The Burning Time (16 page)

Ralphie’s body lay on the sidewalk for three hours before Showalter remembered to send the coroner for it.

No one complained.

*   *   *

Reverend Christian paused in the act of handing Billy Ray a list of things to pick up at Wal-Mart.

“What’s the matter?” Billy Ray asked.

Christian shook his head and passed the envelope over.

“Nothing, Billy. Nothing at all. In fact, things are getting better every day.”

*   *   *

Cookie Dodge opened her bedroom window and prepared to step over the sill. The midnight breeze brought no pleasure. Instead of cool comfort, it brought soggy, hot air and the sounds of distant dogs howling. The stink of cow shit from the surrounding farms rode the cruel currents with manic glee, adding to the general unpleasantness of the night.

“No, Cookie. Not the window. What would Mr. Albert think if you did that?”

Cookie paused. It didn’t make sense to hear a voice in her head, but then, so much in the world didn’t make sense to her. The only person who’d ever been able to make her see things clearly had been Mr. Albert, the tall, handsome man who taught her Special Education class. She’d known she’d loved him since the first day of school, had thought he felt the same way about her, too. After all, he always said thank you when she wrote poems for him on heart-shaped pieces of paper.

What else could that be but love?

Except two days ago, she’d seen his picture in the newspaper while searching for the funnies. She’d been excited to show her parents, so much so that when she’d asked them to read the words to her, she’d forgotten to be embarrassed about being fifteen and unable to read like the other girls.

“This is a wedding announcement, honey,” her mother had said.

“What’s that?”

“It means Mr. Albert is getting married to the pretty girl in the picture with him. Isn’t that wonderful?”

But it wasn’t wonderful. It was horrible. Cookie had screamed and torn the paper to shreds. Her parents had tried to calm her down, but she ran back upstairs and threw herself onto her bed and buried her face in her pillow so no one could hear her cry.

Since then, she’d only left her room to eat and use the toilet. Mr. Albert had even called her on the telephone, but she’d yelled at him, told him he was a rotten cheater-cheater-cheater, just like the boy who broke up with her sister Sharon last year. Then she’d hung up the phone.

Cookie had planned on staying in her room the rest of her life, until earlier tonight when the voice started speaking inside her head. A man’s voice, as cool and smooth as chocolate syrup on ice cream. She liked the voice, because it chased all her sad thoughts away, made them hide.

“You need to teach Mr. Albert a lesson,” it had said. “Show him he made a mistake. It’s not too late.”

“It’s not?” she’d whispered.

“No. He’s not married yet. If you show him he was wrong, he’ll leave her and marry you. But you have to do it tonight.”

That made sense. “Okay.”

The voice told her to put on her prettiest dress, like she was going to a party.

“Am I going somewhere?”

“Yes. A special place, where no one makes fun of you and Mr. Albert will always be there to help you.”

“My mommy says heaven is a special place. Am I going to heaven?”

“Someplace even better.”

“Do I have to die?”

For a moment, the voice stayed silent. When it spoke again, it had sounded like it was smiling.
“No one ever really dies, Cookie. We only go to different places.”

The voice reminded her of Mr. Albert’s, ‘cause it had an answer for everything. So Cookie had put on her dress as fast as she could.

“You need to go to the river, Cookie. To the bridge. Do you know where that is?”

She nodded. She liked walking across it. Sometimes she took rocks and dropped them in the water to see the splashes they made.

“Good. Go there now. I’ll be waiting there for you, to tell you what to do next.”

“Okeey-dokeey.”

Sneaking out of the house was no problem. Cookie did it a lot in the summer. She liked to sit outside in her underwear and feel the breeze tickle her skin. Sometimes she even peed in the bushes next to the driveway. That was scary, ‘cause her parents would get mad if they caught her, but it was fun, too. Like a game.

As she crept out the back door, she thought about peeing in the bushes now, but decided against it. The voice might get angry if she didn’t get to the bridge right away.

After looking both ways, Cookie Dodge ran across the street and headed for the river, singing softly to herself the whole way.

“Me and Mr. Albert sittin’ in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g...”

Cyrus Christian stood in the doorway to the church’s recreation room, where two dozen or so women were busy stacking paper plates, setting up coffee urns, and unfolding tablecloths. While the original plan had called for having the sale outside, the ongoing heat had forced the committee to bring it inside, where at least there were fans.

He scanned the room until he spotted the person he’d been looking for. Danni Anderson stood at the opposite end from him, sorting packages of regular and decaf coffee. Ignoring the greetings of his flock, Christian strode across the room and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Danni, might I have a word with you in my office?”

She looked up, a small smile gracing her lips. “Of course, Reverend.”

He felt like smiling himself. Anyone in their right mind would have been nervous to be alone with him; he had no illusions as to his effect on people. The dark forces filling him were growing stronger each day, and it had reached the point where the tainted energies leaked out of him the way curry or garlic will leak out from the pores of habitual eaters.

The fact that Danni expressed no concern meant she was well and truly under his influence, something that would make his job that much easier.

When they reached the office, Christian shut the door and told Danni to have a seat.

“We have a problem, Miss Anderson, one I’m hoping you can help me with.”

“Anything, Reverend. What is it?”

“I’m afraid it’s this man you are putting up in your house, John Root. I’ve done some checking on him, and the information I’ve received makes me nervous not only for yours and Mitch’s safety, but for the safety of our fair town.”

“John?” Danni frowned. “But the police said he had nothing to do with the murders of those women. And he’s so good with Mitch.”

“The Devil cloaks himself well in the skin of friendliness,” Christian said. “He seems nice enough now. But what about later?”

“Later?”

“When his true colors come out.” Christian walked around the desk and sat in his chair, leaned toward Danni. “How much you know about Mister Root?”

Danni pursed her lips as she thought. “I know he’s from South Carolina, and that he travels the country, collecting old tales for his books.”

“Mmm-hmmm. And did you know that in the last several towns he’s stayed in, there have been reports of children going missing?”

“What?” Danni’s eyes went wide.

“That’s right. Of course, he always had a strong alibi when questioned. And then there was the money...”

“What money?”

Christian fought to keep from smiling. “The money that went missing from the homes he stayed in. Again, nothing that could be linked directly to him, and even if it could, he was always long gone before the theft was discovered.”

“How did you find all this out?”

The reverend leaned back. “I have friends in other churches, ministers and parishioners who had their suspicions of Mister Root, just as I do. Do not forget, it was I who warned the town of the stranger in their midst. And you cannot say that things in Hastings Mills haven’t been going sour since the arrival of you so-called friend.”

Danni chewed her lower lip as she considered Christian’s words. He wanted to pound the desk in glee. He could see her thoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken them out loud.

Things have been strange lately.

And John’s already been in trouble with the police.

What if the reverend’s right?

“I...I don’t know,” Danni said, looking torn between anger and self-doubt.

“Of course you don’t. None of us do.” Christian spread his hands. “But as the saying goes, isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?”

“Yes.” Danni nodded. “Yes, it is. What should I do?”

Now Christian allowed himself a small smile. “I can’t tell you that, Miss Anderson. But if it was me, I wouldn’t want a stranger like John Root anywhere near my little brother.”

A look of hard determination came over Danni’s face. “You’re right. I’ll go take care of that as soon as I’m done here.”

“Why wait?” Christian stood and indicated the door. “Go now. We can handle things here. Your family is much more important.”

Danni rose from her chair. “Thank you, Reverend. I’ll see you in the morning.” She existed the office at a fast pace.

Christian waited until the door shut behind her before letting his smile take on its natural malignancy. “Have a nice night, Miss Anderson. And you, too, John Root.”

*   *   *

“Tell me more about Reverend Christian.”

John looked up from the pot of macaroni he was stirring, wondering how he should answer Mitch’s question. He’d been debating how much of the truth to tell the boy ever since he’d promised him more information.

After a moment’s thought, he decided to be totally honest, even if it meant frightening the boy. Better scared than unprepared.

“It’s a long story. Suffice to say that the thing pretending to be Cyrus Christian has been around a long, long time, long enough for his ways to become the stuff of folk tales and mythology. Wherever he goes, you can count on certain things happening: young women dying strange deaths, violence in the streets...”

“And people falling under his spell?”

John nodded. “Yes. A handful at first, but the longer he stays, the more powerful he grows, and more people he can influence.”

Mitch poured himself a glass of ice tea. “If he’s always the same, why can’t people find him and stop him?”

“The trouble he causes is always the same, but he isn’t,” John said. “Sometimes he’s a politician, sometimes a teacher. And he wears a different face in every town. That’s why it’s taken me so long to find him.”

“How long?”

John ran a hand through his silver hair. “When I started my search, you weren’t even born yet.”

“Wow. I didn’t think you were
that
old.” Before John could comment that Mitch wouldn’t believe how old he
really
was, the boy asked, “So how I can help you?”

That was a question John hadn’t expected. He took a moment to consider it before answering.

“You can gather information for me,” John said. “No one in town trusts me enough to tell me anything. But you’ll have to be very careful. Don’t ask too many questions. I’d rather not have the information than risk something happening to you.”

“What could happen?”

“A lot.” John placed both hands on the boy’s shoulders, made sure he was paying close attention. “Remember, the town isn’t the same anymore. The people you know... Well, they might not really be the people you know anymore. Say or do the wrong thing, and they’ll mention it to Reverend Christian.”

Mitch’s somber expression told John the boy understood the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll be careful, I promise. But while I’m doing that, what will you be doing?”

“Figuring out a way to keep us safe and break Christian’s hold on Danni.”

The sound of Danni’s car pulling into the driveway stopped John. He put his finger to his lips. “Remember, right now your sister can’t be trusted. Not a word of this to her, understand?”

Mitch nodded.

John hoped for the boy’s sake he knew how to keep a secret.

*   *   *

Reverend Christian returned to the rec center just as Marjorie Campbell was putting the finishing touches on the banner hanging proudly over the stage, where the prizes would be awarded.

“Reverend Christian!” Marjorie waved a hand at him. “Does this look right to —”

With a
snap
like a tree branch breaking, the hinges of the ladder pulled free from the wood. Marjorie had time for one terrified gasp as the ladder collapsed beneath her, leaving her suspended in the air for a split second. Then gravity enforced itself on her again, and she crashed to the ground. Several more popping sounds followed.

Christian had a feeling they weren’t from the ladder.

“Oh, my God!” Helen Kapinski dropped a box of plastic forks and ran to the stage. “Someone call an ambulance!”

The rest of the women crowded around their motionless friend, heads bobbing up and down, bodies jigging side to side like a gaggle of geese jostling each other for better look.

Christian let them caw and screech for a moment, then strode forward, putting on his best authoritative air.

“Ladies, ladies, please. Step back. Give me some room. I’m trained in first aid.”

The gaggle parted before him. Mrs. Kapinski knelt by the body, one shaking hand hovering hesitantly over Mrs. Campbell’s wrinkled face.

Christian nudged her aside and placed his fingers against Mrs. Campbell’s wattle-laden neck. The pool of blood spreading under the woman’s head, combined with the unnatural angle of her neck, told him they’d be better off calling a hearse than an ambulance. But he pretended to search for a pulse. After several seconds, he pulled his hand away and shook his head.

“I’m afraid the Gods have claimed her.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Kapinski put her hands over her face.

Someone in the crowd murmured that it was a terrible thing to happen.

“Nonsense.” Christian stood up and took them all in with his gaze. “Blood consecrates, my brethren. Blood is life, blood is what the Gods demand. The giving of one’s blood—one’s very life!—for the Gods is the truest sacrifice any of us can make. And to do it in this very place of worship...” Christian paused, spread his arms. “To do it here is a wondrous thing!”