Divine Intervention
by
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A homeless man
is looking for some food behind some downtown restaurants; he wasn’t expecting
to have company--
He looked around himself, absurdly secure in what
most people thought of as horrible surroundings. The fronts of buildings have
all the advertising and hype; the backs have graffiti, which is far more
interesting. SLUGS RULE. yo momma give
head fo quarters. JESUS IS COMING AND BOY IS HE PISSED. KILL FAGS. KILL
PUNKS. KILL KILLERS. SKA RULES. JESUS SAVES. MOSES INVESTS.
“Hmph,” he muttered. “Nothin’ new in the local news
tonight.”
A shuffling sound attracted his attention to his
right. At first, he could only make out a shadow...definitely a man, slim sort of
build. Punker? No, not so early in the evening, not at eight
twenty-five, not here. Just another dumpster-diver, he guessed. Just another
guy like him, trying to make his way through a world that just don’t give a
damn anymore.
The stranger...what, maybe in his early
thirties?...moved slowly toward the wall with all the graffiti, stepping into the
light of one of the other back doors. Brown hair fell lavishly over his
shoulders, much too clean and well-kept for him to have been on the street for
long. His bearded face was aquiline, his nose sharp and narrow, his cheekbones
high and pale. His eyes regarded the graffiti serenely, taking in the view of
the wall as if to memorize it.
Rich watched the guy for a long moment, not sure
what to say, or maybe if he should say anything. Talk about something out of a
loony bin; this guy was dressed in a long white robe and sandals, for God’s
sake. He looked like those Jesus impersonators who carry the posters announcing
that the world was going to end so would you give me ten bucks to tide me over
until Armageddon? But even that impression wasn’t right. It wasn’t at all like
he was a Jesus impersonator; it was like he was really trying to be...
“Jesus saves.”
Rich flinched. The stranger’s voice was no less calm
and serene than the look on his face. The same kind of calm and serene look
Rich had seen on the faces at the clinic, those guys who measured new holes.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to eat out tonight after all. Rich started to move
quietly away from his dumpster when the stranger turned to stare at him, the
look pinning him against the wall.
The robed figure made no threatening moves; he just
stood and stared, not even sizing Rich up for a new hole, just staring,
evaluating, judging. “What is your name?” he said calmly enough.
It took a moment for the ragged man to answer.
“Rich.”
“And why are you here, Rich?”
“To,” he nodded at the dumpster, “get something to
eat, you know? Just stuff from the trash. I’m not stealing anything, honest.”
The stranger nodded sagely. “That’s good,” he said.
“You should not be a thief. But there are other things that endanger the soul.”
Soul?
“Say, pal,” Rich began, smiling nervously. “What’s
your name?”
A slow, gentle smile spread across the oddly
tranquil visage. “You know who I am. I spoke a name just a moment ago, did I
not?”
Rich laughed, a low, shaky sound that didn’t even
convince himself. “Aw, come on, quit joking around. I’m not here to hurt you,
after all. Just trying to be friendly.”
“Of course.” The robed figure moved a few steps
closer. “I told you the truth. Do you need proof, perhaps? Like Thomas, the
doubter?” The young stranger smiled. “Perhaps I could arrange for some kind of
miracle.”
“No need to go to any trouble on my account,” Rich
attempted.
“Do you remember what the first miracle was?” the
stranger continued. “Water was turned into wine.”
Rich stopped. “I remember that,” he said. “From a
long time ago, back when I was a kid. They told me about that.”
“Would you like to see that miracle happen
again...just for you?”
A pause, three heartbeats. “You can do that?”
“You like wine, is that it? You like the spirits?”
“Hey, mister, don’t get me wrong.” Rich waved a
dismissing hand. “I’m no alkie, not like that. I just...” He licked his lips, a
quick, frightened movement. “Can you really do that?”
“It takes faith, Rich. Faith can move mountains ...
or had you already heard that, too?”
The ragged man nodded swiftly. “I heard. I heard that. Listen, I
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Book Details
About the Book
From the Ireland of St. Brendan to the baking
deserts of Death Valley-- from the ancient rites of the Druata to the televangelists of modern times-- from the source of
the greatest of human evils comes the tale of a demon with the most terrifying
powers ever known--
A street bum finds all the water in his body turned
to wine-- on a hospital AIDS ward, a young man checked at 7:00pm is found dead
an hour later, his body appearing as if it had lain in the sun for three days --
a homeless woman accepts a gift of bread and fish from a stranger, only to find
it multiply within her, exploding her from within--
Reverend Carrillee Maitland can find no sense or
link between these bizarre deaths, and in an election year, there simply is no
street crime in the city. It takes the assistance of Nick Praetorius, a man
with a mysterious medallion and a centuries-old manuscript, to help Carrillee
discover that not everyone’s idea of divine intervention is the same. For some,
it means salvation; to others, it could mean a terrifying death by the most
ancient words of the western world.
About the Author
TRISTAN MacAVERY began writing at the age of 10 and
didn’t know when to quit. He has published in a variety of literary magazines,
has been a contributing editor to a city magazine and a statewide newspaper,
and a technical writer. A voice actor, scriptwriter, and director, he has
appeared in, written, and/or directed more than 60 Japanese anime titles, and
is now providing voices for video games by Archaic Jump Productions. He was
particularly busy during 2003, as First Books Library reprinted two of his
published novels (including this one) and printed two new books as well. Still
single, he lives in Houston TX, where he pursues his acting and writing, along
with coaching improvisation, stand-up and sketch comedy.