Alex Palmer - Blood Redemption

‘That’s very admirable, Paul. Yes, our present world destroys all hope, does it not? Do you have children of your own?’

‘I’d like to keep that to myself. This is about me, not anyone else.’

There was a rustle of surprise. The preacher smiled.

‘Normally we have no secrets in this room, Paul. It’s a condition of entry here, as I thought I had told you. But if that is how you see it.

Would you like to tell us what you do for a living?’

‘I’m a law enforcement officer.’

One way of announcing you’re a fucking walloper, as his father had always put it.

‘Thank you, Paul. I don’t think we have any other policemen here today, although we have had in the past. We’ll begin now. Bronwyn?’

In a wholly unexpected move, the woman in the blue tracksuit walked to the back of the auditorium and extinguished the lights.

Harrigan found himself sitting in complete blackness. He became still, listening and waiting, a prickle of apprehension at the back of his neck. There was the collective noise of those in the room breathing, and then a shuffling, scraping noise, the sound of someone who had become disorientated and had dropped something. In the darkness, there was the suspension of any sense of place. Then a woman’s ghostly and untrained voice was heard, singing: Praise you the Lord in the heavens,

Praise him in the heights,

Praise him all his angels,

Praise him all you stars of light,

Praise him all who live in darkness,

Praise him all who dwell in day,

Let them praise the name of the Lord.

There was silence. Then Harrigan heard the preacher’s voice, disembodied and echoing against the high ceilings of the hall: ‘We are in the darkness, you and I. Come with me and I will show you the way to the light.’

As he spoke an image began to take shape slowly on the screen at the back of the hall: a figure in a long white robe, seven small glittering stars balanced over his outstretched hands. The preacher stood in silhouette against this image, his shadowed face edged with light. Pale wall lights appeared around the auditorium, illuminating the faces of the watching congregation.

‘Welcome to you all, my blood brothers and sisters in Christ. Please stand and link hands,’ he said. There was a rustle as each person took the other’s hand. Harrigan grasped the hand of an elderly man on one side and a woman of indeterminate age with vague blue eyes on the other. ‘As we stand here on the edge of eternity, I ask you to remember this, my brothers and sisters. You and I are one flesh, one body. Yes, and we love each other, as parent and child, brother and sister, so we love. Close your eyes. Think on this. We are as one. Repeat after me.

We are as one.’

‘We are as one.’ The response came strongly, fully voiced.

‘We are as one,’ the preacher said again.

‘We are as one,’ the crowd responded.

‘We are as one.’

‘We are as one!’

In the shadow and light, a sense of anticipation continued to grow.

Harrigan, perhaps the sole person in the room who had not closed his eyes as requested, glanced from one person to the next, and then to the preacher. The preacher was also open-eyed and watching, looking at him directly or so it seemed. He gave the impression that everyone in the room was within his sight.

‘Please be seated,’ he said.

There was another rustle as the participants let go of each other’s hands and sat down again. The preacher began to speak without emphasis, almost without emotion, moving from one person to the next in the circles of chairs. Those present turned their heads to watch him, straining towards him. His voice took on the quality of a chant, unremitting and at an even tempo.

‘We know, do we not, that Jesus loves us, even beyond death. His blood is the blood of life, one drop of it has the power to redeem us.

To wash us all clean of the grievous weight of life. That is the depth of his love. But do we return that love?’

He stopped in front of the man who spoken about the breakdown of his marriage. ‘I ask you this, Martin. Do you cry aloud in the night for God’s love? No?’

The preacher leaned towards the man and spoke softly, although his voice was heard throughout the hall. ‘You must. You must hunger beyond life for the love that God can give you. Until that hunger consumes you, you will never be satisfied. No one …’ He paused and stood upright, then continued moving. The silence was intense. ‘… no one can deny God and live. Do, and in your heart there will be only death. And then? Oh, my friends, I only tell you this, these are the end-times and Jesus will come for you now on any day, at any hour. He will come with terrible speed and there will be no time for you to say, Oh, I must do that before I go. When we push open these doors to the streets, will the storms that presage the end of the world be raging outside? How do we know they will not? In the next day, the next hour, will it be you who stands on the bridge to all eternity with the abyss of Hell beneath you? Will there be a way across for you? Then the fear of God will come to you, and oh, yes, it will raise up the hairs on your head and a cold black wind will drive you down to Hell for all eternity, to a world without end.’

As he listened, Harrigan had the strange sensation of feeling cold down his spine. That needle along his backbone was genuine fear. It was the second time the preacher had had this effect on him. He glanced at others around him, some of whom sat with open mouths, waiting on every word.

‘But fear not,’ the preacher became soft and soothing. ‘No, fear not, my brothers and sisters. Because you will stand before God and say: I fought against the unnatural and the perverse. I stood between the murderer and the unborn. Satan walked abroad in the world but I defied him. Remember the words of Saint John of the Revelation. Be you faithful unto death and I will give you a crown of life. Now, I know you will reach into your hearts and each of you will find in there the love that is God and the strength to go out and to do His work.’

He returned to stand in the centre of the circle and there was a release of breath, a communal sigh.

‘I ask of you now — tell us all, my brothers and sisters, what is it that you will do that will bring you forward as Christ’s witness, that will place you in the company of the saved at the end of time? Paul.

You are new to us today. What will you do?’

Curiously Harrigan heard his name called almost with relief. As he stood up the crowd turned to look at him, their faces still partially shadowed in the half dark like the preacher’s. Others among them would have preferred to have been chosen. They were hungry to speak, he could see it in their faces.

‘Like you say, I’m here for the first time. Why don’t you tell me what you think I should do?’

‘Go and close down an abortion mill today. That’s what the police should be doing,’ the man with creamy skin said, seated near the centre of the circle and smiling aggressively. His face was almost silver in the light.

‘Fight against those things which are an abomination in God’s sight,’ the preacher replied without hesitation, ignoring the man who had spoken. ‘You, Paul, are privileged, you have the force of the state behind you. We do not. We stand here as a lone voice. We exercise no earthly power. And if you come here, Paul, as you say you do, seeking hope, why have you not done more with the powers vested in you already? Are you afraid to? Or will you not answer me?’

‘I work within the law, Graeme. I have to.’

He sat down.

‘Abortion is against the law.’ The man with creamy skin spoke again.