The Reality Conspiracy (47 page)

And a familiar voice said, "I come to explain."

Sullivan's reply was strict and demanding, "Who are you?"

"Name's Barnes. Dr. Bradley and Mr. Chandler're here, ain't they?"

Karen heard the priest hesitate. "Y-yes . . ."

Relieved, she stepped into view. "It's okay, Father." She smiled at Alton who stood under the outside light. Grinning nervously, he appeared pale, uneasy. Wringing his hands, he rocked from foot to foot.

"Mr. Barnes," she said, "I'm so glad it's you."

The older man stepped past Father Sullivan and into the living room.

"You look like you could use a drink," Sullivan told him.

"A drink? No. No, thank you. Can't do that. If you have a glass of water . . ."

"Yes. Certainly. Let me get it for you." Sullivan hurried toward the kitchen as Karen led Alton to the sofa. They sat side by side with Jeff across from them.

In a moment Sullivan returned with the water. Alton took it, chugged it greedily.'

"Thank you," he said, wiping his mouth on his wrist.

"You obviously know these people, Mr. Barnes, but I don't think we've met. My name's Bill Sullivan. I'm the new Catholic priest in town."

Alton reached over, extending an unsteady hand. "Al Barnes." He nearly collapsed back onto the sofa pillow. Sullivan sat on the chair next to Jeff's.

"You look exhausted, Mr. Barnes. Is everything okay?" Karen noted streaks of dirt and scratches on Alton's face; his hands were filthy with black grime and a rusty stain that could have been paint. "Oh gosh, yes. I'm all right. miss. It's about Jeffrey's daughter—"

"What about Casey?" Jeff was on his feet.

"She . . . she . . . " It was as if Alton had forgotten what he was going to say. Confusion obscured his features; his eyes rolled skyward, squinting at the ceiling.

"What about her, Al?"

"Give him a minute, Jeff," said Karen, ultra aware of Alton's every move. Something wasn't right, that was easy to see. But she couldn't put her finger on exactly what.

Sullivan took hold of Jeff's wrist. He coaxed the younger man back into his seat.

"I seen her. I seen your daughter. She's all right. They want me to tell you she's all right."

"Where is she? Who wants you to tell me?"

"Them people. She's back at the house with them people."

"What people? What do they want—?"

"That's what I'm tryin' to tell ya. Your daughter, she's a big part of it. Just like you and me and all of us is a big part of it."

"Of what?' Jeff pounded the leather arm of his chair. "Christ, Alton, talk sense! Karen, what's wrong with him?"

She reached over, touched Alton's forehead, his cheek. She looked into his eyes and picked up his wrist, counting pulse beats. He let her do it without protest.

"He's tired, Jeff. He's exhausted. Look at him. Sit back, Mr. Barnes, Try to relax."

Alton settled back. His chest expanded with a deep breath. Wheezing, he exhaled.

"Now," said Karen, "slowly, one thing at a time, okay? First, please tell us, where is Casey?"

"She's up the farm. Right where we was earlier 'saf'noon. The Dubois place. If you'd've stayed put another minute you'd've seen her."

"How'd she—?" Sullivan quieted Jeff with a hand on the shoulder.

"Okay," said Karen. "Good. Now, is she all right? Is she hurt or sick?"

"Oh no, she's fine. Fact, she's getting better. They're gonna help her. They're gonna heal her up. Wait'Il you see. It's gonna be the real thing, a miracle."

"Christ, Al, who are you talking about?" Jeff's face was tense and frightened. He looked as if he might erupt from pressure mounting inside him. Karen noticed how alert Father Sullivan seemed. He was ready to move quickly, if need be.

"There's a doc up there. McCurdy—"

"
McCurdy!
" Jeff sat ramrod-straight. "McCurdy's up there? What's he want? What's he—? God damn it, if he hurts her—"

Alton smiled up at Jeff. "Jeffrey," he said, "you got this whole thing sized up all wrong. Nobody wants to hurt nobody. Specially your girl. Somethin's happenin' here, somethin' important. Your daughter's part of it. We all are. It's strange, scary, maybe. But it's good, son. I promise you, it's good. I got my understandin' just this evenin'. I'm part of it, too."

"Part of what?"

Jeff was too agitated to see what Karen saw. As she listened to her patient, observed his unfamiliar mannerisms and odd speech patterns, she knew something extraordinary had occurred. Whatever it was had been powerful enough to influence Alton's behavior quite dramatically. He was more than simply tired, he was under the influence of something. When he spoke it was as if he were in some kind of trance. Was it drug-induced? Or a spontaneous flashback to the hypnotic state? She just couldn't judge. She had to learn more. A telling look from Father Sullivan said he could see it, too.

"Hold on, Jeff," the priest said. "Let Mr. Barnes tell his story."

"Hold on nothing! If Casey's up there with McCurdy, I'm going. You can't expect me to sit around here and—"

As Jeff rose and started to move toward the door, Alton jumped up as if he were on springs. "I can't let you do that, Jeffrey. Not yet."

Jeff started to detour around him. "Christ, Al, that son of a bitch kidnapped my daughter—"

Before Jeff took another step, Alton's right arm leapt with the force of a pneumatic hammer. His fist connected with the side of Jeff's head, and Jeff went down.

Karen screamed, "Jeff!" as Sullivan stepped between her and Alton. She grabbed the priest's arm, cowering behind him in terror and surprise. What this kindhearted man had done was completely out of character.

Alton's eyes darted back and forth in manic confusion. "I . . . I'm sorry," he said, looking at the unconscious man at his feet. "I . . . I didn't mean . . . I don't know what—"

"Please, just sit down, Mr. Barnes. Please." Sullivan spoke with calm authority.

Again Al returned to the sofa. "I never meant . . ."

"I know," Sullivan said. "Please, just take a deep breath and try to relax."

Karen knelt to examine Jeff. His pulse was fine. He was breathing normally. When she spoke, he groaned and started to come around.

She looked up at Alton. His sad eyes showed deep concern. His lower lip trembled. "Jeffrey, I'm sorry. I don't know what come over me."

Karen helped Jeff sit up. He appeared dizzy and disoriented. He shook his head, wincing in pain.

Alton's foot tapped, his hand massaged his thigh, his gaze flitted around the room. His tanned skin had paled to a sickly white. "I never done nothin' like that before. Can't tell you how sorry I am, how ashamed. . . ."

"Jeff's okay, Mr. Barnes," Karen soothed. "We know you didn't mean it. You're tired. Upset. We're all jumpy. This has been a horrible day for everybody."

"Can't understand what come over me. . . ."

"Mr. Barnes." Father Sullivan spoke in calm, steady tones. "You said you had come here to tell us something. You said you'd come here to explain . . ."

"Yessir." Alton drew his palm across his mouth. "What I come to say is it ain't chance and it ain't coincidence that brung us here tonight. All of it, every step of the way, was worked out a long, long time ago. Each of us is part of a plan, part of a design. We each got a role to play in the change that's comin'.

"Stu Dubois, he always tried to make a God-fearin' man of me, same as he was. Now I understand; ol' Stu was right all the time. Jes' tonight I got me a little glimpse of how the pieces fit together, how the whole world and every one of us in it is like a great big piece of machinery. It all fits together snug as can be. I seen it. I seen it all at once. An' now I understand it. Pretty quick, you'll see it, too. Ain't that right. Father?"

Sullivan reacted with a start. "Yes, perhaps it is." He cleared his throat. "I believe each of us has a role in God's plan. Is that what you mean?"

"Yep. And you believe in miracles, too, don't you, Father?" Karen could see Alton wasn't baiting the priest. He was talking to him as if they shared some secret understanding.

"Yes," Sullivan hesitated, "but the Church is pretty conservative about what we'll call a miracle. We believe they're possible, we believe they happen, but only by the will of God."

"Then you ain't gonna be as surprised as I was to learn what's goin' on right now."

"And this is what you've come here to tell us?"

"That's right. I'm gonna prepare you. That's my job. Always figgered somethin' big, important like this, would be up to somebody else. Somebody special. A fella who can lead other men. But no sir, it's my job this time. And after I prepare you, then, one at a time, each of us is gonna go up there and go through our change."

Our change? What could he mean?
Karen studied the priest, wondering how he was assessing this. His expression didn't offer a clue.

Our change? Alton had sure changed. Had his fear been so great, his terror so deep-rooted? Had she underestimated the extent of his pain? Suddenly this kindly, down-to-earth Vermonter seemed dangerously disturbed. In fact, she thought he should be in a hospital. In just the course of the afternoon and evening, he had lost touch with reality. To some degree, she felt it was her fault. She felt she had failed him.

She was grateful to Father Sullivan for handling the situation; things had progressed well beyond her competence level.

"Our change?" said Sullivan.

"It's what ya call a 'spiritual miracle.' That's what you Cath'lics call 'em, anyways. It's when God comes down and He makes some kinda change in the human spirit and the human mind. Like in the Bible when St. Paul has his change of heart, what ya call his conversion. That's exactly what happened to me. Exactly. I never used to believe. Then I saw. . . ."

"Mr. Barnes, you referred specifically to a spiritual miracle. How many types of miracles are there?"

Sullivan seemed onto something.

"Miracles? Jest five."

"What are the others, do you know?"

"Sure. I guess. There's miracles that happen to things that ain't alive. You know, like one loaf of bread feedin' hundreds of people. Or like some statue bleedin' or cryin', maybe. And a'course there's miracles happenin' to livin' things that ain't human. Like in plagues. You know, locusts, flies, beetles, frogs, stuff like that. And then there's miracles of faith, like what you call the Eucharist. You know, when Jesus shows up in the bread and wine.

"And—you wait and see, now—there's healing-type miracles. Miracles of the human body. Like what happens in them shrines you read about. Sick people get better. Cripples get up and walk. That's all five, ain't it?"

"Yes. Yes, it is." Sullivan looked intensely wrapped up in this strange dialogue. "You sound like you've been to catechism."

Alton smiled shyly.

"How do you know about the classification of miracles, Mr. Barnes?"

"I jes' know."

"You just . . . ?" Sullivan broke concentration to look at Karen. It was a colleague-to-colleague appeal—what's going on here? Help me out, won't you?—but Karen had nothing to offer. She just sat beside Jeff, holding his hand, watching and wondering.

"Mr. Barnes," Sullivan began a new approach, "what are these changes that you say we'll be going through?"

"Oh, they're good ones, don't you worry. Each of us is gonna learn how to help when the time comes. Each of us has been picked. selected. We each have a special something to offer. Like Mr. Chandler's daughter, she's very lucky. She's gonna show the world a miracle of the human body."

Alton smiled at Jeff. "She's gonna get right up and walk, Jeffrey, and there'll be no question about it. You wait and see."

Karen felt Jeff's muscles tense. She massaged his shoulder, encouraging him to be patient.

"So, Al," Jeff sounded falsely calm, "are you saying Casey is still up to Daisy Dubois's house? That Skipp McCurdy is . . . keeping her up there?"

Father Sullivan reacted to the question. His reaction was identical to Karen's. Jeff had said the wrong thing and she knew exactly where it was heading. She strengthened her grip on Jeff's hand, knowing it would do no good.

"She was just the first of us to be summoned," Alton explained patiently. "We'll all have our turn. You'll see."

Jeff made as if to stand up. "There's no point sitting around here waiting to take turns. I'm going up there right now. I'm going to talk to McCurdy."

"No sir." Alton said. His fingers curled into a fist. His arias flexed, his eyes narrowed. Karen pulled on Jeff's arm, making it impossible for him to rise. If he stood up, she knew Alton would hit him again.

She saw Sullivan square off, ready to tackle Mr. Barnes.

Jeff kept his seat.

Karen had been holding her breath. When she breathed again, she was panting. She cleared her throat, everyone looked at her.

"Mr. Barnes?" she said.

He smiled, eyes twinkling merrily as if nothing had happened. "Yes, miss?"