Stonecypher’s Miracle

The Right Reverend Frederick Stonecypher barged through the office door and stood looming over the desk. He was a stout man dressed in a tailored suit and silk tie. Pinned to the lapel of his long woolen coat was a gold crucifix. The redhead sitting behind the desk smiled at the interloper and motioned for him to take a seat. “How may I help you?”

Stonecypher declined the offer. “I’m here to see the necromancer about a matter of some importance,” he nodded toward the door to the back room. “Please tell Mr. Jones that Reverend Stonecypher would like to hire him.”

“He already knows that much,” replied the young man as he tossed back a lock of hair. He leaned back in his chair and placed his rather high-priced brogues on the desk. “Please have a seat.”

Stonecypher ignored the younger man’s request. “I demand to speak to Mr. Jones.”

Cornwall swiveled his feet free of the desk and stood up. His lanky frame towered over Stonecypher. He bent over the desk. “Then sit down.”

“There isn’t time for me to sit. I’m a busy man. This matter is of the highest priority.” Stonecypher marched past the desk and opened the door beside it. The dimly lit room was unoccupied. Light filtering through the partially closed blinds shone on a circle of chairs and a single candle stand located in the center of a circular rug emblazoned with Celtic runes. Realizing his mistake, the Reverend returned to the desk and took a seat. “Please accept my humble apologies for assuming you were the secretary.”

Cornwall Jones smiled. He nodded while his office visitor droned on about his wealth and importance. It was always the wealthy who, upon realizing that death was generally a permanent condition, sought out his services. And it was always their family members who later sought him out to end their suffering. As insufferable as his clients were in life, they were far worse in death. Eventually, Stonecypher arrived at the gist of his desire. “I want you to help me with a miracle.”

There was something about Frederick Stonecypher that rubbed Cornwall the wrong way. Perhaps it was the polished manner of the man’s speech in relating his case or it may have been the use of phrases Cornwall had often heard from earlier clients. Either way, he needed time to think about it. “I’ll take it under consideration. I need to determine if it is feasible. Please, leave a phone number where you can be reached and I’ll get back to you sometime tomorrow.”

Stonecypher drew a business card from his wallet and jotted down a number. “That’s my personal number. Only certain people, like my lawyer, have access. Please don’t lose the card.”

Cornwall gave a nod and shook the man’s hand while he ushered him out the door to his office. “I should have just said no,” he muttered as he sat down. A sigh echoed from a dark corner. He opened his laptop and examined Stonecypher’s business card. The gold embossed card revealed very little about the man who gave it to him. He hoped that an internet search would confirm the information that Stonecypher had just related to him.

The Right Reverend Frederick Stonecypher was a televangelist. His ratings had fallen and his flock had diminished in an age of increasing atheism. He wanted to save souls by arranging a miracle. Cornwall dug deeper into Stonecypher’s finances. The preacher had amassed a considerable fortune during the past fifty years on the pulpit. Stonecypher had been a faith healer early in his career as he traveled the circuit coming just at the tail end of a traveling circus. They billed themselves as “saviors of souls, healers of minds and bodies, and messengers of the Almighty”.

Inclement weather forced the traveling shows to detour off their regular circuit. Finding a town without a preacher, the Stonecypher family decided to settle in while the circus moved on without them. Eventually, the family collected enough money to build a proper church. And soon after young Frederick married a local girl. Radio helped Frederick’s father expand his flock, drawing people to his church from the nearby towns. They built a larger church to hold the faithful.

When cable television came to their town, Frederick became the face of the church. Young adults bored with traditional sermons found a home in his fire and brimstone calls to fight in God’s Army against the temptations of the flesh. Frederick, giving in to his own temptations, divorced his first wife for a younger woman who he had impregnated. He forced his first wife to give up custody of their children in exchange for a small monthly alimony payment. He sent his two girls off to boarding school as soon as they were old enough. He divorced his second wife after discovering that she had skimmed off money from the ministry. She disappeared soon after the divorce. He hired a private tutor for his son and frequently used the boy as a prop during sermons. When a female televangelist challenged him for his territory, he proposed a merger of the ministries and a marriage of convenience. He forced his third wife out of the ministry and their marriage when her sexual orientation became public.

In addition to the man’s carnal sins, Reverend Stonecypher had bought a large plot of land on which he had built a large mansion. He also acquired several custom luxury vehicles, a helicopter, a small plane, an oceangoing yacht, and several racehorses. He sent all of his children to faith-based colleges and universities and purchased houses for each of his children as wedding presents. He also had purchased condos for his mistresses, one in Los Angeles and one in New York. Despite his successes, he still pled poverty when it came to paying bills or taxes. The man had come blustering in to Cornwall Jones’ office to acquire his services with no intention of paying what they were worth and even less idea of the true cost. Cornwall hated working for men like Stonecypher. It never ended well. Nevertheless, Cornwall was intrigued enough to want to know more about Stonecypher’s miracle. He placed a call and set up an early morning meeting to discuss the terms of the contract. What he didn’t tell Stonecypher was that he didn’t yet know the terms of the contract. That required a very special conversation with his contact on the other side.

•••

“What kind of miracle did you have in mind? I generally just raise a spirit or two to answer questions.” Cornwall fidgeted with the handle of the teacup sitting on the table in front of him. “Surely you don’t want my help to call forth a spirit. I’ve seen your act.”

“I want to be resurrected, live on television, in front of the faithful,” Stonecypher’s eyes lit up at the thought of it. He raised his hands in a sweeping motion upward, “It should put my ratings through the roof.” He lowered his hands and leaned in. “This is something that you can do, is it not?”

“But you aren’t dead, in which case, you don’t’ need my services.”

“Oh, but I will be dead. Certifiably so, in fact. Lying in repose on the altar of my church for the faithful to see. And then I want you to bring me back.” He smiled. “I’ve heard that you can do that.”

“I don’t think your parishioners would appreciate watching me perform the ritual on live television.”

“Surely, you don’t have to be there. Can’t you do it remotely?”

“That’ll cost extra. What you are asking is both very expensive and extremely dangerous.”

“I’m a rich man. I can afford...”

Cornwall interrupted. “I don’t think you understand. It’s not the money aspect so much as the other cost.”

“What other cost?”

“Borrowing a soul is one thing. They know that I will return the soul. But a resurrection is essentially buying a soul, and the cost,” Cornwall sighed. “It’s a life for a life.” Cornwall leaned over the desk, “To bring someone back, someone has to die.”

“Nonsense!” Stonecypher slammed his palm down on the desktop. “You just have to use the right potion that’s all.”

“If it were that simple, everyone would be doing it. There is a required ritual, a bargain made, and a life sacrificed. There are no shortcuts.” Cornwall leaned back in his chair. “And monetary payment is required in advance.”

Stonecypher huffed. “Half now, half later. I need assurance that you’ll bring me back.”

•••

Fate, cruel mistress that she is, had other plans for Frederick Stonecypher. Before the commencement of his deceitful plan, his only son died in a freak accident. The elder Stonecypher saw this as an opportunity rather than a tragedy. He no longer had to orchestrate his own demise at a considerable savings to his miracle budget. The funeral arrangements that he had made for himself would suffice for his son. All he needed to do was inform the necromancer of the change.

“It’ll cost a little extra for the changes. Unless you want to settle for the reanimation of your son’s charred remains, that is.” Cornwall slammed the phone receiver down. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “They are not going to like this.”

“Oh, but we do,” a wispy apparition contradicted from the dark corner of the room.

Stonecypher had made the necromancer promise to watch the funeral service to guarantee that there would be no miscue. He had stressed the importance of the timing. He wanted full credit for the miraculous resurrection of his son. All Cornwall had done was broker the deal. Those responsible for such acts would make sure they kept the bargain according to their rules. Cornwall had tried to warn Stonecypher that any change in terms on his part invalidated the original agreement. At this point, Cornwall had no idea what would happen.

Cornwall’s feet were up on his desk as he watched the somber funeral service. Stonecypher had built a magnificent cathedral for the faithful. As it was every Sunday, the faithful had filled the seats. The camera panned over the theatre seats from the back before focusing on the stage. An image flickered to life on a large screen.

The scene cut sharply away to a smaller venue. For Stonecypher’s miracle, he had gone home – back to the church he had grown up in. The faithful crowded around the small church where two large screens displayed the broadcast of Stonecypher’s impending miracle. Inside, mourners packed the wooden pews. At the center of the stage a gold encrusted casket stood upright against the altar. The open casket contained the burnt remains of Frederick Stonecypher III, who had somehow managed to set himself on fire lighting a backyard grill. The badly burned young man was in worse condition than his father had let on. Even on the small seventeen-inch screen, it was possible to see the charring on his jaw. Cornwall wondered what else the man had misinformed him about.

Somber music played as the reverend made his appearance. Cornwall reached over and raised the volume on the laptop. He grabbed a takeout container and a fork before settling back into his chair. He was only half-listening when Stonecypher began his eulogy. “Brothers and Sisters,” Stonecypher bellowed into the camera, “we are here today not to mourn the passing of a good and faithful man of the church...” He paused waiting for his echoing words to fade. “Not to mourn the passing of a loving son and brother...” Another dramatic pause. “But to witness a miracle!” An audible gasp emerged from the crowd present in the old church. “I have consulted with the Almighty. I have begged for a miracle – just once – to raise a man from the dead who is worthy of another chance at life.”

Cornwall stifled a laugh. “Here it comes,” he sat up in his chair.

The old man continued, “And the Almighty has seen fit to grant me this one miracle – to bring my son back to us so that he might continue my good work helping the poor of spirit, the sick of soul, the homeless to find shelter in the church. I was instructed in a dream by the Almighty on how to perform this miracle.” He reached into his pocket to clasp the photograph of the one man he hated most – his chosen victim in the devil’s bargain that he believed he had made. “Let us pray.”

Cornwall checked the clock while the congregation recited the Lord’s Prayer. “Come on, old man, get on with it.”

“Now is the hour, the time of miracles,” Stonecypher placed the hand containing the photograph on the corpse’s chest, “rise, my son, by the grace of the Almighty, come back to life!” There was a bright flash of light at the moment the photo touched the burnt flesh followed by a loud crackling noise as the photo caught fire. Flames quickly engulfed the corpse and the old man’s sleeve. Stonecypher, horrified, backed away from the flaming corpse and fell back against the dais, toppling it over. The carpet runner caught fire where he landed. As he waved his arm about wildly, burning fragments of cloth scattered about the front pews. Congregants who sat in the front pews screamed in panic as their clothes caught fire. Shouts of “fire”, “run”, and “out of my way” echoed off the walls of the little church. Frightened congregants ran for the exits, clogging the doorways and trapping themselves inside as the fire spread. Huge billows of smoke obscured the camera’s view.

Cornwall closed the browser window after the signal terminated and shook his head. “I warned him. He didn’t listen.”

“They never do,” hissed the wispy apparition.