The Footprints of God by Greg Iles Read Free Book Online Page A

commander of legions who spent much of his reign leading military campaigns in Germania. One of the few important events of his rule—seen through the lens of hindsight— was the execution of a Jewish peasant said to have claimed to be king of the Jews.
    "Was your father deeply religious?" Rachel asked, upon hearing about these new images.
    "No. He was ... he looked at the world in a more fundamental way."
    "What do you mean by that?"
    "It's not relevant."
    An exasperated sigh. "Your mother, then?"
    "She had faith in something greater than humanity, but she wasn't big on organized religion."
    "You had no religious indoctrination as a child?"
    "Sunday school for a couple of years. It didn't take."
    "What denomination?"
    "Methodist. It was the closest church to our house."
    "Did they show films about Jesus' life?"
    "It's possible. I don't remember."
    "You grew up in Oak Ridge, Tennessee, right? It's more probable than not. And of course we've all seen the grand biblical epics from the fifties. The Ten Commandments. Ben-Hur. Those things."
    "What are you saying?"
    "Only that the accoutrements of these hallucinations have been sitting in your subconscious for years. They're in all of us. But your dreams seem to be moving toward something. And that something may be Jesus of Nazareth."
    "Have you heard of dreams like this before?" I asked.
    "Of course. Many people dream of Jesus. Of personal interactions with him, receiving messages from him. But your dream progression has a certain logic to it, and a naturalistic tone rather than the wildness of obsessive fantasy. Also, you claim to be an atheist. Or at least agnostic. I'm very interested to see where this goes."
    I appreciated her interest, but I was tired of waiting for answers. "But what do you think it means?"
    She pursed her lips, then shook her head. "I'm no longer convinced that this has to do with the loss of your wife and daughter. But the truth is, I simply don't know enough about your life to make an informed evaluation."
    We were at a stalemate. I still didn't believe that my past had anything to do with my dreams. Yet as the days passed, the scarred strips of film in my head began to clear, and certain dream characters to reappear. The faces I saw became familiar, like friends. Then more familiar than friends. A feeling was growing in me that I remembered these faces, and not merely from previous dreams. I described them for Rachel as accurately as I could.
    I’m sitting in the midst of a circle, rapt bearded faces watching me. I know I'm speaking, because they're obviously listening to me, yet I can't hear my own words.
    I see a woman's face, angelic yet common, and a pair of eyes I know like those of my mother. They don't belong to my mother, though, not the mother who raised me in Oak Ridge. Yet they watch me with pure love. A bearded man stands behind her, watching me with a father's pride. But my father was clean shaven all his life. . . .
    I see donkeys . . . a date palm. Naked children. A brown river. I feel the cold, jarring shock of immersion, the beat of my feet on sand. I see a young girl, beautiful and dark-haired, leaning toward my face for a kiss, then blushing and running away. I'm walking among adults. Their faces say, This child is not like other children. A wild-eyed man stands waist deep in water, a line of men and women awaiting their turn to be submerged, while others come up from the water coughing and sputtering, their eyes wide.
    Sometimes the dreams had no logic, but were only disjointed fragments. When logic finally returned, it frightened me.
    I'm sitting beside the bed of a small boy. He can't move. His eyes are closed. He's been paralyzed for two days. His mother and aunt sit with me. They bring food, cool water, oil to anoint the boy. I speak softly in his ear. I tell the women to hold his hands. Then I lean down and speak his name. His eyes squeeze tight, expressing mucus. Then they open and light up with recognition of his mother. His