Free Come Sunday Morning by Terry E. Hill Page B

harder she prays, the faster he falls. Then their eyes meet for a brief moment. Although he does not speak, she knows what he is saying to her. “Help me, Hattie. I can’t stop. Help me.”
    She hears a chorus of screams echoing through the sanctuary as he continues his glide like a hawk toward its prey on the canyon floor below.
    â€œOh my God,” comes as a howl from the balcony. Other shrieks of horror reverberate through the chamber. “It’s the pastor. He’s falling!”
    Women in fashionable heels drop helplessly to their knees, unable to fathom the event unfolding before them. Men leave skid marks on the balcony floors, from rubber on their soles, as they dash in disbelief toward the rail for a clearer view.
    â€œTell me who did this, Pastor,” Hattie says out loud to the falling man. “Tell me what to do.”
    But it’s too late. The falling man becomes dimmer and dimmer until the image fades away.
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    Hattie cupped her hand to her mouth and sobbed into the housecoat she had planned to mend and said one last time, “Tell me what you need, Pastor. Lord, please tell me what to do.”
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    Hezekiah tried calling Samantha again but still there was no answer. He struggled helplessly in an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and guilt as Dino drove the limousine along the now flat city streets. He had dealt the ultimate blow to the woman he once loved so deeply. She wouldn’t leave him, but what dismal part of her soul would survive such a devastating assault? He resisted the urge to go back and comfort her, like he had done so many times before. How could I put my family through this? he questioned silently.
    As he rode in the rear of the limousine through the city, he painfully navigated the emotional debris that accompanied infidelity, being caught, and confession. However, at the end of his silent process, there was no trace of the remorse he thought would greet him. Instead, he felt a sense of relief that he could not explain, although at times he ached at the thought of what Samantha must have been feeling at the moment. His breath seemed to pass freely through every organ in his body and then flow out the pores of his skin. The images he saw on the street seemed more vivid than they ever had before. Streams of energy rose from his belly, up his spine, and lifted an oppressive smoky haze from his shoulders and then flowed out the top of his head. He could feel the fog leave his body and evaporate into the light.
    The car turned into the construction site across the street from his church and parked next to a pickup truck. He had been sitting for a moment when a tap on the window commanded his attention.
    â€œGood morning, Reverend,” said a jolly red-cheeked man wearing a plaid shirt and baggy denim jeans. “I didn’t think you were going to make it. I was just about to leave.”
    â€œGood morning, Benny. Sorry I’m late. I had a little problem at home. The building is looking great.”
    Benny Winters was the general contractor for the cathedral that would soon be the new home of New Testament Cathedral and Media Center. Hezekiah never trusted the round little man, but he had a reputation for building some of the most impressive edifices in the country. As a result of his concerns, Hezekiah insisted on approving every construction change order, regardless of how small, and visited the construction site as frequently as he could.
    â€œThank you. We’re right on schedule too. Come with me. I’ve got a few things to show you,” Benny replied.
    The two men put on hard hats and began a tour of the grounds and skeletal tower. Trucks drove on unpaved roads and dust filled the air. Men in hard hats and construction boots waved good morning as they passed. To their left a cement truck churned as a wet gray substance poured from its bowels.
    â€œThere is where we decided to put the satellite dish. Now everyone in the world