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THE TREE WITHIN
The Answers Are On the Inside
Stephen Campana
The Tree Within
The Answers Are On the Inside
Copyright © 2016 Stephen Campana. All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in critical publications or reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without prior written permission from the publisher. Write: Permissions, Wipf and Stock Publishers, 199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3, Eugene, OR 97401.
Resource Publications
An Imprint of Wipf and Stock Publishers
199 W. 8th Ave., Suite 3
Eugene, OR 97401
www.wipfandstock.com
paperback isbn: 978-1-5326-5290-5
hardcover isbn: 978-1-5326-5291-2
ebook isbn: 978-1-5326-5292-9
Manufactured in the U.S.A. September 20, 2018
PREFACE
Kanye watched as the star, which he had been following for days, stopped and hovered in the night sky directly over the hospital, like a brilliant celestial marker. He knew what it was marking, too. The child was being born. Ancient prophetic fulfillment had not come far in the past two thousand years. Same old stuff. Dreams and visions, floating stars, “special” children being born. Some things never changed.
He tugged at the white bishop’s collar around his neck. It was too tight, too cloying. These days it always felt too cloying. Surely that symbolized something, he thought.
He got out of the car and crossed the street. The Jersey City Medical Center stood like a colossus, reaching out into the night sky, its many buildings stretching east and west for almost half a mile. He had read somewhere that it was the largest hospital in the world, and he believed it. As he approached the entrance, the enormity of the task at hand began to jangle at his nerves, and he felt a thin layer of sweat forming on his black skin beneath the fabric of his uniform.
He pushed through the doors into the lobby. Off to the left, seated behind a glass pane, were two guards. He smiled and waved at them as he passed; they did not stop him. A bishop’s uniform went a long way in a hospital. At the front desk he received directions to the maternity ward and proceeded toward the elevator. He got off on the fifth floor and followed the signs. The hospital was quiet as he made his way down the long, gray corridors. There was something about a hospital at night that was almost . . . peaceful.
Within moments he arrived at the nursery. He peeked in briefly at the newborns, gave them a wave, and then proceeded a few yards down the hallway to a waiting area, where he took a seat, crossed his legs, and waited.
He waited for hours and hours. Every so often he got up, checked the nursery, then sat back down and continued waiting.
It was not until the wee hours of the morning that he found what he had been waiting for, when a nurse brought a new baby into the nursery. Something told him that this was the one. But he did not check on it right away. Instead, he waited until the nurse came back out and the nursery was clear. Only then did he approach the window and look in. As he did, he saw a solitary figure in a nurse’s uniform strolling slowly through the room, inspecting the newborns. She caught Kanye’s gaze as she moved effortlessly about, and their eyes locked. Her lips twisted into a small, dark grin as she stopped at one of the cribs and grasped the rails. Then she raised her index finger, pointed it downward at the baby, and made a jabbing motion with it, as if to say This is the one.
Then the nurse’s mouth curled into a grin that grew wider and wider, until the ends of her lips reached up to her temples. The rest of the face changed too, into a hellish visage the likes of which Kanye had seen only in horror movies. It opened its mouth to reveal three rows of razor sharp teeth, each about an inch long, with ropes of saliva dripping down from them, and onto the helpless baby in the crib below.
For a moment Kanye’s hopes soared, as he thought the thing would just devour the baby right then and there, thus saving him the trouble.
But he would have no such luck; the thing soon changed back into a woman, then disappeared altogether, leaving behind only a thin mist of smoke. It had served its function. It had identified the child. The rest was up to him.
That was a responsibility he did not want, had never asked for, and still couldn’t quite fathom. But the people he worked for insisted the cause was a just one, and that the fate of the world hung in the balance, so he had gone along. Who was he to question?
He went back to the waiting room and sat down. And continued waiting. A short while later a man appeared at the nursery window, peering in with wide eyes and a big smile.
Kanye approached him. “Which one is yours?” he asked. “That one right there,” the man said, pointing at the one the thing had selected. “What a beautiful baby,” Kanye said with his thick Ethiopian accent. “Why, thank you,” the man said proudly.
Kanye stood and talked with the man for a good while, making sure to gain his affection and, more importantly, his trust, before asking “What’s your name, sir?”
“Peter,” the man said. “And your last name?” Kanye continued. “Landers,” the man answered. “Is this for a mailing list?” he asked, upon noticing that Kanye was jotting his answers down on a small pad.
“Oh, no,” Kanye replied with a polite chuckle. “You are going on my prayer list.”
“I see,” Peter smiled. “That’s much better. I myself am a minister.”
Kanye’s eyes lit up. “Then you understand,” he said, putting a hand on the new father’s shoulder. “You see, Mr. Landers, this is a crazy world we live in. My faith tells me that to be born into this world is a blessing. But I wonder sometimes. Is it? I don’t know. But I know this: Anyone coming into the world these days needs as much prayer as they can get. And I like to know who I’m praying for. When I remand a person to the Lord’s care, I like to know who I’m remanding.”
“I understand,” Peter said, a note of appreciation in his voice.
Before the conversation was over Kanye had also gotten his address. It wasn’t difficult. A bishop’s uniform was an instant trust grabber.
Kanye said his good byes, took a last look at the baby, and went on his way. Of course, he would not simply take the man’s word for it; he checked it out with his sources and found that Peter had indeed provided him with reliable information. That was good. It was a start. The hard part, of course, was still to come.
Killing the child.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The inspiration for this book derived from an essay by Jacob Israel called “Garden of Eden Revealed!”. The ideas have been used with permission.
PART 1
