“Hello, are you Adrian?” Jim asked.
“Nope, but I talk about him all the time,” the man with matted hair said.
Jim couldn’t tell whether it was dirt or just the color and texture of the man’s hair. He had heard stories about this man, the Prophet, a man who left people mesmerized with every word that left his mouth. And Jim was here to judge for himself. The man and his book made people feel whole again, people who had felt lost for years. Jim knew it was his job to write about it.
“Jim Davids. I write an inspirational blog on the internet. I don’t work for any organization. Self employed. You probably haven’t heard of me before. Most people haven’t.”
“Inspirational,” the man said as he slipped off his tattered jacket and shoved it into an old, faded backpack. The backpack was a light gray now, but at one time, it was most likely a darker black or maybe a navy blue.
“That’s right,” Jim said.
“Well, I think you came to the right place, Jim. Because I’m the Prophet.”
“Prophet? The guy who speaks about Adrian?” Jim knew this, but didn’t want to seem surprised. He knew this was the man he had been hoping to find and didn’t want to blow the interview before it even started.
“Let me ask you a question, Jim.”
Jim nodded in agreement.
“Do Christians talk to Jesus?” The Prophet stared at Jim, waiting for a response.
“I mean, they have a relationship with him. Some say they can speak to him,” Jim said, answering carefully.
“Exactly. But do they really talk with him, Jim? Not to him, but with him? See, there are so many denominations of Christianity, as there are with other religions. It’s faith, nothing more- nothing less. A person chooses what they want to believe and from there, they develop a relationship. Mine is with Adrian.”
“Why do you feel so connected to Adrian? Could you tell me a bit more about the psychology behind how you feel?”
“I can do one better. I can tell you how Adrian lived his life. If we model our life after Adrian, we will be better because of it. You see—Adrian didn’t sin, he didn’t smoke or drink. Adrian was an innocent soul.”
“Why do you believe Adrian was so innocent? Most people think that about the holy men— men that they worship, but when it comes down to it, we are all just men. Many times, men find themselves disappointed after putting so much trust in another man,” Jim said.
“Well, Adrian never wore shoes. He walked on the grass and let the earth breathe under his feet. Oh, and he loved to spend time in the sun.”
“Is that why you don’t wear shoes? Because Adrian didn’t?” Jim asked.
“Hell no, I don’t wear shoes because they hurt my feet,” the Prophet said as he slipped his backpack on and trudged Eastward toward downtown.
Jim struggled to keep up with him.
“Do you mind if I ask you more questions?”
“If you’d like,” the Prophet said.
Jim stumbled, but eventually caught up to the Prophet’s pace.
“Can you tell me why Adrian is so holy?”
The Prophet stopped in front of some steps and he sat down. He pulled off his backpack, unzipped it, and pulled out a book.
“Would you like me to read from the beginning?” he asked.
“Is that what I think it is?”
The prophet stared at Jim for a moment, almost with a look of disgust.
“Of course it is! It’s The Book of Adrian! You should know that,” the prophet said.
Jim nodded as he leaned against a signpost because his legs were feeling tired. It was the furthest he had walked in ages.
The Prophet opened the book and read.
“Adrian appreciates all who donate to the well-being of his soul. Adrian only loves and never hates. No living man holds the innocence that Adrian possessed. Adrian does not shit where he eats. No—he doesn’t. He shits very far away from what he eats.”
The Prophet closed the book and stared at Jim with a smile on his face.
“You have people from all over the world coming to see you and you say this stuff?” Jim asked.
“I have donations, young man. It feeds me and puts a roof over my head.”
“But you are homeless. Where’s your roof?” Jim asked.
“Being homeless is a mindset. Everywhere is my home, the sky is my roof. It would surprise you how much money I have saved,” the Prophet said as he pulled a wadded one-dollar bill out of is his pocket and dug his hand back in for some more change.
“Can we stay here a little longer? I would love to ask you a few more questions.”
“Why not? It’s not like I have anywhere to be,” the Prophet said.
“Why do people want Adrian’s blessing so badly? Or yours?”
“Because there is no purer blessing than Adrian’s.”
“How can you say that, with all the religions in the world? With all the holy people?”
“Adrian is not like other religions, Jim.”
“How so?”
“Adrian is more perfect than all the religions of the world combined. Adrian doesn’t turn men against each other because of a few differences. Like I said before, Adrian was damn perfect.”
“You seem to like curse words. Adrian is fine with cursing?”
“Adrian doesn’t mind. He understands anger,” the Prophet laughed.
“How about I meet you right here tomorrow? Could you tell me more about Adrian?”
“Same place, same time. Sounds good, Jim,” the Prophet said, reaching out his hand for a shake.
Jim excitedly shook his hand and thought about all the things he wanted to write and all the questions that he wanted to ask. He had to make sure he left no stone unturned. The hardest of questions had to be asked. When he got back to his room, he plugged in his laptop. After a brief interview with the man, he still had no clue what the Book of Adrian was really about. It made no sense to him, but so many people sought this prophet and raved about his message. To Jim, The Book of Adrian was nothing more than a fortune printed on a piece of paper, or several, for that matter.
Jim searched the internet. He found a picture of the Prophet with a church group. It was posted on a community webpage. The story mentions that this church group tried to debate him—challenge his gospel. While not convinced by the Prophet, they only had great things to say about the man and how they respected his life’s views. “There wasn’t a nicer man,” one churchgoer said.
It was like The Book of Adrian only included the great things about all religions of the world and none of the bad things. The convergence of ideas and viewpoints existed without anger or hatred. Just love. Love of Adrian and love of all the other religions’ cherry-picked teachings as well.
The next day, Jim left early to wait for the homeless profit to meet him. When Jim arrived, he saw him, slumped forward on the steps with his bag between his legs. He shook the Profit gently to wake him up, but he didn’t move. As Jim looked more closely, he noticed the Profit was not breathing. Jim immediately called the police. Soon, he heard the ambulance and firetrucks getting closer. The smell of sewage mixed with the heat from the hot summer almost burned his nose as he breathed. It was at that point when he decided he would take the man’s backpack. He came here for a story, and he really needed it for his blog. The Prophet of The Book of Adrian had spoken to him, but there were still so many questions that were unanswered. And Jim needed answers. Maybe those answers were in the book that the Prophet kept in his backpack.
He grabbed the backpack and slipped it onto his right shoulder. It wasn’t long before an ambulance and firetruck arrived. Jim had never seen a dead person before. The lifeless body was quickly taken away, and he had all the Prophet’s belongings now strapped to his back. He spoke to the police officers, answered some questions, and they let him leave.
That night, he got back to his hotel room and unzipped the faded bag. He then emptied the bag and spread the contents across the bedsheets. There it was. The Book of Adrian was practically tempting him to crack it open. So, he opened it to read. On the first page, there was just a scribble. He found the same thing on the second and third. Doodles like a child would make on their school desk or in a notebook. He flipped through every page. Stuck into the very last page of the notebook, he found a driver’s license. Richard Crayton. It was a picture of the Prophet. He looked more cleaned up, healthier, and younger in the picture. With the driver’s license was a picture of Mr. Crayton with his family and a dog. It was a picture from a happier time, the beginning of life with a beautiful family and the promise of a long and happy future.
Jim searched the internet for any article about Mr. Crayton or his family. The very first article that popped up was devastating. A headline read:
“Man passes out behind the wheel, killing wife and son.”
The article continued to state that Mr. Crayton left behind one daughter. Elizabeth, also known as Lizzy.
After a few more searches, Jim found a number and an address for Lizzy Crayton. He called her immediately. The phone rang a few times before a woman answered.
“Is this Lizzy Crayton?” Jim asked.
“This is her. Whatever you are selling, I don’t want any. Please remove my number from your call list.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not selling anything. This is about your father.”
“What does he need this time?” Lizzy sternly asked.
“Nothing. Your father was supposed to meet me for an interview, but he was slumped over dead when I arrived.”
“My dad’s dead?” Lizzy sniffled.
“He passed away a few hours ago, they think. Ambulance took him away.”
“Who are you? And where did they take him?”
“I’m a journalist, blogger. I’m not sure where they took him. I’m not from around here.”
“You were going to interview him? About being homeless?” Lizzy laughed.
“No, I was going to interview him about Adrian. I have your fathers’ belongings. A driver’s license and a holy book. That led me to search your number and find you online.”
There was a pause. Jim could hear sniffling on the other side of the phone. And then an answer.
“Ok, I will meet up with you. Somewhere public. What do you know about Adrian and why does my dad have a book about him?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just a book of scribbles.”
“I’ll find out what hospital they took him too, and I will text you the location and a time to meet,” Lizzy said.
“Thank you, Lizzy,” Jim said. “And I’m very sorry about your father. I wish I had a chance to know him better. He seemed like a nice guy.”
“Yeah,” Lizzy sniffled.
From the conversation, Jim guessed Lizzy seemed to know this Adrian guy. So many questions were going through his head. He flipped on the television. The local news was on and that would have to do because he couldn’t sleep. There was a news story about the Prophet and his Book of Adrian. People had started a shrine, leaving trinkets in honor of the man, in honor of Adrian as well. It hadn’t been but half a day since Jim found him dead. There were people of all religions praying, lighting candles, incense, and the reporters were all over it. All the sudden, the story that Jim was going to break for his blog was the interest of every new station in the area, probably the state as well. He wondered if he was the only one who knew about Lizzy.
As the news stories were breaking, Jim was glued to the television. They had no name, and on the streets, they only knew him as the Prophet. Jim had his identification. That meant that Richard Crayton had no history of fingerprints, no trouble with the law, and that his DNA was strangely in no system.
It was the middle of next day when Lizzy called Jim back.
“Jim,” Lizzy said.
“Yes,” Jim replied.
“They don’t know who he is, do they?”
“I don’t think so. They are still calling him a John Doe. I have his belongings. I have his license. Did you find out where they took him?”
“Yeah, his body is at the morgue. They told me I could see him one last time if I could prove his identity. To them, he is the Prophet.” Lizzy seemed confused at why any homeless man was nicknamed the Prophet.
“Why don’t we drive there together? I saw on the news that there is a shrine being built in front of the hospital.”
“The morgue?” Lizzy asked.
“Yes, at a hospital. I guess it’s the hospital they took his body to. Must be a morgue in there somewhere, I figure. They also started a shrine on the steps where he died.”
“Why?” Lizzy asked.
“He is loved. He considered himself a prophet. When people heard about The Book of Adrian, they traveled from all over to meet with your father. People wanted your father to bless them and to follow in Adrian’s holy footsteps.”
“Blessed? By Adrian?” Lizzy laughed and cried at the same time.
“Yeah, how about I pick you up? I will give you all your father’s belongings.”
“Ok,” she said as she texted Jim her address.
Jim picked her up within thirty minutes and they drove to the hospital in silence.
“It’s pretty packed up here,” Jim said as they looked at one of the shrines and all the foot traffic.
“How did you live here and not know your father was so loved?”
“I just thought he was homeless. I heard a news story once or twice about The Book of Adrian, some gospel from an unknown cult. I never thought it had anything to do with my dad.”
“Well, I’ll drop you off up front. I’ll wait in the parking lot for you. I’ll be here as long as it takes,” Jim said.
Lizzy nodded. He dropped her off in front of the hospital and watched her pinball through the crowd to get to the front door. He combed the parking garage for about an hour before he found a parking space and then he waited.
A few hours passed before he got a text asking where the car was. He texted Lizzy about his location in the garage. Lizzy opened the passenger door, stepped into the car and broke into tears.
“Thank you,” she cried. “Let’s get out of here. The news knows who he is now. But only I can give you your story. I’m not going to give it to them.”
“The Hotel?”
“Sure,” Lizzy said.
“You hungry? We can grab something to eat or order pizza?”
“No, let’s just go back to your hotel.”
“Ok,” Jim said.
They drove back to the hotel and walked to Jim’s room. Lizzy carried her father’s backpack.
They sat down on the sofa in the hotel room and pulled out the contents of the bag. Jim watched as Lizzy silently pulled out the Book of Adrian and gazed at her father’s driver’s license and the picture of their family. She cried again.
“He was all I had left, you know? And he abandoned me,” she cried.
“I read about your family. I got nosey. I’m sorry,” Jim said.
“Dad always blamed himself. Maybe that’s why he wanted to save so many people. But why didn’t he want to save me? Did he not want people to feel hopeless like I did? Just a father, that’s all I had, but he left after we lost everything. I just never understood. He still had me. And he threw me away when he lost them. He blamed himself and told me he didn’t want the same thing to happen to me. One day, he was just gone.”
“What’s this thing with Adrian? Who is Adrian?”
Lizzy laughed.
“Adrian was our family dog. He’s all I had when Dad left. If it wasn’t for Adrian, I don’t know what I would have done. Adrian gave me a reason to live. He died a few years ago. Seventeen. A long life for a dog.”
“Adrian was your family dog?”
“Yeah. It’s funny that Dad wrote a book about Adrian or said he did, anyway. Adrian saved me, not him. Kinda ironic, isn’t it? A father is supposed to be there for his kids. There is no substitute for that.”
“I’d say so,” Jim laughed
“What’s so funny?” Lizzy asked.
“Adrian does not shit where he eats. No, very far away,” Jim laughed harder.
“What?” Lizzy laughed.
That’s one thing your father told me. One of Adrian’s teachings.
“Adrian loves and doesn’t hate. Adrian loves those who donate,” Jim said. He couldn’t even remember anything anymore. The stories were running together. They all had meaning though.
“I’m sorry Jim. This has been a crazy two days. My dad—It’s hard to believe he created and lived for this fantasy world.”
“I have my story now. The news will try to turn this into something bigger than what it is,” Jim laughed.
Lizzy continued to flip through The Book of Adrian. On the last page, there was the number for a lawyer on a business card. It was hard to see and tucked into the back page, taped so well it wouldn’t fall out. It was in the same place where the picture had been found. Lizzy un-taped it. There was a personal number written on the back of the business card.
“Maybe this man has a little more information about your father. You should call the personal number, not his office,” Jim said as he pointed at the number on the card.
Lizzy pulled out her phone and called the number.
Jim watched as Lizzy responded.
“Lizzy Crayton—yeah, his daughter—what?”
Lizzy’s eyes became wide with whatever the person on the other side of the phone was telling her.
“Yeah, he is here too—Ok,” Lizzy said. “Here, Jim. He wants to speak with you.”
“Yes, this is Jim.”
“Mr. Crayton is splitting his finances between you and his daughter. He said you were a delightful gentleman and that someday he wanted to leave you one half of everything he owned.”
“He was homeless, sir. I just gave his daughter everything he owned,” Jim said.
“That wasn’t everything he owned, Mr. Davids,” the lawyer said.
“What do you mean, a few dollars to his name?”
“It’s way more than a few dollars, sir.”
Copyright © 2022 by R.B. Stoker
