Page 1 of Dead Evil (Cold Case Psychic #37)

Seventeen-year-old Tennyson Grimm was bored off his gourd.

His parents had promised they’d have lots of fun during their long awaited trip to Kansas City, but he should have known how wildly his idea of fun varied from his parents’ version.

He’d hoped they would catch a Chief’s training camp practice.

Visit the Kansas City Zoo to see the gorillas.

Tour Union Station, which was a revamped train terminal, with restaurants, attractions and more fun than Ten ever had in his life.

Unfortunately, he was plopped in the center of the twenty-fourth row at the King of Deliverance megachurch rally, while the rabid congregants raised their hands in praise and shouted “Amen” at nearly every word out of the pastor’s mouth.

Held outdoors in a large white tent, Ten felt like he was about to pass out from heat stroke.

With the mercury hovering somewhere north of ninety degrees, and humidity soaking every inch of his body from his blue button down and tan pants, all the way to his toes, ensconced in his Sunday best dress shoes, he was miserable.

With all the fire and brimstone preached over the last few days in regard to homosexuality, sexual relations, both solo and with a partner, the occult, and immigrants, Ten couldn’t help feeling his future was hopeless.

Being a gay psychic with a predilection for jacking off in the shower, and having a massive crush on the handsome Italian boy sitting one row ahead of him, Ten’s eternal soul was doomed.

Double or possibly even triple doomed, if such a thing existed.

It was day three of Ten’s Hell on Earth tour.

With two days to go, Ten wondered if he could fake a summer cold or Ebola, something equally as virulent that would allow him to stay alone in the blessed cool of their air conditioned hotel room along with two hundred satellite cable channels, most of which he’d never heard of.

All of which he wanted to watch until his brain rotted and sloshed out through his nose.

A quick jab to the ribs courtesy of his mother’s bony elbow brought Ten back to the present. She shot him an angry look, one which said if he didn’t straighten up and fly right, the consequences would be even less fun than the thousand degree revival tent.

Sitting up straighter, Ten tuned into what Pastor Levi Shackleton was preaching, “We will rise against our enemies!”

“Amen!” the congregation chorused with fervor.

“We will defeat our enemies!” Shackleton slammed a fist down on his pulpit.

“Amen!”

“An army whose sword is Jesus Christ is invincible! All evil will fall against our blade. Homosexuals will burn!”

“Burn! Burn!” Congregants around Tennyson shouted in response to the raging pastor.

“Are there any homosexuals here?” Pastor Shackleton shouted. “Come forward and be washed clean of sin! This is your one opportunity to avoid hell fire and eternal damnation.”

One man, a few rows forward from Tennyson, raised his hand and stood up. He looked to be in his early twenties and wore khaki pants and a blue polo shirt. He moved through his pew and stood in the aisle.

A group of men, dressed all in black, who’d been sitting near the altar broke toward the man, who instantly seemed to sense the danger he was in. Turning toward the entrance to the tent, he tried to backpedal, but was stopped by men in the crowd who’d been sitting behind the Grimm family.

“Bring him to me!” Shackleton shouted.

Ten watched, gobsmacked, as the men in black escorted the now unwilling volunteer toward the front.

The black-clad church members surrounded him like he was a serial killer being taken into custody by the FBI.

He didn’t know what was going to happen next, which scared him even more.

Ten’s fear overwhelmed his gift. He was not only frightened for the gay man, but for himself as well.

None of the people sitting with the volunteer tried to stop security from taking him.

Ten knew his parents would stand by and let him be dragged toward certain doom.

Every instinct in his body screamed at him to run, but Ten knew his safety depended on his ability to stay quiet and blend in, just like an elk fawn hiding from a hungry grizzly bear.

Like the fawn, Ten had never been more scared in his life.

“What’s your name?” Shackleton asked when the man was pushed on stage.

“Greg Tompkins.”

“I’m going to offer you the most incredible gift. All you have to do is reach out and take it. How does that sound, Greg?” Shackleton played to the crowd, but Ten could see the malice burning in his eyes. “I’m going to save your eternal soul today! What do you think of that?”

“H-How?” Greg asked. His entire body shook. “I’ve tried everything and I’m still attracted to men.” He sounded desperate. “My parents kicked me out of the house. My entire family turned their backs on me. I don’t know how to make it all stop.”

“Do you believe in miracles, Greg?” Shackleton asked.

“I do,” Greg’s voice trembled as he answered.

“We have a very special guest with us today. A man who is renowned the world over for his ability to cast demons out of people. Ladies, and gentlemen, it’s my great honor to introduce Duke Barrymore!”

The crowd erupted as Duke stood and turned to face the audience. People chanted his name. Hands were raised toward the sky in praise.

Ten watched as his parents stood and cheered for this alleged demon hunter.

Over the course of the last five years, he’d looked into every way known to man to cure himself of being gay.

Did Ten have a demon? Is that why he couldn’t pray the gay away?

Was it possible that this man could save him from eternal damnation?

“Who is this guy?” Ten asked his mother.

“He’s a miracle worker,” Kaye said. “One of Jesus’s modern day apostles. He cures people by casting out their demons. Pay close attention, Tennyson. You’re about to see a miracle take place right in front of your eyes.”

“Are you ready to change your life?” Duke asked, his attention on the crowd.

“Yes,” Greg half-whispered.

“Maybe you’re hesitant because you like living in sin! Or is it that you don’t believe in the healing power of our Lord and savior?” Duke shouted.

“Duke! Duke!” the crowd chanted, bringing up not only the decibel level, but the energy of the group as well.

Ten couldn’t help but feel swept up by the enthusiasm of the crowd.

He called out Duke’s name in harmony with his parents.

As he did so, Ten felt his own battered faith rise inside his heart.

Kaye always preached that everything happened for a reason.

Maybe Duke Barrymore was the reason he was here today.

If this man could cast the demon out of the terrified man on the stage, maybe he could do the same for Tennyson.

It was almost too much to hope for. He’d finally be able to live a normal life like everyone around him.

When the chanting reached a fevered pitch, Duke held his hands up to signal silence. The crowd responded instantly. “Are you ready to change your life, Greg?”

“YES!” Greg shouted back.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Duke began, a hand over his heart, “what you are about to witness may not be suitable for children or those with weak nerves. If you feel that you cannot handle the glorious power of Jesus Christ, this is your opportunity to leave the tent.”

No one moved. Ten didn’t think anyone breathed. As scared as he was of Preacher Shackleton, he was equally in awe of Duke Barrymore. At this moment, he wouldn’t leave the tent if it was on fire and had a feeling the congregants sitting around him wouldn’t either.

Duke raised both hands to the sky. “I call upon you, Jesus Christ. King of Kings. Lord of Lords. Grant me the power to heal Brother Greg! Allow me to absolve him of his sins! Use my body as your lightning rod! In your all powerful and exalted name, I pray!” Setting a hand on Greg’s shoulder, Duke began to speak, but his words were unintelligible.

Ten could barely hear his voice over the buzz in the crowd.

“In the name of Jesus, I banish thee, demon! I revoke any hexes and curses you’ve cast upon our brother!

No longer will your black aura cause this man to sin!

No longer will he lay with men! I beg for your protection, Jesus!

Wrap your loving arms around this man and welcome him into the kingdom of heaven!

In the name of the Holy Spirit, I cast you back to the fiery pits of Hell from whence you came! ”

As Duke shouted, the crowd grew louder and louder, urging the demon to flee, praising God’s holy name. Ten’s entire body buzzed with energy. He began to pray, asking God to banish his own demon, begging for His divine light to fill Ten’s soul and wash him clean.

Greg’s body jerked, as if someone had grabbed him from behind.

He began spewing nonsensical words, which Ten assumed was the demon was fighting against the power of God.

The voices stopped and Greg collapsed in a heap.

His entire body shook, as if he were being electrocuted.

After several moments, he lay still. The tent was dead silent.

Everyone waited to see if the battle had been won.

“What happened?” Greg asked, sitting up slowly, reminding Ten of Frankenstein’s monster as it came to life.

Duke offered his hand and helped Greg back to his feet. “How do you feel?”

Greg stared at his hands, which no longer shook. “Free! I feel free!” He ran off the stage and grabbed a young woman who’d been sitting in the first row. Pulling her to her feet, Greg kissed her. “I’m cured!”

“He’s cured!” Duke echoed. “God is love! God is power! Your demon has been banished! Go in peace, brother!”

The crowd erupted as Greg took the woman’s hand and led her out of the tent. People began to pray, asking Jesus to cast out their own demons. Ten wanted to add his voice to the faithful, praising God for the miracle they’d witnessed, but he couldn’t.

The miracle he’d witnessed seemed theatrical.

Choreographed. Like something in a movie that had been rehearsed until every detail was down pat.

There’s no way a woman who hadn’t even been introduced to Greg would allow him to kiss her and carry her away.

Duke Barrymore would undoubtedly call Tennyson’s cynicism an act of Satan, whose only passion was to sew evil into the hearts of believers.

Ten didn’t feel evil. He didn’t feel cleansed. Or forgiven. He thought this revelation would shatter him into a million pieces or would drive him to despair, but unbelievably, he felt whole. There was no demon residing in Tennyson’s body or soul. He’d stake his life on it.

God made Tennyson in his own perfect image. If God deemed him perfect, who was Ten to mess with divine perfection?