As I was browsing, my phone chirped. Questore.
“John!”
“Hey, David. It’s good to hear from you.”
“Ditto. Still smoking stogies? Or has Elaine trained you yet?”
“She’s tried many times, but parts of me aren’t tameable, I guess.”
He laughed and I imagined his wide grin. We’d met several times during my trips to Manhattan, and he always had a wide smile and a cigar in his pocket. I never saw him light one, though.
“So, what’s the scoop on this Sabo woman?” I asked.
“She’s one of a kind, I can tell you that. I’ve listened to a podcast of one of her sermons, and she’s very powerful, and she’s very quickly gained lots of believers.”
“Never known Time to care about charlatans, John.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the phone, and I began to wonder if we’d lost contact. Finally, Questore replied, and I could have sworn I heard awe in his voice. “She might be the real thing.”
Yeah, well. I doubt that, buddy.
“I’m not sure I’m the right photographer for this one, John. You know I’m the science guy, not the religion guy.”
“It’s for the cover. You like doing our covers.”
Yes, yes, I do.
“And she won’t let anyone else do it. This is her first national press interview. She promised us an exclusive, but only if you’re there to shoot it.”
Now, at this point, you’re maybe thinking the same way I was. What were the chances that I had murdered Jesus Christ and find that a new… version?… embodiment? I had no idea what to call her. What were the chances that the messiah would return to Earth and ask for me?
I still called bullshit, but if it was the real deal, was she after revenge?
Impossible.
“David?”
“Just thinking.”
“We’ll double your usual rate.”
“You must really want this thing.”
He paused again and I imagined him taking the cigar out of his shirt pocket and playing with it. “David, just for a minute, consider this might be real.”
“Has she performed any miracles?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Not raised the dead or parted the Red Sea, by any chance?”
“David, I need you to be serious. This could be the story of a lifetime, and that means the photo shoot of a lifetime, too.”
I shook my head, but of course he couldn’t see me. This wasn’t my thing. At all.
“Why does she want me? Time has lots of great photographers.”
“No idea. I asked her, and she laughed and said it wasn’t negotiable.”
“She’s a fake, John. You gotta know that.”
“I’m not asking you to write the story, so you can believe whatever you want. I know you’ll take great pictures regardless. Please, David. I’m asking you as a personal favor.”
I wanted to say no. I really did. But then I remembered the eyes of the boy Jesus staring at me before I stole his final breath by bashing in his head.
“I’m only doing it for the money,” I said.
“I don’t believe you, but it doesn’t matter why. It only matters that you’ll do it.”
“Email whatever information you have. Place, time, whatever. I’ll head out first thing tomorrow.”
I ended the call and started making some rough notes about Sabo. Normally, if I photograph a person, it’s a scientist involved in some recent discovery. I always liked to immerse myself in whatever they were doing, to come to the photo shoot with an eye to making their work personable and connect emotionally to the viewer.
Sabo was naturally photogenic, but I wanted to know what made her tick. Why would she be saying she was the daughter of God?
If I didn’t believe in God, why the heck would I believe in her?
I googled her and found a mix of fact and rumors. The fact portion was limited: her birth announcement, a couple peripheral mentions in stories about her school (apparently, she was top of the class every year of her school career), and a spate of articles recently about her forming her ministry.
She didn’t have a normal synagogue to teach, so her ministry moved around. One week it would be at a school gymnasium, the next at an outdoor baseball field or in a movie theater. The “where” didn’t seem to concern her much. The location of her Friday evening sermon was always flashing on the home page of her site, starting each Thursday evening. Twenty-four hours’ notice for whoever was following her.
Which seemed to be a large number. She had hundreds of people who would go anywhere to hear her lecture.
Then there was the rumor mill. According to the notes on the internet, Erika Sabo was:
1. The daughter of God
2. The spawn of the Devil
3. A miracle worker (no specifics cited)
4. The destroyer of life on Earth
5. A fake
6. The promised messiah of the Bible
Any and all ideas were spread, and it seemed that everybody who lived in New York state had their own truth about Sabo.
I took a few minutes to book an early flight to Albany, and reserved a car. Aynsville was a few hours from the airport. I also booked a hotel room, in case I ended up staying the night. Might be interesting to stay and listen to her speak on Friday.
Chapter 21
Unbeknownst to me, three months earlier, Erika Sabo started to slowly build her ministry.
It started with the small group of people who she’d grown up with and who had already had an inkling that she was one very special girl.
Sam was previously mentioned, Erika’s younger brother, and how he was bullied by a guy named Peter Smythe a few years back. After Erika caused Peter to fly through the air without touching him, Peter changed.
No more bullying, not just with Sam, but with anybody. Peter became quieter, contemplative, and he seemed to spend a lot of time looking at Erika. The quizzical looks he gave her turned over time into admiration when he saw how she always seemed to know the right thing to say or do.
Three months ago, Erika found Peter sitting on the steps of the high school. She smiled and sat down beside him, as if they were best buds.
“I have a job for you,” she said. She smiled at him. They hadn’t spoken since the altercation three years earlier.
“What? What are you talking about?”
“You’re good at building web sites, right? The best in town.”
Peter frowned. “I don’t know. It’s pretty easy. I’m sure lots of other people could help you.”
She beamed her million-watt smile at him and took his hand.
“I don’t want other people. I want you.”
“It’s close to final exams. Maybe in the summer? I don’t have a summer job lined up yet. What kind of web site?”
“Can’t wait for summer. I’m dropping out of school today, and I need you to drop out as well.”
Peter laughed. “Oh, right. Like that would be totally fine with my parents.”
“It might be. If I talk to them.”
One day, I can recount the rest of that story, to show how Erika was able to convince Peter’s mom and dad that it was the right thing for him to quit school.
For now, all that needs to be known is that she did, and Erika had her web designer. Peter also acted as her head of social media. He set up her presence on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snap Chat.
And one month later, Erika’s online ministry went live.
Peter crafted ads that targeted everybody in Aynsville, and within days, news of Erika Sabo was everywhere in the small town.