Tunnel Vision by Gary Braver Read Free Book Online Page B

thinking how she, too, had a demon in her head—the sick certainty that she would never have her son back.
    After half an hour, she finished her coffee and walked to the elevators. Ahead of her were a middle-aged couple and their teenage daughter in a wheelchair. The girl appeared to be a victim of some neurological disorder. Her mouth hung open and her head moved loosely on her neck, and she made inarticulate sounds. Clutched in her fingers was a string of rosary beads.
    Maggie went to push the button to the seventh floor, but it was already lit.
    “Are you here to see Zachary?” the father asked.
    The question caught Maggie off guard. “Pardon me?” Zachary? No one called him that. And how did they know about her son?
    “Zachary Kashian. Are you going to him?”
    “Yes,” she said, wondering about his strange wording. He was about fifty and was dressed in brown pants, blue blazer, and plaid shirt buttoned to the top. She did not recognize him. “Do you know him?”
    The elevator door closed as they started to ascend. “We’re friends with Zachary in Jesus. We’re here to pray for him.”
    Before Maggie could respond, the woman looked at Maggie. “We’re bringing Agnes to him.”
    The man held out his hand. “I’m Burt Wickham, and this is my wife, Judy, and my daughter, Agnes. Are you here to be healed?”
    “I’m his mother, and I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    The man made a sheepish smile. “Oh well, we’ll pray for you too in your suffering. The Word of God penetrates where nothing else can go.”
    “Look, I don’t know your intention, but my son is in a coma in a private room and no visitors are allowed.”
    “But this is very important,” he said. “We’ve been praying for a sign like this for years.”
    “What sign?”
    The man looked at her in surprise. “How can you not know? God is speaking through your son, announcing to the world that he’s been chosen to do God’s healing.”
    “What are you talking about? My son’s in a coma.”
    “We know. We saw him.”
    “What do you mean you saw him?”
    Then the daughter muttered, “On YouTube.”
    The elevator door opened and they stepped into an empty foyer. “YouTube?”
    “He’s a chosen,” the wife said. “He’s got the power.”
    The mother produced a BlackBerry and held it up to Maggie. On the small screen was a brief and shaky video of Zack in bed muttering nonsense syllables. The moving banner beneath the image read: “God Speaks Through Coma Patient.”
    “He’s speaking the tongue of the Lord.”
    Maggie looked at the image, dumbfounded. Her first thought was Damian. He had shot the footage of Zack muttering nonsense syllables with his cell phone. How could he do that to Zack? Violate his privacy in his most vulnerable state?
    “God chose Zachary to work His miracles, which is why we’re here,” the wife said, and she looked toward her daughter in the wheelchair.
    “I’m sorry for your daughter, but you cannot visit my son. He’s in a private room, and no one but family are allowed. Is that clear?” She ran down the hall to the nurses’ station to ask for security, but the station was empty. Then she heard a commotion down the cross-corridor. Her heart nearly stopped. Outside of Zack’s room was a small crowd of people arguing with Nurse Beth Howard, two other nurses, and a resident physician, all trying to keep people from pushing inside.
    “What is going on?” Maggie said to Beth. “Call security.”
    “We did.”
    Maggie pushed her way inside the room, where maybe a dozen people were pressed around Zack’s bed—elderly, young, old, white, brown. A small woman with Down syndrome was pawing at Zack’s arm as a camera flash went off. Through the bodies, she could see with relief that Zack was still breathing and that the monitors still registered his vital signs. But his blanket was covered with rosary beads, prayer cards, religious trinkets, statues, and photographs. And around him were