Brad smiled. A bright, genuine, loving smile that frightened Paradise for the emotions it evoked. But she immediately set
the foolish feelings aside and stood.
“So let’s try to save her.”
THE APARTMENT WAS
nice enough on its own, but now Quinton had transformed the back bedroom into something majestic. A temple of sorts. The
inner courts complete with his own altar.
Due to his change in plans, he’d decided not to use the barn east of Parker, which might still come in useful for the seventh,
most beautiful bride. Instead he had set up in the apartment, hoping that the Rain Man’s idiots would soon crack his jack
and find the hole.
He’d brought the sedated sixth here and injected her with half a dose of benzodiazepine, a psychoactive sedative that would
help her accept the truth with less fuss. Then, working efficiently yet quickly, he’d prepared the room, covering the brown
carpet with thick clear plastic that could easily be rolled up when he was finished. A gurney with a white mattress sat in
the middle of the room. He would take the gurney with him, dressed in the same white smock he’d worn when wheeling the bride
in. No one had seen, but the precaution was necessary.
His case and the tool he would need rested atop a folding table along the right-hand wall. Two posts that he’d secured with
drywall anchors protruded from the adjacent wall, precisely five feet from the ground. The body had to be positioned evenly,
not cockeyed, so he always measured the height of each peg.
Once the bride hung in place and was glued to the wall, Quinton would arrange each and every appendage for optimal beauty.
Like adjusting the bride’s dress just right before she walked down the aisle. He removed all of her outer clothing, leaving
her only in her underwear, facing the ceiling. Using a gauze pad, he cleaned the blood from the wound on her cheek where she’d
crashed into the door. He used superglue to seal the gash, a trick that worked surprisingly well.
The makeup took him another half hour, beginning with a foundation that matched the color of the soles of her feet. With meticulous
care he applied eye liner and mascara. Then a hint of blush. When he was finished, her face looked lighter than the rest of
her body, but that would soon change.
Quinton stood back and looked at her, awed at God’s handiwork in creating such an exquisite being. If he could be reincarnated,
he would certainly wish to come back as a woman. As a bride. And he would grow up dreaming of one day being chosen in this
exact manner.
Normally he had no need for electricity, preferring battery-operated devices that were just as functional, but since he had
power, he plugged in a fluorescent strip lamp with yellow plastic over the bulb and set it on the table. It filled the room
with an atmospheric golden hue that she might appreciate when she awoke.
Quinton’s final preparation was to prepare himself. Having already bathed earlier in the day, he now stripped off his clothes
except for his black leather shoes, his socks, and his black Armani Exchange underwear.
He already wore black gloves, but changed out the leather ones for rubber dishwashing gloves. Ordinarily he would wear a shower
cap, but because he’d covered the entire floor with plastic, he opted for fashion over function this time.
Satisfied that all was in order, he pulled up the folding chair, sat down, and waited for the bride to awaken. It shouldn’t
be long now. She was stirring already, and he’d only given her half a dose of the sedative.
It was all business from here on in. He was only the messenger, come with good tidings for the lucky chosen one. A steady
buzzing rode the bottom of his brain, and he knew that was because his mind was being stretched to its human limits. The doctors
might call it a symptom of a psychotic break, but they were dim-witted and knew little about the true nature of things.
Ninety-eight percent of the world’s six or so billion inhabitants could apply common sense to the most fundamental, obvious
observations of human existence and conclude that a higher power existed. Yet few of the self-proclaimed experts called psychiatrists
could see the same thing. So then, were the six billion mentally ill, or were the few psychiatrists mentally ill?
Both, for the most part, but that was another story.
The story today was Nikki, the sixth favorite, chosen for her inner beauty, her outer splendor, and her relationship to Rain
Man, the devil who was trying to blot out the sunshine.
And now Nikki opened her eyes. Quinton stood and waited for her to orient herself. He tied her wrists and ankles to the gurney’s
aluminum frame using cloth strips. Slowly her eyes widened as awareness dawned.
“Hello, Nikki.”
She turned her head in his direction, took one look at his nearly naked body, and tried to scream through the duct tape covering
her mouth. Her legs and arms jerked, but the cloth strips held her securely.
“Sh, sh, sh. Don’t get yourself all flustered. I’ll just have to give you more drugs and do this without your participation.”
She quieted, eyes frantic.
“I would like to talk to you. We should have a dialogue, because I think I can help you see some things more clearly. But
we can only do that if you promise not to start hollering. It’s unbecoming for a person of your stature.”
She didn’t react.
“Do you know who you are?”
Her eyes searched the room, then returned to him. She shook her head.
“No, so few people know who they really are. I want you to listen to me carefully. Then we can talk, okay? You can nod your
head.”
She did.
“Okay, good. Do you believe in God?”
She nodded.
“Really? It’s no wonder he chose you. Do you believe he is infinite?”
Another nod.
“And that he is a God of love?”
Yes.
This was a surprise. Perhaps too good to be true. He wouldn’t have pegged her, being a shrink, as someone capable of faith,
much less understanding love.
“You’re sure? It’s one thing to believe in God, but an infinite God of love is quite another thing. You really believe this?”
Yet another nod.
He still was having difficulty believing her, so he pressed it further.
“Do you go to church?”
This time she tried to respond through the tape but only muffled nonsense came out. She shook her head. No. So then, she was
telling the truth.
“You don’t bow your knees with the mentally ill hypocrites who throw the humble to the wolves. Instead you believe in a loving,
infinite God. Is that right?”
A muffled yes. Quinton believed her.
“Well. That’s very good. Then it will be pretty easy for you to understand that the love an infinite God of love has for each
person is also infinite, right? That there’s no limit to how much he loves you. You can’t say that he loves this one only
this
much and that other one
that
much, because in God’s economy his love is unending. Yes?”
A dip of her chin. He felt quite good about her predisposition to understand, considering her comprehension of the basic facts.
Quinton paced in his black underwear, using his gloved hands to make each point as he spoke. “This is common knowledge, shared
by even dumb priests and pastors. But most clergy do not have the mental capacity to understand what necessarily follows.
There is no greater love than infinite love, which is God’s love. When you love someone infinitely, there is no one that you
love more. You, Nikki. There is no one that God loves more than he loves you. Do you follow?”
She stared with plate-round eyes, but he was sure she did follow. Even an imbecile could follow this if they stopped to think
a moment. Which didn’t say much for clergy.
Nikki, on the other hand, was undoubtedly soaking in his wisdom, preparing her heart, letting it not be troubled.
“You see, everyone is God’s favorite, even the mentally ill, which is most people, but don’t let me digress. They are God’s
favorite, too, all of them. This is possible only because God is infinite and can therefore have more than one favorite without
violating the meaning of the term. He can have multiple favorites and each one is truly a favorite, receiving the greatest
God has to offer, which is infinite. Follow?”
He paused but pressed the final point, so eager was he to tell her.
“The point is, you, Nikki, are God’s favorite.”
It was a stunning revelation. Every time Quinton wrapped his mind around the notion, his brain buzzed, and now was no exception.
He wanted to kiss Nikki, God’s favorite, but he couldn’t risk leaving any of his bodily fluids behind. He would leave the
kissing to God.
“Imagine it. You are God’s favorite. Out of all his creatures”—he spread his hands like a preacher making a grand point—“you
are his absolute favorite. Do you know what that means?”
She was soaking it in, speechless.
“It means every power in heaven and on earth is perched on the edge of their seats, watching to see what the favorite one,
Nikki Holden, will do. Will she respond to her lover’s call? Will she love God in return? Will she be with him for eternity?
Or will she spit in his face and turn her back and find another lover? They all want to know, have to know, because you are
the one. The favorite. All of eternity past has been waiting for the one God did it all for. Did all for you!”
He’d said it masterfully. No one could possibly resist the raw reason behind such a delivery of truth.
“And tonight, you can finally join him, as his bride, to live forever. Imagine that, Nikki. Tonight is your wedding night.”
The thought made him shiver. He stepped up, worked his gloved finger under the edge of her tape, and—“Not a word, not a sound
or I’ll put it back on”—ripped it off.
She gasped for air and coughed.
“Are you okay? Would you like some water?”
She looked like she might cry, but she held herself together and turned her head slightly to face him. Tears were running
down her temples. He would have to reapply the makeup when she was gone.
“Quinton…” Her face was twisted all up, making it hard for her to speak.
“You should be crying for joy, Nikki. Tears of joy. Unless a seed fall to the ground and die, it cannot grow into the beautiful
flower it was meant to be.”
She finally found her voice. “Listen to me, Quinton. Please, listen to me. I want to ask you a question. Can I do that? Will
you let me ask you one question? I mean really ask you?”
It was the first time he’d faced this kind of reaction. “Of course.”
“What if you have one thing wrong. I’m not saying that you do, but what if you just have one small thing wrong?”
But he didn’t. What was her point?
“What if it’s all true? Everything you said about God, including his favorites. That makes sense to me. It’s perfect logic.
It’s true, all of that is true. But what if it’s
my
choice when and how to go to him, not yours? Not even his. What if because I am his favorite he gave me that choice? Because
he loves me.”
She didn’t quite get it. “I’m his messenger,” he said.
“What if you’ve made a mistake and are hurting his favorite? That would make you an enemy of God. Like Lucifer. That would
make you—”
Quinton wasn’t really conscious of what happened next, he was only aware that he was leaping forward, swinging his arm, slamming
his fist into her face.
He stood over her form, breathing hard, mind buzzing like a hornet’s nest someone had taken a bat to. He’d never lost his
temper, not during a ceremony like this. What did it mean? He felt dirty and used, but she’d pulled this reaction out of him.
“Forgive me, Father. Forgive me.”
Now he would have to reapply some makeup. Maybe he should just give her more drugs and drill her heels now. Like he’d slapped
sense into Joshie in the bathroom at Elway’s eatery, he’d now beat this lie out of the bride.
Quinton took a deep breath and calmed himself. No, he wouldn’t drain her yet, he still needed her. He needed Nikki because
she was wrong, he wasn’t the devil.
Rain Man was the devil.
BRAD RAINES PACED
with his hands on his hips, allowing Andrea and Roudy to run through their antics while he tossed in comments as he saw fit.
Three hours had passed since his encounter with Paradise. From what he could see, little progress had been made in their efforts
to find the jack in the whole, this key they insisted was hidden in the evidence. Depending on how he judged the day, it could
be counted as a complete waste of time.
On the other hand, these last six or seven hours had been strangely rewarding. The nature of investigative work often demanded
a kind of role-playing, a cat-and-mouse game of wits, endless rounds of twenty questions without any obvious answer emerging,
connected dots that formed senseless pictures.
But Brad was used to searching for the hidden clues with “ordinary” people who worked according to unspoken rules.
Working with Paradise, Roudy, and Andrea involved no such rules. They were more like three children playing house or, in this
case, detective. Instead of guiding them, he’d quickly become the fourth playmate in their world of make-believe.
There was a freedom here, without expectations other than those Roudy placed on them to
hurry, hurry, hurry
because his report was due.
“Everyone knows this kind of snake lives in the trees,” Roudy said. “You think the snake that came up to Eve in the garden
slid along the ground? Too obvious! Much too obvious. The snake in the hole came to her from the trees if he was a worthy
devil. From the sky, like the apple, which he offered her, not from a hole in the ground.”
Andrea was in her own little world. “Holes are like zeros. One zero, but anything divided by zero is zero. So he had to add
the woman. Now it’s one plus one which is two. Twice. Perfect, see? ‘Perfect twice’ and then ‘Paradise lost.’” She underlined
the corresponding words on the note to underscore her point.