The Regime: Evil Advances by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins Page B

fight. I’m here, aren’t I?”
    “Sure, but for how long? And for how long will this salve your conscience? It’ll probably be another month or more before I see you again.”
    “I am flying a lot—and a lot farther—these days. I thought that would make you proud.”
    “Proud of a son who is gone too much to see his mother? What about your own family? You see them much either?”
    “Of course.”
    “I’ll bet you don’t. I’ll bet you’re off doing your own thing when you are home.”
    Rayford shot Irene a glance, and she felt accused of talking out of school. She shook her head.
    “Why don’t you go see Dad?” Rayford said. “I’d better stay here awhile.”
    “Yes, you had better,” his mother said. “You owe me.”
    “I know. I owe you a lot, Mom.”
    “Now you’re patronizing me.”
    “I can’t win.”
    Today an aide approached Irene in the hall. “You coming to see Mr. Steele?”
    “Yes. Is he all right?”
    “He’s been asking for you.”

    “For me, personally?”
    “By name, ma’am.”
    Irene hurried. She found Mr. Steele watching for her, a serious sense of purpose in his eyes. “Hi, Dad,” she said, pulling a chair next to his bed. But he reached for her and took her hand in both of his, pulling her close.
    She stood and leaned awkwardly over him as he talked softly, earnestly, his face close to hers. Irene fought to ignore his bad breath. He jumped into the middle of a conversation as if they had never left it.
    “Irene,” he said, “I think I know why I’ve felt so empty.”
    “You do?”
    “I thought for a long time that it was because my son wouldn’t take over my business.”
    “He wanted his own career, Dad.”
    “I know. He’s a pilot now. And that’s good. Not a lot of people can do that. But the way he turned me down. So mean. I don’t know what I did to make him hate me so.”
    “He doesn’t hate you, Dad! He really doesn’t. He loves you.”
    “Well, maybe. But it’s all right. I think I got over that. I’m proud of him, so I must be over it; don’t you think?”
    “Sounds like it.”
    “So I had to figure what else made me feel so empty, and I think you were right. I don’t think I ever got the God thing right.”
    “The God thing?”
    “It was never personal for me. It was just something

    I did. Something I was raised in, felt comfortable with. But it never really meant anything to me. There had to be more. I mean, if there’s really a God, there has to be more.”
    “He loves you.”
    “I know. You told me that. And it keeps coming back to me. Every so often when I can concentrate, that echoes in my mind and I don’t know what to make of it. Jesus died for the sins of the world, but does that make me a sinner? I’ve never been perfect, Lord knows. But I never felt like a sinner before either. Maybe I do now.”
    “Do you?”
    “Well, sure. I must be. Everybody must be. Otherwise, what’s Jesus dying for? That’s what’s got me so off-kilter. I can’t get my mind around it. I always saw God as a concept, a belief system, something you do on Sundays, and all that. But if He loves me, I ought to love Him. I don’t love God, Irene.”
    “Why not, Dad?”
    “I don’t know. I guess I should. Sure. If His Son died for my sins. That proves He loves me.”
    “I couldn’t say it better myself. You should pray, Dad.”
    “I have.”
    “And what did you say?”
    “Just that I’m sorry and that I don’t get it and could He explain it to me somehow.”
    “Explain what?”
    “What it all means. What He’s all about. What more there is if He really loves me.”
    “And what does He say?”

    “He sent me you.”
    “Then listen to me. Are you listening, Dad?”
    “I’m listening.”
    “Tell God you know you’re a sinner and that you need His forgiveness and that you needed Jesus to die for your sins. Receive Him into your life and you’ll be assured of heaven.”
    “I want to go to heaven.”
    “Of course you do.”
    Rayford