The Brandywine Prophet

1.6 Two Years Earlier: William Carmel Hears the Voice

Will awoke on the ground with a patch of pebbles as a pillow. He coughed dust. He pushed himself up. He was still clutching the yellow paper with the sketch of the theater.

He had to tell someone. Sarah was his confidant, the whispering box where he stored his secrets... but he couldn’t just drop it on her.

This was one of those hypothetical scenarios he dreamed up as a kid. What if you knew your mother was going to die; how would you convince your father you weren’t crazy? Or, What if you went back in time and found your younger self; how would you convince him who you are? Or, What if the voice of an angel told you to build an amphitheater; how would you explain it to your wife?

Sarah was a suspicious person... hell, he made her that way.

He could piss his pants. Cry? She rarely saw him cry. It made him sad to think he might need to manipulate his own wife so she could see the truth, but his word wouldn’t be enough.

What if she came to him and said “William, I’m hearing voices?” Would he believe her? Sarah had faith in God. She had faith in miracles. But if one presented itself to her--simply and honestly--would she believe it? Or would she push Will away like she did in the beginning?

A relationship with Sarah could only exist with full disclosure. Trust and honesty were the foundation of their marriage. If Will was caught in a lie, she would leave him for good.

But there would need to be theatrics... and it didn’t take him long to realize that he could only convince his wife of the truth if he pissed his pants and cried.

*  *  *

Sarah once slept through a tornado. It wasn’t actually a tornado, but in ’98, hurricane-force winds attacked West Michigan and ripped out the only tree in their front yard and sent it snapping and barreling right outside her window. The tree didn’t disturb her slumber, nor did William, trampling like fifty gorillas up the stairs. The sound melded with a dream but didn’t wake her until the bedroom door slammed open and she saw his dark form huffing and puffing like the big-bad wolf.

“You’ll wake Janie!” she said, then realized the strangeness of the situation. “Honey?”

William didn’t respond.

Sarah could almost taste the urine. Sitting up, she remembered she was still naked and wrapped a linen around her body. She turned on the lamp. William glowed orange. He was crying. His cheekbones--usually defined and masculine--were bloated. His crotch was dark.

“I heard a voice,” he said. “In the shed while I was working.”

“Sit down. What happened?”

“She told me to follow my dreams... I can’t sit. I’m wet.”

Sarah fished around the carpet for her underwear. “I’m calling the doctor.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Did you faint?”

“I fell asleep after.”

“After what?”

“The voice.”

“Take your pants off.”

He did.

“And your underwear.”

He did.

“I’m putting these in the wash and you’re gonna tell me why I’m not calling the hospital.”