Elisha’s Bones

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Book: Read Elisha’s Bones for Free Online
Authors: Don Hoesel
Tags: Ebook, book
it up? And why? Besides, there’s no biblical precedent for hiding a miraculous event. Quite the contrary, in fact. Anything even remotely supernatural was documented with great care.”
    Gordon leans back, but not enough to signify disengagement.
    “One of the interesting things about the story—the thing that sets it apart from many others in the Bible—is that there were so few witnesses. This was not Elijah on Mount Carmel, or the Ark of the Covenant smiting the Philistines with boils. This was a small group of men, alone in a cemetery. A much easier event to keep quiet.”
    “Except that they didn’t keep it quiet. It’s right there in black and white.”
    “Only to the extent that the Roswell crash is recorded in underground journals, or in the fashion that people whisper about the mysterious circumstances surrounding the death of Marilyn Monroe. No, Jack, it looks to me as if the writers of this section of the Scriptures—and remember, this was likely penned by a group of scholars during the Assyrian captivity— chose to treat this as legend, since they could not force it out of collective lore.”
    A part of my brain is now charting my exit from this place, and the prospect of a disappointing flight home. Yet another part—the purely academic—wants to discuss the theory, especially with one of the world’s richest men. At least then, when I’m back at Evanston and telling the story to Duckey, I can share with him that I sat in Gordon Reese’s drawing room and debated theoretical antiquities.
    Before I can say anything, Gordon grips the armrest and pulls himself to his feet. As he struggles to get himself upright, I have a fear that he might fall over. But he regains his balance before I can react.
    “It’s a comfortable couch,” he explains, “but if I sit too long, I can’t get up.” He takes slow and measured steps to the fireplace and removes the poker from its stand. With his back to me, he slides the mesh curtain aside and prods the spent logs with the implement until there’s a cavity in the center and the flames find fresh purchase. The task done, he returns the poker to its stand but does not turn around.
    “You didn’t ask me to come here just because of two Bible verses,” I say. Now that I think about it, it makes sense that a man like Gordon would have done his research before initiating this sort of project. He knows something, and this piques my interest.
    “I’ve spent a good many years in this pursuit. It’s only been recently, however, that my search has taken on a heightened sense of urgency.” He places a hand on the mantel and turns so that he can see me. I realize, then, that I’m looking at a man who is not just ill. He’s dying.
    His eyes, though, are alive with flame—with purpose.
    “You’d be surprised at what I’ve discovered, Jack.”
    I would have to be a fool not to realize why he’s so interested in the remnants of a dead prophet. His own mortality is catching up with him and, like all men, he is searching for something to save him from his fate.
    “Even if the bones are real,” I say after a long pause, “and that’s a big if —what makes you think they possess any kind of power?”
    “Because the power of God does not fade over time, Dr. Hawthorne,” he says, absolute certainty in his voice. “The bones are as alive with healing energy today as they were the day the Israelites tossed their friend’s carcass on them.”
    It is a claim I cannot argue. How does one contest against another man’s blind faith?

C HAPTER 4
    I wake up with sweat on my face and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I hate planes. I’ve always thought I have some inner-ear thing that brings me just south of ill on anything prone to unexpected movements. Planes, roller coasters, and big-city taxis all produce the feeling.
    I look out the window but all I see is the thick cloud cover separating me from terra firma. My watch tells me it will be another hour before

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