You Only Die Twice - By Christopher Smith Page 0,13
husband, who took them to Kenneth and asked for an explanation.
“Do you disagree with what I wrote?” Kenneth asked his father.
“I disagree with the language you used.”
“Then I’ll need to pray for you,” Kenneth said. “Because if you don’t see what I see in those magazines, you never had any right to be a preacher in the first place. You were a sham. You obviously only did it for the money and for the glory of the pulpit. But you couldn’t even sustain that because He saw through you and allowed you to fail.”
On his eighteenth birthday, he joined a fringe anti-abortion group in Bangor and stood on street corners with massive photographs depicting either grisly late-term abortions or those that had gone horribly wrong in the early stages of pregnancy. He was instructed by the group’s leader to say nothing to those who heckled them as they drove by. They were just to lower their heads in prayer and have their peaceful display of free speech. That way, the police couldn’t touch them. When his father learned what his son was doing, Kenneth was asked to either change his ways or to leave the house and thus the family forever.
“You’ve got something wrong with you, boy. You need help.”
“Sorry, but I have nothing wrong with me. What I have is a point of view. Oh, and I also have Jesus. Remember Him? Is there something wrong with honoring Him?”
“There is where your interpretation of His beliefs are wrong.”
Kenneth cocked his head at his father. “So, you believe in abortions, then? And you believe in prostituting yourself for a magazine? And you believe that the whores in my former high schools should just be allowed to be whores with no correctional measures?”
“I never said that.”
“But you’re telling me to leave the house and never to return to it because I have strong beliefs against all of that. Isn’t that right?”
“I want to take you to a doctor, Kenneth.”
“I’ve been to a therapist.”
“A therapist isn’t a doctor. I want you to see a psychiatrist.”
“But I don’t believe in science.”
“I’m telling you that something is wrong with you.”
“What if I was to suggest that something is wrong with you?”
Before his father could answer, Kenneth lowered his head, clasped his hands and started to pray for him. By the end of the day, his father gave him five hundred dollars and asked Kenneth to leave.
Without emotion, Kenneth threw his clothes and other items into a bag, took his Bible, held it close to his chest, and met his father and mother at the door before he left. His mother’s eyes were red and damp, as if she had been crying for him when she should have spent her tears on herself and his father.
He looked sadly at them, as if he knew that when they died, they’d burn in hell. “’Whoever believes in the Son has eternal life,’” he said to them, quoting the Bible. “‘But whoever rejects the Son will not see life, for God’s wrath remains on him.’ This will be true for each of you. You must know that. You must know that the sinful mind is hostile to God. It’s in the Book. You two are hostile to God. You will pay with your souls for that. You’ll burn in hell for that.”
And Kenneth Berkowitz, whose mind already was gone, was now physically gone from their home as well as their lives.
* * *
Ahead of him, in the middle of the damp path, Kenneth could see the impression of a body on the bed of leaves and needles. He stopped beside it, got on his knees to smell the area, and in spite of the heady scent of earth and rotting foliage, he could smell her. He could detect a hint of her cheap perfume.
He stood up, looked around him and saw blood spattered on the forest floor. There were signs of a struggle. He looked to his right and saw footsteps leading into the woods. To his left, a few small trees were mashed to the ground, which is where Ted said he’d be hiding until he goaded her into action.
He was chasing her now. The hunt was underway. Ted said it wouldn’t be long before he reached her. Kenneth wanted to be there―needed to be there to witness the end of her―and so he crashed through the thick of woods to his right and started to rush through them. Covered by his heavy jacket, his forearms were