The television was tuned to CNN, the volume muted.
Trinity plucked a bottle of bourbon off the coffee table, took a swig. “Yeah, I’m drunk,” he said, “and you would be too, if you had a lick of sense.”
“What did you do?” Daniel thrust an accusing finger at the television screen. “What did you fucking
“I didn’t
It felt like a punch in the gut. “I tried to stop it.”
“Evidently you didn’t try hard enough.” Another swig of bourbon. “Lemme ask you something. If the archbishop of New Orleans showed up at the refinery, you think he coulda convinced them there was a problem?”
Daniel didn’t answer.
“But they didn’t send him, did they? So who’s to blame here? Why don’t you take a look in the mirror, Danny?”
“No, I-I called…I tried…”
“Yeah? Well, I called too.” Trinity glanced at the television. “Wasn’t enough. And your bosses apparently didn’t share your enthusiasm, or they’d have put some muscle behind it.” He pointed the bottle at Daniel. “You may not wear the collar, but long as you work for them, you’re carrying their water. So let’s cut the bullshit, boy. What does the Vatican really want from me?”
“They sent me here to discredit you. Debunk your tongues act.”
“But they knew the predictions were coming true. So what’s really going on? Eliminating the competition? What?”
Daniel brushed past his uncle and turned the television off. He sat down, braced his hands on his knees, and breathed slowly. “They don’t believe God is working through you. They don’t think it’s Satan, but they really don’t know.”
“Oh, give me a fucking tax break, Danny.
“Well, whatever it is, it’s not God.” Daniel nodded toward his uncle. “You’re not exactly a poster child for faith.”
Trinity sat on the sofa beside his nephew, spoke quietly. “That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said since you got here.” He put the bottle on the floor. “But you know what I think? I think the Church is worried that God
Daniel stood. “I’m not listening to this. The Vatican is
“Christ, son, everything’s a business. Thought I’d taught you at least that much.”
“And you are
Daniel walked out without another word, his hands balled into fists.
Daniel sat nursing a Guinness and picking absently at a Cobb salad. He didn’t feel hungry, but needed the nourishment, so he forced himself to eat. It was coming up on nine o’clock. The television screen above the bar displayed a live shot of what used to be the main refinery building, glowing like a man-made sunset in the Louisiana night.
Still burning, but now under control.
The opening graphics for
Daniel’s fork clattered to the floor.
“…and she has a shocking angle on this story that you are not going to want to miss.”
After a commercial break that felt like a year, Anderson Cooper gave a recap of the day’s events, voiced over a video package showing the inferno in full blaze and night shots of firefighters at work. No final figures yet, but at least one hundred dead. An interview clip of an oil company spokesman established that the fire was a freak accident, the likely culprit a faulty pressure detector that had misread an open valve as closed.
And then there was Julia, sitting right across from Cooper in the studio. She smiled, and something fluttered in Daniel’s chest.
Cooper thanked Julia for flying in to Atlanta for the show.
Daniel’s heart skipped another beat.
Cooper told viewers that Reverend Tim Trinity was a local television evangelist, originally from New Orleans. He showed a short clip from the
Cooper asked how Julia had learned of this phenomenon.
But Julia declined to reveal her source.
She cut to the chase, said that Trinity predicted the refinery explosion while speaking in tongues during his most recent Sunday sermon.
“Have we got the tape? OK, let’s roll it,” said Cooper.
Tim Trinity came on the screen. The video ran backwards, sped up by a third, and it looked like a clip from the old
“This is simply unbelievable,” said Cooper. He introduced CNN’s top video engineer, who came on by remote feed from the newsroom and authenticated the videotape. Cooper shook his head, astounded. “So, Julia, what do you make of this?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” she said. “I’ve only had time to go through a few of his broadcasts, but he seems to be making predictions about all sorts of things, from thunderstorms to horse races, and every one I’ve seen has been accurate.”
“You’re convinced this is real.”
“I’m not convinced of anything, Anderson. It could be the greatest hoax ever. Was Trinity tipped off to the outcomes ahead of time? Or has he somehow come into the ability to see the future? Or perhaps there’s a third explanation. We need to find out what’s going on here.”
To the camera, Cooper said, “For the record, we invited Reverend Trinity on the show to tell his side of the story, but his office said he could not be reached.” Then, back to Julia, “You know, people are going to think God is talking through this guy. You think that’s possible?”
“No.” Julia shifted in her chair, clearly troubled by the question.
“Look, I’m a reporter, not a theologian. I’m extremely skeptical of any supernatural explanation, and I’d caution against drawing any kind of metaphysical conclusions. We don’t know anything yet. We need to scrutinize and test his predictions, follow the story and see where it leads.”
“And apparently the story leads just north of Atlanta, to Highway 403?”
