Sean Chercover - The Trinity Game

“Hot damn!” Trinity clapped his hands together. “That sure is something, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, terrific. We can now add the government to the list of people who want you dead.” Daniel turned the radio off. “Let’s see, we’ve got the gambling industry—the mob, the casinos, and now the government—”

“Don’t forget Wall Street,” said Trinity. “For all we know, I might start predicting closing numbers of the Dow Jones.”

“And Wall Street,” Daniel agreed. “Then we’ve got probably a dozen religions, including various sects that compete for the title Christian —”

“Including your friends at the Vatican,” said Trinity.

“You’re too sinister about the Vatican. They just want you contained.”

“Yeah, in a pine box.”

Daniel waved it off. “Suffice it to say, you’ve got a lot of powerful groups in your fan club. What do you know about Samson?”

“Had a soft spot for Delilah,” said Trinity. He followed with a just-trying-to-lighten-the-mood gesture. “I don’t know anything. When the world turned upside down, I told Jennifer to ask around and get me the best bodyguards in the business. She was a bright kid, I could give her jobs like that.”

Daniel thought back to Trinity’s dressing room. “Not was . She is a bright kid. She left your dressing room a couple minutes before the bomb went off.”

“Only because I sent her out,” said Trinity. “Look, I see where you’re going with this, but I’m telling you, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree. Jennifer Bartlett’s one of the good guys. I’d bet my life on it.”

“You did,” said Daniel.

“Doesn’t prove anything.”

“No, it doesn’t. I’m just exploring different angles.”

They rode in silence for a while. It was an easy silence, and Daniel felt a profound sense of wholeness he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He’d always told himself that cutting toxic people from your life was essential to becoming an independent adult. Part of the process of self-actualization, as the psychologists called it. And that’s what he’d done when he walked away from Trinity. But Tim Trinity was the only family Daniel had ever known. He was father, mother, uncle…protector, provider, teacher.

He was everything. Even if he was a con man.

Leaving may have been the healthy choice, but when Daniel walked away he left a lot of himself behind. He could admit that now. Being with his uncle again did pick the scabs off the old wounds, but it also forced him to remember the love he had for the deeply flawed man who loved him.

Although Daniel hadn’t said a word, his uncle seemed to pick up on it.

“Look at us,” said Trinity, “no silk suit, no dog collar, cruisin’ down the 77 in a rusty old beater…” His hand swept across the sun-drenched rural Alabama landscape. “Just like the old days, eh?”

Daniel smiled back at him. “Yeah, kinda.”

“But this time, we really are on a mission from God. That story I sold you when you were a child…” Trinity lit a new cigarette, “…it was prettier than the truth, and I wanted your world to be prettier than the one I lived in. Only so many times I can apologize for that. But think about where we are now! That pretty story—that fantasy—has become manifested in reality.”

“In the fantasy, people weren’t trying to kill you.”

Trinity chuckled. “Well, I guess that’s the downside of reality.”

Daniel couldn’t help but laugh. “Hell of a downside. Look, Tim, don’t go getting all messianic on me. At best, you’re a modern day Elijah or something. But you’re not the sacrifice. I’m going to keep you alive. And I’ll need your cooperation with that.”

“You got it,” said Trinity. “I don’t want to die if I don’t have to. But I’m seeing this thing through, all the way. Whatever God wants. Whatever the cost.”

“Can’t argue that.” Daniel squinted against the sun, and a wave of fatigue rolled over him. The last day had used up a lot of adrenaline, and he’d only gotten a few hours’ fitful sleep at the cabin. He pulled the truck to a stop on the shoulder and threw it into park. “Listen, you mind taking the wheel for a spell? I’m feeling a little ragged, just need to rest my eyes an hour or two.”

Daniel drifted with the current, just below the surface. He felt his consciousness moving through space-time, aware that he was being transported on the smell of dry, dusty grass.

It took him back to the Winnebago, back to the tent revival circuit in summertime.

It was always such a rush, pulling into the dirt parking lot next to the big white tent, looking to see which other preachers’ RVs were already there, which other preachers’ kids were hacking around the place. Looking especially for Reverend Auld’s baby blue Winnebago, looking for Trixie, Auld’s skinny blonde daughter with the freckles splashed across her cheeks and the unsettling green eyes. Hoping she was there, hoping she wasn’t, fearing he’d be tongue-tied yet again.

A car door slammed, and the ride in the time machine ended. Daniel yawned, stretched. Then realized they weren’t moving. He blinked and sat up straight. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

He was alone in the truck. Trinity was gone, and he’d taken his Bible with him.

Daniel glanced at his watch—1:57. He held up a hand to block the sun and looked through the windshield. About sixty cars and pickups, parked on a field of dry grass…

And a half dozen RVs…

Parked beside a big white tent.

For a few long seconds, Daniel groggily considered the possibility of time travel, decided it was more likely that he was still asleep, still dreaming. No, this is the truck we got from the redneck. This is now…

Oh, shit.

Trinity’s stopped at a tent revival.

He jumped from the truck and ran, weaving between parked trucks, passing under a vinyl banner that said:

THE HOLY SPIRIT IS ALIVE IN GREENVILLE

…and into the packed tent.

About two hundred people under the tent, some sitting in folding lawn chairs but most standing, some holding camcorders, all facing the plywood stage where a fat Holy Roller with a microphone bellowed hallelujahs through a PA system so powerful you could feel the man’s voice rumble in your abdomen. Daniel kept moving, scanning the crowd as he pressed further inside.

After a few seconds, he spotted his uncle. But it was too late.

The Holy Roller stopped bellowing and stood agape as Trinity bounded up the steps at the side of the stage, bright blue Bible in hand. Several in the crowd gasped audibly. A woman shouted, “It’s Reverend Tim!” And another, “Reverend Tim’s alive!” followed by a “Praise Jesus!” and at least a dozen hallelujahs.

Tim Trinity waved to the crowd and flashed his thousand-watt smile. “Thank you, thank you, bless you.” He made calming gestures with his Bible and the crowd got quiet. “I was just drivin’ past and spotted y’all’s tent, and I got to feeling that God wanted me to stop and say a few words.” He shook his head. “Now, I don’t…well, to be honest, I don’t feel a spell coming on, and I don’t know if God will choose to speak through me in tongues, and if he doesn’t, I won’t fake it.”

Trinity stepped gracefully over to the Holy Roller and took the microphone from him with a smile and a nod of thanks. He turned away from the crowd, found a chair at the back of the stage, and dragged it to the front. He sat and blew out a long breath and said, “I hope y’all don’t mind if I sit. I tell ya true, the last few weeks have been as much a trial as a blessing. But I’m trying. Trying to do the right thing. And that’s why I stopped when I saw your tent. I know you’ve all seen me on television, but some of you will remember, before I was on television, I used to come by Greenville pretty regular.”