Fuller hung up before Kingsley could answer. Good thing Stamford was on the way to Wakefield.
When he arrived, Kingsley walked through a side door and up the emergency exit stairs. He wanted to avoid being seen by secretaries and security guards alike. He quickly found Fuller’s corner office. The door was open, but the room was empty. Kingsley took a moment to look around. Fuller’s office was easily twice the size of Kingsley’s. A CEO would have been comfortable in a room like this. Leather sofas, leather desk chair, desk the size of a boat. A wall of windows, awards on display, framed letters of praise and gratitude to “Reverend Fuller and Mrs. Fuller.” And in the corner of the office, golf clubs. Of course.
Kingsley looked at the books on the shelves and noted their tight bindings and polished covers. The leather volumes were more likely for show than reading or research. He studied the framed photographs on the wall. Even they had brass plates captioning Fuller’s triumphs. One picture showed him leading a revival in 1990 before a crowd of ten thousand. Another picture captured him praying reverently at the Tomb on the Unknown Soldier in Washington, DC. A lovely wellstaged photo op. In one other photograph he and his wife stood with two dozen teenagers—“James and Lucy Fuller at the First WTL Church, Hartford 1983.” Everyone in the photograph, teenage and adult, had a Bible clutched to their chests and wide smiles on their faces. Their eyes were fixed on the camera, giving the whole proceeding a look of eerie sameness. Lucy Fuller had her arm around the shoulder of the pretty dark-haired girl next to her. James Fuller had his arm around the shoulder of the boy next to him. The very picture of Christian love.
Kingsley tore his gaze from the photographs on the wall and focused his attention on Fuller’s desk. At first he found nothing of interest—a calendar, a mug full of cold coffee, stationery and a few sermon notes. But under the coffee mug he found an unbound sheaf of paper. Printed on the front page were the words Straight and Narrow—Bringing Homosexual Children Home to God. The book was, unsurprisingly, authored by Lucy Fuller, who had apparently exhausted all other topics of Christian life. Curious, Kingsley leafed through it. One paragraph jumped out at him.
Homosexual teenagers are being influenced by demonic forces. If enforcing a regime of constant prayer and fasting on your child doesn’t soften his or her heart, you might consider taking him or her to a pastor to have the demons cast out. This is not exorcism in the Catholic sense but is rooted in traditional biblical practices as found in the Gospels. Do not be deceived by your child when she tells you she was “born gay” or has felt homosexual urges all her life. These are lies from the Devil and only the vigilance of loving and firm Christian parents can save these children from the fires of Hell.
“Glad you could make it, Mr. Edge,” came a voice from the doorway. Kingsley looked up from the book and smiled.
“Your wife is quite the writer,” Kingsley said, dropping the book back on to the desk. “I didn’t think women in your denomination were allowed to speak in church.”
“We’re a nondenominational congregation. We let our women speak and teach.”
“Too bad,” Kingsley said. “If my wife were spouting bullshit like this, I wouldn’t let her talk, either. Let me know if you need to borrow a ball gag.”
Fuller gave Kingsley a hard smile.
“I’m impressed you decided to show your face.” Reverend Fuller stepped into his office. Kingsley hadn’t met him or seen him yet, but he looked exactly like his photographs—gray hair slicked back, oily smile and carrying twenty pounds too many for his six-foot frame.
“You said you wanted to talk man to man,” Kingsley said. He dropped the book back on to Fuller’s desk and walked around to the other side. “So talk.”