unbearable hot weather.

The Revival was scheduled to begin at seven in the evening in an unanswered hope that the heat would go away long enough to make a pleasant evening. If there was any change in the temperature, nobody seem to notice, therefore, the huge fans that they were able to rent and forgot to return a couple states before, came in handy.

Would you like something to eat? Samuel asked the Preacher. He sighed and shook his head.

How could anyone eat in this bloody heat? He replied, and then he laughed. However, I wouldn’t mind to satisfy somebody’s hunger. He said and grabbed his genitals. Samuel ignored his words but he knew that it would not stop there. Did you hear me? He yelled at Samuel.

Preacher, could you wait until after the sermon? He asked although he already knew the response.

What am I? Why do I always give and give and not receiving anything in return? He asked Preacher Marion Brand Jr., and stared at Samuel straight into his eyes. Samuel bowed his head, he was among the many who could not stare back at his Master’s sky blue eyes that were light blue in shade and they could pierce through someone’s flesh. Not physically, but still very painfully.

Let me see what I can do for you, Samuel said finally and left the trailer. Outside he tried to breathe some fresh air but it was full of dust, although there was no wind. It would come late into the evening, during the day the only breeze arrived from the farms’ direction that would bring that fine dust and sand in the air, the one that could make even a healthy man’s lungs work overtime.

Where are we going? Scott Hardy stopped him, as he was about to get into his car. He turned around and made a face at his closest friend, who was as close to him as his brother who was killed in Afghanistan.

Hunting, he replied. Scott rolled his eyes.

Do you need help? Scott asked. Samuel shrugged.

Got time? He inquired. Scott nodded and after glancing toward the long trailer that was well situated behind the other trailers that the employees shared, out of the sight of the curious many about the Preacher, he got in the back seat of the Cadillac.

Samuel turned on the radio where a country western station was playing a sad song about someone’s abandonment when Scott asked him to change the station. Samuel knew that his request was coming and slowly turned the dial until a heavy metal station became audible. He was driving on the country road, no destination only a specific type of target in mind but he or Scott did not see anybody. They did not want to get a hooker because the Preacher despised the ladies of the night, he was more into something fresh, but sometimes, that was all that was available.

I’ll be darn, Samuel murmured but loud enough for Scott to hear. What have we got here? As soon as he said that, he slowed down the car and even Scott peaked out from hiding on the big backseat. A beautiful longhaired blonde girl was waving at him to stop. Scott was not visible from the road as he was hiding under the backseat. She had her car’s hood up and the smoke was still pouring out of it. Samuel stopped his car a few feet from her and got out.

Hello, he said in his usually friendly tone of voice when he wanted something. Looks like your engine is overheated, he commented the obvious. Do you have water in your car? She shook her head.

I have two bottles but I was very thirsty so I kept drinking them, she said almost apologetically. Do you? Samuel shook his head.

Sorry, I don’t, he replied. But I’ll be glad to give you a ride to the nearest gas station if you would like. He offered in a soothing tone of voice. She took out her cell phone, which Samuel knew that would not work because theirs did not work either, being unable to get any reception in that area. She obviously did not know what to do. It was way too hot to walk and they were still pretty far from the next village or town, not even her cell phone worked. She looked up at the tall man who was still looking at her car’s engine, expressing interest if he could fix it, but he shook his head. Well, I have to get going. My offer still stands, I’ll be glad to drop you off at the nearest gas station.

He waited a couple seconds for her reply, and then he wished her great remainder of the day and began to walk back to his white Cadillac, with the nice air conditioning inside. Wait, she yelled after him. She took out her backpack and purse, locked up her car and with quick steps she got into the passenger side, next to Samuel.

I am glad that you changed your mind, he said kindly. The weather is murder out there today. She did not reply, she placed the backpack between her feet and put on the seatbelt. Are you ready? Samuel asked. She nodded that she was. Samuel continued the drive toward Tulsa but a few hundred yards from where the girl’s car was located; Scott reached over from the backseat and injected the girl with a substance. She looked shocked but a moment later she was sound asleep. Samuel turned the car around and headed back to the location of the Revival tent.

Stopping by the Preacher’s long trailer, Scott carefully looked around, and then he motioned to Samuel that the air was clear. They opened the trunk and Scott helped his friend to carry a rolled up rug into their Master's home. Samuel managed to knock on the door, but as he repeatedly knocked and did not receive any response, he told Scott that he was going to use his key to get in. It was not an easy task balancing the huge rug on his shoulder and Scott’s, but he unlocked the door and after backing up a couple of steps to open the door outward, they finally got in.

Preacher Marion Brand Jr., was sitting on his living room sofa, fast asleep surrounded by six empty beer bottles. Where to? Scott asked.

The guest room next to his, Samuel said and led the way down the narrow hallway.

The door was already open so they carefully placed the rug on the floor and unrolled it. It was a trick they learned from an old Cleopatra movie, when Cleopatra had herself smuggled inside a large rug, into the room, where Julius Caesar was residing in the pharaoh’s palace. Whatever worked, Samuel thought.

What have we got here? They heard the Preacher’s voice coming from the door. He walked up the bed and looked down at the young woman. He took a step back seeing her. She was incredibly beautiful and seemed peaceful from the morphine shot that Scott had given her. Her wavy long blonde hair surrounded her head on the pillow as if it was a halo. Her body, although still clothed, seemed perfect. She is a goddess, no doubt, Preacher Brand murmured.

Samuel and Scott exchanged looks, both thinking about all of the girls that they brought to the Preacher and whom they disposed afterwards one way or another. He had never acted so star stricken. Samuel looked at his watch; it was already five in the afternoon, the Revival started in two hours. Preacher Brand, Samuel said quietly.

What? Preacher Brand barked at him. What do you want?

You must prepare for the Revival, he reminded him. The Preacher sighed.

Fine, I’ll be there shortly, he finally replied. Before the two men left the guest room, he called them back. If she gets away, both of you are dead meat. Both men nodded and left the trailer.

Preacher Brand watched her and gently arranged her hair. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, naturally confused by the man’s presence and her unfamiliar surroundings. Welcome to my home, my angel, Brand whispered to her. His incredibly blue eyes stared down at her almost raven black eyes. He thought that it was so unusual that a naturally blonde woman had black eyes and he had blue eyes with a darkest shade of brown, almost black hair.

Where am I? She asked and tried to get up. He gently forced her back down and his eyes wandered to the syringe on the nightstand.

You are at a safe place, he assured her and while his left hand rested on hers, his right arm slowly, not to alarm her, reached for the syringe.

You look familiar, she mumbled and sleepily closed her eyes, giving Brand the perfect opportunity to inject the girl with more morphine.

What are you giving me? She asked, barely able to speak.

What is your name my beauty? Brand wanted to know.

My name is Helen, she whimpered. Brand sat up straight. It was his late mother’s name and he, just like his father, hated that name.

How about if I call you Chastity? He asked. She did not reply, she couldn’t reply, she was once again unconscious. The Preacher kissed her hand and after a deep sigh, he left the guest room. Inside his own bathroom he took a quick shower and powdered up his body before he put on his clothes. It promised to be another hot and sticky night in the large tent filled with people who would sweat due to lack of their own personal hygiene and lack of air conditioning. He did not want to be one of them.

PRAISE THE LORD

L OOKING INTO THE mirror took the longest part of his getting ready. He needed to look perfect, someone who was attractive and above of the crowd’s class. He had to be somebody who the crowd would look up to and ask for salvation. What he saw in the mirror pleased him. He was still only twenty years old; his hair reached his shoulders and was carefully combed to perfection. He always thought just staring at himself in the mirror; that he could easily hypnotize himself with those eyes that his late father called eyes of a fallen angel. What did they know, he often wondered. He knew that he performed a hundred times better than his father, yes, performed, because he knew that he could never give the sight back to a blind person, or make a paralyzed man or woman walk again, or for the first time. The crowd loved those performances, and in many ways, they even expected that he would perform some sort of miracle. I aimed to please, he said to himself in the mirror.

There was a knock on the door and Samuel entered, carrying a tray with the Preacher’s dinner. He usually ate light