Authors: Wid Bastian
Peter kept his arms at his side. He looked his enemy straight in the eye, did not flinch, and did not waiver.
“I’m not afraid of you. As for lies, your master is the father of them all.”
“Come on, Pete! Who are you kidding? You’re scared to death. Afraid I might hurt you. But you’ve always been a coward, haven’t you, Panos. Afraid your precious Julie wouldn’t love you if you didn’t get her that big house you couldn’t afford, afraid of being a loser, scared of being locked up. We both know that short list is just for starters. Truth is your nothing but a bundle of fear. It drives you, it’s what you really are.”
“I’m not in the least bit interested in what you think about me. What do you want here? Say what you will before I toss you aside like a piece of garbage.”
Saul shot Peter a look that screamed, “Are you out of your mind?” Peter squeezed Saul’s arm to reassure him.
“Brave man, brave man, well done!” The demon taunted, clapping his hands sarcastically. “You don’t have a clue, do you? Your precious God has put you in danger, Mr. Kallistos. Don’t believe all of His public relations. You’re the one who is helpless before the superior power. Don’t become another useless martyr for the Nazarene. He lets you all die such horrible and needless deaths. I mean think about it, Panos, what kind of God allows himself to be nailed to a tree and spat on? Weak, pathetic. Humility my a**, your marvelous Christ was just a wimp.”
No sooner had this blasphemy come out of his mouth than Malik Graham’s fist entered it. Five more blows delivered in rapid succession sent the “utility man” to the ground, face first.
“Malik, no!” Peter shouted.
“What? Why? C’mon, Mr. Pete, he’s a bad man. Hell, he ain’t even a man. Let me send him back to the devil! No one calls my Lord and Savior a wimp.”
“Listen to me, Malik. You just played right into his hands. We are not men of violence, we belong to God. You will never attack anyone again unless I tell you to. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir. Sorry, Mr. Pete. Damn! I did wrong, but I was tryin’ to be right. I got angry hearing all that foul talk and lies, that’s all.”
“You’ve got to chill, brother. I understand your feelings, but you must control your passions. Satan will use your anger against you.”
“Got that right.”
When they turned to put a face with the voice, they saw Charley O standing behind them. He was an inmate well known for two things, his ability to score heroin at will and to pay for his habit with homosexual favors. He was loathed by all, except for those reprobates who kept punks.
Only he wasn’t Charley O anymore, at least not for the moment.
“That’s impressive,” Peter said, as calmly as he could manage. “What happened to … ” In mid-sentence Peter looked over to where the “utility man” was laid out. Only now he wasn’t there, he had vanished.
“Nice trick.”
“I’ve got more.”
“Bet you do.”
“You’re on the wrong side, Panos. You’ve been fooled by propaganda and spiritual arrogance. Let me show you the real power on this earth. Come with me.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? Who do you think you are anyway? Do you imagine that you and your friends are anything but a waste of space? You’re a useless, weak little bag of bones and water. Piece of s*** is the phrase that best describes you.”
“Thought you said I was a special person.”
Saul laughed. He shouldn’t have.
Charlie O reached out and touched him. As soon as he did Saul began screaming in agony. He appeared to be having a heart attack.
All of this commotion was drawing a crowd. By this point, about twenty men were gathered around watching the spectacle.
Peter reached down and helped his friend to his feet. When he did, Saul’s torture ended.
“You’ll have to do better than that, Charley. But you aren’t Charley. What is your name anyway? Or do you sons of hell even merit a name?”
The demon was not expecting this level of resistance and confidence. Peter’s faith and power was stronger than any human’s he had encountered since the time of the Apostles.
“What did I tell your Lord back in Judea? Yes, I remember. My name is Legion, for we are many. Want to see if you can do what Christ did? Don’t see any pigs around here, but give it a try monkey boy, come on!”
“He doesn’t have to, I will.”
Out from among the growing group of curious onlookers stepped an old friend. He was a white man, about thirty, with light brown, curly hair.
“Nice to see you, Gabriel. Come to save the day? Afraid that your little friends here might get hurt?”
“No, I don’t want them to hurt you. It’s not time yet. Now leave that poor soul alone and be on your way.”
As Gabriel spoke, Charley O fell to the ground and flopped around for a minute like a beached fish. He looked up at Peter, smiled and then puked all over Saul’s feet. Legion left Charley O writhing hysterically in pools of his own vomit.
By this time the guards had been alerted to a disturbance on the compound. Two of them rushed in expecting to break up a fight, hopefully before it became a riot.
All they found was a gay junkie who had gotten sick in front of an audience. Gabriel was gone. Peter, Malik, and Saul had quietly slipped away.
When asked, all that the inmates in the crowd could remember was that Charley O had run onto the porch ranting and raving about being “attacked by spiders.” The only people who knew what really happened weren’t talking, they were busy walking the yard together trying to figure out what might be coming at them next.
During the weeks after “Charley’s meltdown”, as the inmates called it, Peter focused his attention on the preparation and education of Malik and Saul.
Peter Carson knew that each of the seven (with four still to come) would bring with them their own unique spiritual gifts. Saul’s was all too obvious, the discernment of evil. This talent had already come in handy in dealing with Legion. Peter now worked on Saul’s ability to refine and control his gift.
Through prayer, fasting, and faith, Saul Cohen was able to self-install an “off button.” No longer would he be subjected, twenty-four seven, to seeing demons all around him.
This did wonders for Saul’s attitude. He was happy, truly happy for the first time in his life. He was maturing rapidly and given his extraordinary raw intelligence, soon he was quoting Scripture almost as quickly and accurately as Peter.
Malik too was moving forward. His gift, his most obvious gift that is, was his physical strength. Peter worked on Malik’s “inner man” to build his self-control. Properly harnessed, Malik Graham’s ability to physically defend the disciples could prove invaluable, perhaps lifesaving.
But Malik Graham had another far more powerful spiritual gift, the ability to evangelize, especially with black inmates.
Young black men at Parkersboro thought Malik was a god. His reputation as being one of the toughest men around carried over with him to his new prison home. There was a group of about forty or so young African-American inmates at the camp. Most of them had less than five years left to go before release; all were in for drug related charges. None had graduated high school. Most were barely literate.
With a degree of respect that they granted no one else, these young men daily lined up to gape in awe as Malik Graham smoothly bench pressed four hundred pounds, performed hundreds of one handed push-ups, and made a heavy bag whimper from the force of his fists. However, demonstrations of Malik’s physical prowess came with a price; if you wanted to see the show you had to stay for the sermon.
This all began without the prompting of Peter Carson. The work-out room was Malik’s territory, and as always, he ruled his domain with stern discipline. The difference was this time, Malik’s authority came from God, and his discipline was righteousness.
The results were impressive. After a few short weeks, half of the forty, twenty now former drug dealing street thugs, were on their way to becoming soldiers for Christ. Malik proudly displayed his new brood, who called themselves “Reverend Graham’s Army,” to Peter Carson one Sunday morning.
Sundays at Parkersboro had begun to take on a life of their own. Peter was a magnet for anyone seeking the Lord. Because of the specific nature of his calling, Peter always put the needs of Malik and Saul above all others, even his own, but there was still plenty of time left over to minister to all who came searching.
Without formal announcement or any official sanction, men began gathering on the outdoor library porch at nine a.m. for Sunday services. The number of the curious and the faithful grew each week.
One Sabbath day in the early fall, Malik presented his “army” to Peter with a hymn and some fanfare. The twenty sang Amazing Grace acappella, and then each of them took a minute to publicly proclaim their newfound salvation. Peter spoke on the universal love of God, who makes no distinction between Jew or Greek, black or white, male or female. He focused on the twelfth chapter of Romans, exhorting each of his new found flock to “abhor what is evil” and “cling to what is good.” Men who had previously known only disappointment and hate were getting a taste of love and joy. Spirits ran high.
Into the midst of this celebration rolled Alan Audry. Paralyzed from the waist down by multiple gunshot wounds, he was known to one and all at Parkersboro as “awful Alan,” due to his unrelentingly negative attitude. Audry was a bitter man, and he wasn’t shy about telling you just how much you, and the rest of the world, really sucked.
In its infinite mercy, the United States government does not cut you a break for a minor issue like the loss of your mobility. Despite being shot six times, having ten surgeries, and suffering paralysis, the U.S. Attorney in Georgia refused to reduce Audry’s sentence or even recommend that he be placed in a medical facility.
Audry’s crime? He was a minor player in a fairly large cocaine distribution conspiracy, but that wasn’t really the issue.
The problem was Alan Audry refused to snitch. The Feds reserve their harshest treatment for those who will not tell on their brother. In this case the head of the dope ring in question literally was Alan’s brother, Maurice Audry.
Rather than send his best friend and only sibling to prison for the rest of his life, Alan took the hit and got ten years for his trouble. While he never regretted his decision, unlike his accusers, he knew the difference between right and wrong, he did come to view the world as one giant pig sty. No one blamed him, but then again, no one wanted to hear about it constantly, either. Whiners are ignored in prison, if not preyed upon.
“I’ve come to be healed,” Alan declared, as matter-of-factly as if he was ordering a burger at a drive-thru. “Had a dream you guys fixed my legs, and that I walked right off this porch. Which one of you fellas is Kallistos?”
It took everyone a moment to get over the astonishment of “awful Alan” saying anything other than “f*** you!” to a group of inmates. The boldness of his claim that he’d “walk right off this porch” drew quiet murmurs of disbelief from the congregation.
All eyes focused on Peter. No one knew what to do. Was this a joke? A set up for a con maybe?
Peter looked around, first getting Malik’s attention and then Saul’s. Non-verbally he shot them each a stare that said, “Did you tell him my birth name?” Without a word being spoken they understood and shook their heads sideways for “no.”
Peter had given his two new disciples strict instructions not to discuss any aspect of their common dreams or angelic encounters with any of the inmates. He had no doubt that his men had been obedient. Whatever this was, it was not the result of hearing about miracles and hoping for another one.
“Do you believe that we can heal you?” Peter asked.
“Yes, you and the two new guys. I don’t know how, but I do believe it,” Audry responded.
“Then claim your victory.”
One of the men rolled Alan over to where Peter was standing. Malik and Saul, looking unsure of what was happening, but unafraid, linked hands with Peter and formed a circle around the wheelchair.
“Lord,” Peter began, “Your servant James taught us ‘the prayer of faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise him up.’ We present ourselves to You Christ, our Lord, our Savior, and our Redeemer as righteous men who, as Your humble servants, ask You to heal this brother, Alan Audry. Lord, return to him the use of his legs, but also Lord, we ask You to return to him his joy. Give him faith in You, Lord. Give him faith in Your life, death, resurrection, and second coming. Do all this for Your mercies’ sake. In the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.”
No one said a word. Peter, Malik and Saul remained surrounding Alan, all on one accord and silently praying. More than five minutes passed filled only with an eerie hush. Then Peter opened his eyes and loosed his grip on the hands of his friends. Attention shifted totally to the man being blessed.
Audry’s face was covered with tears, but he wore a smile that no earthly emotion could ever produce. Peter looked down and noticed Alan’s toes protruding through his prison issue shower sandals.
They were wiggling.
Malik stepped back and extended his hand to help Alan up. For the first time in five years, Alan Demetrius Audry, Jr. took one step, then another. He let go of Malik and walked on his own from one end of the porch to the other.