This Present Darkness (33 page)

Above the Buick, whisking just over the tops of the trees, Nathan and Armoth kept a careful eye on the vehicle, their wings rushing in an even pattern and their bodies trailing two streaks of diamond-studded light.

“So this is where it all begins,” said Nathan with a playful tone.

“And you have been chosen to strike the blow,” responded Armoth.

Nathan smiled. “Child’s play.”

Armoth teased him a little. “I’m sure Tal could pick someone else who would like the honor—”

Nathan drew his sword, and it flashed like a lightning bolt. “Oh no, dear Armoth! I’ve waited long enough. I’ll take it.”

Nathan banked away from Armoth, dropped down over the roadway as it wound through the tall trees, and began to keep pace with
the car, flying lazily about thirty feet above it. He kept his eye on the little town of Baker now approaching, made a quick judgment as to the coasting distance the car could travel, and then, at the right moment, he hurled his sword like a fiery spear downward. The sword traveled a perfect trajectory and shot through the hood of the car.

The engine died.

“Nuts!” said Marshall, shifting quickly into neutral.

“What’s wrong?” Bernice asked.

“Something’s broke.”

Marshall tried to restart the engine as the car continued to coast along. No response.

“Probably electrical …” he muttered.

“Better pull over at that station.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.”

The Buick limped into the little filling station in Baker and rolled to a stop right at the front door. Marshall opened the hood.

“I’m going to excuse myself,” said Bernice.

“Go for me too, will you?” Marshall said crossly, looking here and there around the engine compartment.

Bernice went to the next little building, The Evergreen Tavern. Age and settling were slowly swallowing it from the bottom up, and one end was badly sunken, the paint on the front door was peeling. The neon beer logo in the window still worked, though, and the jukebox inside was twanging some country hit.

Bernice pushed the door open—the bottom scraped a worn arc across the linoleum—and went inside, twisting her nose a little at the blue cigarette smoke that had replaced the air. Just a few men sat in the establishment, probably the first of the logging crews getting off work. They were talking loudly, swapping stories, cussing it up. Bernice looked directly toward the back of the room, trying to find the little Men and Women signs. Yes, there was Restrooms.

One of the men at a nearby table said, “Hey, baby, how’s it goin’?”

Bernice wasn’t going to even look in his direction, but did just happen to give him a glance and an appropriately dirty look. A little too
much
local color in this place, she thought.

She slowed her walk. Her eyes locked on him. He looked back at her with a boozy, lazy-eyed smile on his bearded face.

Another man said, “Looks like you got her attention, buddy.”

Bernice kept looking at him. She approached the table and took an even closer look. The hair was long and tangled, bound into a ponytail with a rubber band. The eyes were glassy and now heavily lined. But she knew this man.

The man’s friend said, “Good evening, ma’am. Don’t let him bother you, he’s just having a good time, right, Weed?”

“Weed?” Bernice asked. “Kevin Weed?”

Kevin Weed just looked up at her, enjoying the view and saying little. Finally he said, “Can I buy you a beer?”

Bernice came closer to him, made sure he could clearly see her face. “Do you remember me? Bernice Krueger?” Weed only looked puzzled. “Do you remember Pat Krueger?”

A light slowly began to dawn in Weed’s face. “Pat Krueger …? Who are you?”

“I’m Bernice, Pat’s sister. Do you remember me? We met a couple of times. You and Pat’s roommate were going together.”

Weed brightened and smiled, and then he cursed and excused himself. “Bernice Krueger! Pat’s sister!” He cursed again, and excused himself again. “What’re you doin’ in this place?”

“Just passing through. And I will take a small Coke, thank you.”

Weed smiled and looked at his friends. Their eyes and mouths were getting wide, and they were starting to laugh.

Weed said with a leer, “I think it’s time you boys found another table …”

They gathered up their hard hats and lunchboxes and laughed. “Yeah, you got it, Weed.”

“Dan,” Weed hollered, “a small Coke for the lady here.”

Dan had to stare for a moment at the nice girl who had come into a place like his. He got the Coke and brought it to her.

“So what have you been doing?” Weed asked her.

Bernice had her pen and notebook out. She told him a little about what she had been doing and what she was doing now. Then she said, “I haven’t seen you since before Pat’s death.”

“Hey, I’m really sorry about that.”

“Kevin, can you tell me anything about it? What do you know?”

“Nothing much … no more than what I read in the papers.”

“What about Pat’s roommate? Do you hear from her anymore?” Bernice noticed Weed’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open the moment she mentioned the girl.

“Man, this world is getting smaller all the time!” he said.

“You saw her?” Bernice couldn’t believe her good fortune.

“Well, yeah, sort of.”

“When?” Bernice insisted.

“But just for a little while.”

“Where? When?” Bernice was having a very difficult time holding herself back.

“I saw her at the carnival.”

“In Ashton?”

“Yeah, yeah, in Ashton. I just ran into her. She called my name, and I turned around and there she was.”

“What did she say? Did she say where she’s living now?”

Weed fidgeted a little. “Man, I don’t know. I don’t really care. She dumped me, you know, ran off with that other goon. She was even with him that night.”

“What was her name again?”

“Susan. Susan Jacobson. She’s a real heartbreaker, she is.”

“Do you have any idea—did she give you any idea of where I might find her? I have to talk to her about Pat. She might know something.”

“Man, I don’t know. She didn’t talk to me for very long at all. She was in a hurry, had to meet her new boyfriend or something. She wanted my phone number, that was about it.”

Bernice couldn’t let go of her hope. Not yet. “Are you sure she didn’t give you some idea of where she’s living now, or any way to get in touch with her?” Weed shrugged drunkenly. “Kevin, I’ve been trying to find her for ages! I’ve got to talk to her!”

Weed was bitter. “Talk to her boyfriend, that fat little geezer with all the bucks!”

No, no, that wasn’t really a legitimate hunch that ran through Bernice’s mind. Or was it?

“Kevin,” she said, “what did Susan look like that night?”

He was staring off into space, like a drunken and jilted lover. “Foxy,” he said. “Long, black hair, black dress, sexy shades.”

Bernice felt her stomach tighten into a knot as she said, “And what
about her boyfriend? Did you see him?”

“Yeah, later. Susan acted like she didn’t even know me when he came into the picture.”

“Well, what did he look like?”

“Like some wimp from Fat City. It had to have been his money, that’s why Susan latched on to him.”

Bernice picked up her pen in a shaking hand. “What’s your phone number?”

He gave it to her.

“Address?”

He mumbled that off too.

“Now, you say she asked you for your phone number?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why. Maybe things aren’t working out with loverboy.”

“Did you give it to her?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’m a sucker, but yeah, I did.”

“So she just might be calling you.”

He shrugged.

“Kevin …” Bernice gave him one of her cards. “Listen carefully to me. Are you listening?”

He looked at her and said yes.

“If she calls, if you hear anything from her at all, please give her my name and number and tell her I want to talk to her. Get
her
number so I can call
her.
Will you do that?”

He took the card and nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

She finished her Coke and prepared to leave. He looked at her with his dull, glassy eyes.

“Hey, you doin’ anything tonight?”

“If you hear from Susan, call me. We’ll have plenty to talk about then.”

He looked at her card again. “Yeah, sure.”

A few moments later Bernice was back at the filling station just in time to see Marshall start the car up. The old and bent station owner was looking at the engine and shaking his head.

“Hey, that did it!” Marshall shouted from behind the wheel.

“Heck, I didn’t do a thing,” said the old man.

High above the filling station, Nathan soared skyward to join Armoth,
his sword retrieved. “Done,” he said.

“And now we’ll see how the captain and Guilo succeed in New York.”

The Buick started out again, and Nathan and Armoth followed behind and above it like two kites on strings.

HANK STARTED THE
Sunday morning service with a good rousing song, one Mary performed on the piano particularly well. Both were in good spirits and feeling encouraged; in spite of the approaching sounds of battle, they sensed that God in His infinite wisdom was indeed working out a very mighty and effective plan for reestablishing his kingdom in the town of Ashton. Victories large and small were in the making, and Hank knew it had to be the hand of God.

For one thing, this morning he would be ministering to an almost entirely new congregation; at least it sure felt that way. Many of the old dissenters had dropped out of the church and taken their embittering presence with them, and the whole mood and spirit of the place had risen several notches because of their absence. Sure, Alf Brummel, Gordon Mayer, and Sam Turner still hovered around, brooding together like some kind of hit squad, but none of them were in the service this morning and a lot of new, fresh faces were. The Forsythes’ example had been followed by their numerous friends and acquaintances, some married couples, some singles, and some students. Grandma Duster was there, as strong and healthy as ever and ready for a spiritual fight; John and Patty Coleman were back, and John couldn’t keep from grinning in his joy and excitement.

Of the rest, Hank had only met one. Next to Andy and June, looking a little sheepish, sat Ron Forsythe, along with his girlfriend, a short,
very made-up sophomore. Hank had to choke down some very strong emotion when he saw the Forsythes enter accompanied by their son: it was a miracle, a genuine act of grace by the living God. He would have shouted hallelujah right there, but he didn’t want to scare the young fellow away; this could be one of those kid-gloves cases.

After the first song, Hank figured he might as well address the situation before him.

“Well,” he said informally, “I don’t know whether to call all you people visitors or refugees or what.”

They all laughed and exchanged glances.

Hank continued, “Why don’t we just take a moment here to introduce ourselves? I guess you probably know who I am; I’m Hank Busche, the pastor, and this flower sitting at the piano is my wife, Mary.” Mary stood quickly, smiled meekly, then sat down again. “Why don’t we go around the room here and tell everybody who we are …”

And the first roll call of the Remnant took place as the angels and demons watched: Krioni and Triskal stood at their posts right beside Hank and Mary while Signa and his squad, now numbering ten, kept a hedge about the building.

Again Lucius had carried on a bitter argument with Signa, trying to gain admittance. But he knew better than to push the matter too far—Hank Busche was bad enough, but now he had a whole church full of praying saints. The heavenly warriors were enjoying their first real advantage. Lucius finally ordered his demons to remain outside and hear what they could.

The only demons that had managed to enter had come in with their human hosts, and now they sat here and there in the congregation, brooding over this horrible development. Scion stood near the back like a hen watching over her brood, and Seth stayed near the Forsythes and the group with them.

There was power in this place today, and everyone could feel it grow as each new person stood and introduced himself. To Hank it seemed just like the gathering of a special army.

“Ralph Metzer, sophomore at Whitmore …”

“Judy Kemp, sophomore at Whitmore …”

“Greg and Eva Smith, friends of the Forsythes.”

“Bill and Betty Jones. We run the Whatnot Shop over on Eighth
Street …”

“Mike Stewart. I live with the Joneses, and I work out at the mill.”

“Cal and Ginger Barton. We’re still new in town.”

“Cecil and Miriam Cooper, and we’re sure glad to see you all here …”

“Ben Squires. I’m the guy who brings you your mail if you live on the west side …”

“Tom Harris, and this is my wife Mabel. Welcome to all of you and praise the Lord!”

“Clint Neal—I work at the filling station.”

“Greg and Nancy Jenning. I teach and she’s a writer.”

“Andy Forsythe, and praise the Lord!”

“June Forsythe, and amen to that.”

Ron stood to his feet, put his hands in his pockets, and looked at the floor a lot as he said, “I’m—I’m Ron Forsythe, and this here is Cynthia, and … I met the pastor at The Cave, and …” His voice cracked with emotion. “I just want to thank you people for praying for me and for caring.” He stood there for a moment, looking at the floor while tears welled up in his eyes.

June stood beside him and addressed the group on his behalf. “Ron wants you all to know that he and Cynthia gave their hearts to Jesus last night.”

Everyone smiled with delight and murmured encouragement, and that loosened Ron up enough to say, “Yeah, and we flushed all our drugs down the toilet!”

That brought down the house.

With increased joy and fervor, the roll call continued.

Outside, the demons listened with great alarm and hissed exclamations of forboding.

“Rafar must know of this!” one said.