Free The Hand of God by Tim Miller

the way outside.  Next to the RV was the Bishop’s black Lincoln.  Several semi-trucks that read I Am the Way Ministries were lined up near the RV.  That must be how he hauled all the tents and equipment around.  I figured the Bishop lived in the RV.  It made me wonder where he kept it parked most of the time.
    His ministry had to generate a lot of money to afford all of that stuff.  There was several hundred thousand’s worth of vehicles and equipment out there.  There had to be something going on besides online donations.  I walked over to the RV and tried the door.  It was locked, as I figured.  I took out my Leatherman multi-tool; it came in handy on occasions like this.  Using some of the attachments, I was able to pick the lock until the door popped open.  Lock picking is another unusual skill for a preacher, but I wasn’t an ordinary preacher.
    Once inside, I flipped my cell open so I could use it as a light.  It wasn’t the best, but wouldn’t draw as much attention as a flashlight would.  I looked around the inside of the RV, walking toward the back.  There was a large bed with a desk next to it and a couch across from it.  I looked through the desk drawers, cabinets and anything else I could find.  There was nothing obvious, just pens, empty notepads and some magazines. The Bishop was a ghost, or phantom.  He came out of nowhere and suddenly was everywhere.  Something didn’t sit right about that with me. 
    “You’re not going to find anything here,” a voice said from behind me.  I spun around and took a defensive position.  It was David Davidson.
    “Geez man!  You scared the crap out of me!” I said.  “Who the hell are you and how did you know I was here?”
    “I’ve been watching you since we last met, Charlie.  Despite my giving you advanced warning, the Bishop has been one step ahead of you all along.”
    “So I’ve noticed.  You still haven’t answered my question.”
    Davidson leaned against the counter but kept his gaze on me. 
    “Who I am is of little importance to you.”
    “I guess that’s a matter of opinion.  If you’re gonna be following me around and popping up in weird places, then I would say it’s of major importance to me. You pop up randomly, give me some cryptic information and then disappear.  What is of bigger importance to you is, do you know who I am and what I’m capable of?”
    “Perhaps.  But you won’t kill me.  I don’t fit your profile.  Besides, you need me.”
    “For what? Can you tell me anything about the Bishop?”
    “For now, you don’t need to know any more.  I can tell you something about you though.”
    “What is it I need to know about me?”  I was sick of his talking in circles already.
    “Like, where you came from.  Your ancestors, I bet your parents never told you much, did they?”
    “No.  What would they tell me?”
    “For one, they weren’t really your parents.”
    “And how would you know that?  And if they’re not, then who is?”
    “It’s my job to know things.  The key to taking down the Bishop is finding out who you really are.”              
    “Just how do I go about doing that?”
    “You’re a man of God.  Read Genesis, Chapter Six.  It will explain a lot.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    Before he could answer there were voices outside the RV. Through the curtain on the door, I saw some shadows of men.  Great.  When I turned back around Davidson was gone.  One of the men entered the RV.  It was Jeremiah, the tall goon.  He came toward me, his face twisted in an ugly scowl.
    “Well, I guess you couldn’t take a hint, could you, pastor?” He said.
    “I uh, guess not.  I must have gotten lost.  I’ll be going now.” I started to walk past him but he grabbed my arm.
    “Not so fast.”
    I wanted to lay into him but I didn’t know how many more were outside.  He reached into his jacket and pulled out a revolver, pointing it at me.
    “Wow,” I