Brother Word by Derek Jackson Page B

place her home number on that “do not call” list, and lately she’d been getting heavily bombarded by those persistent phone pesterers.
    But what if it’s Mom or Dad? Or Arlene?
    It
could’ve
been her parents, calling to make sure she was alright. But her mom and dad were good about leaving messages on her machine; she would let it go to voice mail and pick the phone up if it was them. If it was Arlene, well, Lynn would let it go to voice mail. Arlene normally talked her ear off, and Lynn wasn’t in the mood tonight. Tonight was a night for watching Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman.
    I should really get caller ID on my bedroom phone . . .
    “Hello—Lynn Harper?” asked an unfamiliar male voice on the answering machine. “My name is Travis Everett from the
State
. I apologize for calling so late but I’m working on a story for Tuesday’s paper about the recent medical healings in Sumter. I’ve obtained some good quotes from Pastor Smallwood from Hope Springs Church as well as Mr. Embry and Mr. McCullum, and I was hoping to ask you a few questions about—”
    More out of curiosity than anything else, Lynn reached over and picked up the phone. It wasn’t often that a newspaper reporter called her house.
    “This is Lynn,” she cut in.
    “Ms. Harper? Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”
    “No, I was up,” she replied, pressing the pause button on her DVD remote. “How can I help you, Mr. Everett?”
    “Well, as I was saying, I’m doing a story about the healings taking place in Sumter, and I understand you . . . ah . . . that you were
blind
but now you can see?”
    Lynn couldn’t help but smile at the salvation symbolism of the reporter’s words. “I was in a car accident almost two months ago,” she began, briefly outlining the injuries she’d sustained. She described how the doctors had been unable to help her damaged eyes, save for a relatively new procedure performed at UAB that might have partially restored vision to her right eye. As it had turned out, she’d never had to try that new procedure. At the healing crusade, she recalled how a man laid hands over her eyes, and how her sight had been completely restored not long after.
    “My doctor, Sherman Winthrop from Palmetto Memorial, was absolutely floored by the retinal scans of my eyes taken after the healing,” she said in conclusion. “He says it’s like nothing had happened to them at all.”
    “That
is
rather amazing,” Travis said. “If I didn’t already have doctor confirmations on these . . . these
healings
, I don’t know if I could believe them myself. And for the record, who are you attributing your healing to?”
    “To Jesus Christ,” Lynn replied without hesitation. “I give Him all the praise.”
    “And what of the mysterious man who touched your eyes?”
    “Well, I don’t know who that man was.”
    “That’s interesting. Both Pastor Smallwood and my sis—ah, I mean, another lady—speak about this mysterious man as being instrumental to their healings. Don’t you find it a little odd that nobody knows who he is?”
    “I do sometimes wonder who he is, but that’s not really important. When he touched my eyes and prayed for me, his words lined up with both the teachings and the example of Jesus on praying for the sick.”
    “So, you’re saying . . . this man said what . . .
Jesus Christ
would have said?”
    “Well . . . yes. Yes, you could say that. Jesus instructed his disciples that they would lay hands on the sick and the sick would be healed.”
    “Right. Uh, listen, I think I got what I needed for my story. I appreciate you taking this call so late in the evening.”
    “You’re welcome, Mr. Everett. It was my pleasure.”
    Lynn hung up the phone and returned to watching her movie, having no idea how much she’d regret having ever talked to Travis Everett.

Chapter Nineteen
    T HE HEADLINE DOMINATED the front page of Tuesday’s Metro section in big, bold lettering—“Man Calling Himself Jesus