The master’s next instruction to Jimmy was specific: He would head to Bangkok the following day, and get forty virgin monks to chant atop a mountain. This Jimmy accepted with the alacrity of a well-trained pedigree dog hearkening to his owner’s commands. But there was a price: four thousand dollars to be exact. To afford this and other mounting hospitalisation bills, Jimmy began taking personal loans from his company and his relatives, the spectre of his imprudent habits rearing its ugly head again. But any worries about repaying his lenders were for the moment expunged from mind. “I was just so desperate to save Shaun’s life, I did anything I could think of to help.”
Over the next few weeks, Shaun’s health began taking an ill turn. The master appeared to have gone off the grid, only telling Jimmy to “do whatever the doctor says” over desperate phone calls. Jimmy was gifted a bottle of holy water, and told to spray it over Shaun while chanting. Jimmy did so diligently, until Shaun finally said, “Daddy, could you stop chanting?” “But it will bless you and help you get better.” “No, I don’t want you to chant anymore. I’m a Christian, I believe in Jesus.” At his son’s behest, Jimmy did so.