It was 4 a.m. when the limousine showed up in front of his house in Union Cross. He didn’t know who Carolyn Cross wanted him to meet. Or what he had to get up so early to meet him.
“You have any idea where we’re going?” David leaned over and asked the limo driver.
“Don't know,” the young driver replied. “They hired me, gave me this fancy GPS device, told me to pick you up and follow the directions. I’m just trying to get a paycheck.”
Still a little woozy, David kicked off his shoes, curled himself comfortably in the back seat, and soon he was snoring.
Several hours went by before the limo stopped. David Johnson woke up slowly, wiping the crust from his eyes before outstretching his arms to crack his bones back into place.
“We made it,” the driver said. “Still not sure where we are exactly. We passed a sign about a half hour ago. Says we’re in the city of Rosetown.”
David got out of the limo, briefly turning his head away from the glaring sunlight as he did. He look around him and there appeared to be absolutely nothing. Just endless fields of corn that stretched on for miles.
“See that house over there?” The driver pointed and yelled out of his window. “That’s where you’re supposed to go. It was nice to meet ya, buddy? Have a nice day!”
And before David could respond, the driver sped off down a dirt road.
It took David Johnson about twenty minutes to ferret his way through the vast cornfields toward the large, white house. He was irritated, to say the least. He had been forced to get up before any sign of sunlight, drive for several hours into unfamiliar territory, and now he was trudging through a massive cornfield.
When David finally made it to house at the end of the field, he saw a man sitting on the porch with a large smile on his face. There was something faintly strange about the house. It looked normal enough. A white, two-story house with blue shutters, a large porch with a few plants, a chimney. But something about it felt off. Or perhaps it was the fatigue and the hunger distorting David’s judgment.
“David,” the elderly man on the porch said. He was wearing an old t-shirt, blue pajama pants, and a pair of sandals. His hair, a crop of tiny white spikes, was strangely messy.
“Come on up, I’ve got some food waiting for you up here”
David walked up the porch and sat down next to him on the bench, where there was a large plate of pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs and a curious pile of creamed corn. There was also a tall glass of fruit punch.
As soon as David’s butt hit the bench, he was viciously swallowing up the food. It wasn’t until he was almost completely done that he realized he forgot to say his grace. He looked over at the man sitting next to him.
“It’s ok,” he said with a smile. “Happens to me all the time.”
David chuckled.
“So what’s going on?” David asked as he was wiping his face with a napkin. “Who are you?
"Benjamin King," the man said. "Carolyn Cross sent you to me because she wants you to unlock your true potential."
Benjamin King poured himself a glass of fruit punch.
“I won’t lie and say that what we're about to do is easy," King said. He took a few sips of his drink and continued. “I'm sure Cross has told you that the miracle gene is what connects our spiritual bodies to the Lord, who is the source of all power. The Lord’s will is to use the gifts we have to serve him. But God won’t force his will on anyone. That means we have the potential to do great things and equally horrible things.That’s the dark side to the miracle gene, David. And if you give in to it, then you’ll become nothing more than an extension of the evil you carry in your soul.”
David Johnson was silent. Benjamin King stood up from the bench.
“Follow me,” he said. It's time.
Both of them step off the porch and walked few steps back from the front of the house.
“Now look at this house," Benjamin King said. "Tell me what you see.”
“I see a house. A nice, big house. Painted white.”
“Really focus on what’s in front of you, David,” the pastor said. “See it with God’s eyes. See it with the power he’s given you.”
David Johnson concentrated on the house, his eyes squinting and tensing with all the muscles in his face. Suddenly his eyes flared up with intense orange power. And that’s when he saw the house for what it truly was. It was some kind of illusionary construct made of black and silver light. The construct had a simple hallway path with five doors.
“What is this place?” David asked the question, but he found himself asking it not with his lips, but with his mind.
“Welcome to the House of De-Corruption, David,” the pastor’s voice echoed in his mind. “This house is a representation of the place inside you where the power of your miracle gene resides. It is here where we begin to unlock the potential that the Lord has given you. Now let us begin. Open the first door, David.”