Chapter
Three
CHURCH AND STATE
Days passed and Archie seemed to warm a bit to Warden, becoming less of the soulless joke machine that he was among his friends in the JLA.
No one met at Justice League Headquarters anymore. Meetings were now informal and secret. It was clear from what little Warden could see that the strain on the adults was increasing. It was now a dark, shuddery foreboding that had infected even people like The Joker. All of this had to do with things that the JLA had told Warden shortly after they’d first met him. Their story--which involved President Eisenhower and something called Legion and an American government that could no longer be trusted--was scary, confusing and didn’t make much sense, but the adults all certainly took it very seriously.
Now things were deteriorating even more. Something very, very bad had happened in Germany and the Justice League was being blamed for it. Even worse, though, was something called “The Keene Act,” which the members of the JLA spoke of with a bravado that masked varying mixtures of contempt and despair. Warden could see through that bravado, though. After a meeting one night, Archie asked Warden how he thought the JLA was holding up and Warden shared his insight with him.
“Nice catch, “ Archie said, looking a little surprised. He then asked if Warden had used his powers in some way to pick up on it.
Warden shook his head sheepishly. He told Archie that he’d just watched them closely. This was all he needed to figure it out.
Archie nodded. “No super power beats being observant.” He looked down at Warden and smiled. “You’ve got a lot on the ball, kid.”
**********
“Praise God! Praise God!”
The Reverend Nehemiah Scutter smiled as he heard the calls of the good Christian men and women who understood the unexpurgated word of God. After every successful radio broadcast (and they were all successful), he returned to his church and they were always amassed there at its doors to greet him.
They were his energy, he often thought. And their numbers seemed to grow every week. The truth was spreading and touching the heart of every man.
After all the years of being a lonely cry in the wilderness, the only voice warning the world of the freakish Satanic menace that so many others called saviors: The false prophets--the hubris-filled mortals who play-acted as Gods and seduced man’s heart from the one true Lord. But now at last, at long last, the world was listening. The scales were falling from mankind’s eyes.
Yet the Reverend Scutter’s work was far from complete.
He walked up the stone steps and his aide opened the ornate wooden doors to the church. Scutter turned to face the crowd and waved one last time.
Good people with good hearts. They knew the truth. They were his energy, as their presence and their ovations were merely products of their minds and souls resonating in perfect harmony with the one true faith and the rightness of Scutter’s cause.
God’s cause. They were one in the same. If he ever had any doubts, those were banished weeks ago when the Lord was generous and rewarded Scutter’s fealty with miracles and wonders; the Lord softening the President’s heart to Scutter’s words being only the least of them.
By far.
Scutter’s aide closed the massive doors. The sound echoed through the high marble ceilings of the church. “Another wonderful sermon today, Dr. Scutter,” the aide remarked as Scutter walked to the altar.
Scutter stared at the altar. “God’s words, Brother Samuel. We are merely His instruments in this fallen world. God gives us all tasks we must perform.”
“Few are as eloquent, doctor.”
“Few have tasks as important mine.” Scutter knelt before the cross and brought his palms together. “Leave me.”
“Of course.” The aide nodded and walked to the office door at the back of the church. The echo of another closing door soon sounded, signaling that Scutter was alone.
Scutter closed his eyes and squeezed his hands together tightly.
A great task.
Even as a child, Scutter had believed that God put work in everyone’s life that must be done, errands that people had no choice but to carry out, as they were all but mere cogs in the grand design. Everyone had a purpose; sometimes it was hidden, sometimes it was not. Scutter had only hoped that the task The Lord eventually set in his path be both difficult and important.
This was not pride, Scutter thought; merely a manifestation of his desire to be the best servant he possibly could be to his Creator.
God understood. Of that he was sure.
Even with his eyes closed, Scutter could see the light start to pour in from above. He opened his eyes and looked up, unblinking, into the blinding white radiance that boiled out of the church’s ceiling.
As before, Scutter could only make out the rough outline of the Angel Of The Lord against the heavenly light. A golden halo surrounded the Angel’s head, while large wings swept the air as it hovered near the ceiling, long silver robes hanging down.
The light hurt Scutter’s eyes, but he did not look away. How could it really be hurting him? It was the light of Truth! There could be no danger, no pain, in that for someone such as Scutter. He was merely unused to its purity, too used to peering through the miasma of sin that suffused the atmosphere of this fallen world like thick mucus.
“The Lord Thy God is well pleased, humble servant,” the Angel said. Its voice was low and whispery, so deep it seemed to vibrate the foundations of the building itself, yet still holding an androgynous lilt to the words.
“Praise God!’ Scutter hollered.
“The path before you will now become more difficult, loyal child.”
“I am ready.”
“The time has come to make war on the unbelievers and the heretics. Your words and the love of God have driven the legions of Hell from their warrens and out into the open, revealing them in all their decadence and evil.”
“I have seen their vileness!”
“I know you have,” the Angel said, sounding slightly amused. The Angel’s voice then became earnest again. “The battle must be joined. The evil must be faced and Christ’s true dominance demonstrated. Cleansing fire must be applied to this cancer in the spirit of mankind.”
“Praise God! Praise Him!”
“You are to be The Lord’s sword,” the Angel said.
A clear, crystal box appeared out of the glare of the Angel’s brilliant splendor and descended. Scutter watched with wonder as it levitated before him. The top of the box was open and a dark object rested inside.
“Take the Hammer of God,” the Angel commanded.
Nehemiah Scutter reached into the box and almost fearfully touched the ancient metal shaft. He carefully lifted it out of the box and regarded it in awe, as the crystal box rose back toward the Angel. The hammer was heavy, but seemed to grow lighter with every passing second. He could feel the holy fire housed within its spiked head. Indeed, to be completely accurate, this weapon wasn’t really a hammer.
It was a mace.
“The hammer’s holiness will give you strength and fuel your righteousness. Open your mind and spirit to its magnificence and your path will become clear. Farewell.”
Yes. Scutter could feel the raw power now coursing through his veins and surging through his muscles, suffusing his body and mind with holy strength. He felt young, virile; truly The Chosen of God. But more than that, he was transfigured into the living embodiment of The Word. The old Word. A spirit of righteous anger.
And eternal judgment.
Scutter’s senses were alive and clearer than they had ever been. He could feel sin. It reached all around the sanctuary of his Church, but now he was strong enough to pound it into submission and rip the life from its dark minions, sending them onward to face the full fury of God’s wraith.
His body feeling almost electric with possibilities, Scutter’s pure, clear blue eyes looked up as the Angel ascended into Heaven above, and for an instant--only the briefest instant--as the Angel passed through the ceiling, Scutter thought he glimpsed the Angel’s wings and robe dissolve into a purple cloak and the Angel’s halo become an opaque, glass orb where his head should have been.
No matter. A trick of the eye, no more. While the Devil could quote scripture, he could not speak the total and unfiltered Truth that the Angel had. Every word and sentiment the Angel had ever said completely corresponded to what Scutter knew to be the true nature of God and the world. And now the Angel had bequeathed him this awesome gift. Its purity made Scutter’s heart ache.
Indeed, as Scutter held the hammer in his fervently praying hands, the Voice Of God itself began to whisper to him through it.
It told him many wonderful things.
**********
Quentin Beck lifted the clear plastic case out of the hole in the Church’s roof and detached the invisibly thin cable from the hidden latch on its side. He spooled the cable into a compartment on his belt and replaced the section of the roof he’d cut free earlier. He then started to disconnect the holographic projector array from its mounting over the now covered opening.
Beck, perhaps better known as Mysterio, never thought he would care for being a civil servant, but government work was really starting to get interesting.
Chapter Four: “The Pursuit Of Happiness”
“…the best detective in the world can walk into a room and know more about what’s gone on inside it than a psi can.”