Part 20 (2/2)

I FOUND KYLE sitting on the hood of his car, on the opposite side of the road from the big stone gate, his wrists on his knees and his fingers interlocked, peering up that long driveway. As I got out of my car, I could see he'd taken a blow. He didn't leap to his feet or holler Praise G.o.d. He just gave me a tired little wave of greeting and looked up the driveway again. I walked over and sat beside him. The top of the ranch house was just visible beyond the distant rise, and to the left of it, the ridge of the big circus tent.

For a moment, we just sat there staring up the driveway. I'd never known Kyle to be so quiet.

Finally, I said, ”I confronted Armond Harrison about his weird doctrines and s.e.xual practices, and I raised the whole question about his belonging to the ministerial. I wrote a letter too-not to the newspaper, but to the other ministers, just asking if they had a problem with it. I guess I don't have to tell you what happened, or what people said, or how some of the ministers felt.”

Kyle stared up the Macon driveway and said, ”He isn't Jesus Christ!”

”No. Of course he isn't. But you have to remember, people like Brandon Nichols and Armond Harrison are always going to be around. If you use up all your energy trying to pull them down, you won't have enough left to do the Lord's business, building up the sheep and gaining new ones. You could crash and burn, and after you crash and burn, the bad guys will still be there. I guess you've noticed by now, there are people who like the bad guys. When you live in a world that likes bad guys, the bad guys don't go away.”

”Dee Baylor's left the church and she's recruiting anyone she can find to follow this guy. Adrian and Roger have left, and now Adrian's pa.s.sing around notes from Jesus that say people shouldn't listen to me.”

I considered that for a moment, then nodded. ”Hm. That sounds about right.”

”It isn't right! It's deception! It's going to cost people their souls!”

I put up my hand. Truce. ”You're right, you're right. Just trying to give you a perspective, that's all. Heresy loves company.”

He pointed his finger in my face and spoke like a preacher. ”He's a wolf in sheep's clothing and he's s.n.a.t.c.hing my sheep! I'm not going to stand aside and let him do that.”

”Kyle, as far as Dee and Adrian are concerned, if it hadn't been Nichols it would have been someone else. People like that don't stay in one church very long. They go where the goodies are.”

”I won't stand for it.”

”So what are you going to do?”

”Pray. That's the first thing. I'm going to be up here every day praying that G.o.d will defeat this man and his lies.”

”But you're going to be wise, aren't you?”

He just about snapped at me, but I guess he got my point. He turned away, his pain showing.

I pressed it just a little, hoping he'd allow it. ”Generally speaking, it's not wise to walk right into the enemy's cannon fire. A little caution, a little forethought, a little strategy never hurt anybody.”

”I don't know how in the world he got those scars.”

”He told me they were nail scars.”

That turned his head. ”He told you that?”

I nodded.

”When did you talk to him?”

”About an hour ago. He told me what happened between him and you. He sounded apologetic, if that helps.”

Kyle's face seemed permanently twisted with amazement. ”He talks to you?”

”Yeah. He calls and gives me regular updates.”

Kyle's amazement twisted his face even more. ”He calls you?”

”Yep.”

”Why?”

I thought he'd never ask. ”Heresy loves company. My hunch is, he's looking for some kind of sympathy, some kind of justification for what he's doing. He thinks I'll agree with him.”

Kyle thought that over and then nodded with a hint of a smirk. ”I guess that shouldn't surprise me.”

”But that gives us a handle on him, doesn't it? He has a religious background he's not happy about and something he has to prove. He's after me because he thinks we have something in common. Well, if we have as much in common as he thinks we do, then I might know him better than I think.”

”Are you saying you're going to help me?”

I remember thinking, Now how in the world did it come down to this? as I answered, ”I guess that's what it comes down to.”

I TOOK A SIDE TRIP along the river road just so the drive home would take longer. It was a nice day, I hadn't been down that road yet this spring, and I didn't feel like going home, not yet. I had the window rolled down, the smells of gra.s.s, wheat, and river water were rus.h.i.+ng through the car, and I felt different. Not good, particularly- what I felt was a stirring in my heart I'd known before, a feeling that G.o.d was saying, Okay, Travis, here's what I'd like you to do next.

Kyle and I prayed together before we each headed for home. I prayed for him, he prayed for me, and we didn't pray against Brandon Nichols as much as for him. As mysterious and sinister as he was, I knew, and tried to tell Kyle, that he had an unknown side that needed to be reached. How that would happen there was just no saying, but- Hold on! What was that in the river? I caught just a brief flicker of it through a break in the trees and brush.

I braked to a stop at the first gravel turnout and turned the car around. On any other day I might not have done that, but today-I don't know, I guess I was expecting something. I drove back, spotted it again, and pulled off on the opposite shoulder from the river.

Only weeks ago, the Spokane River had been running high from the spring snow melt, its banks nearly submerged, its water pea green from fine, suspended silt. Now it was dropping toward its summer level, changing from green to crystalline blue, and leaving muddy banks where river gra.s.s grew tall and sodden drift logs came to rest. I walked to the edge of the riverbank and found out I was right: I really had seen the rear end of an automobile just breaking the surface. It was brown with mud and silt, which relieved my concern that I'd come upon a recent accident. By all appearances, the spring current had pushed it along until it came to rest against a huge fallen log. I looked upriver. About thirty yards upstream was an embankment with access from the road. The embankment dropped like a cliff toward the water, but during the spring run-off the water would have been up to the top edge, making it a perfect spot to ditch a car-or have an accident. That thought now plagued me.

The fallen log provided a nice bridge out to the car and I took it, leaving my shoes, socks, and wallet in the gra.s.s. The current was brisk, rippling over the log, the car's trunk, and my ankles. The water was clear, however, and all I needed was an angle to avoid the glare of the sun off the water. Just above the rear b.u.mper, I could see the license plate no more than a foot below the rus.h.i.+ng surface.

It was muddy and obscured. Now I had to consider the temperature of the water, the quality of my clothes, and how far I would have to drive soaking wet.

I sat on the log and gasped as the cold water came up to my waist, then swept the mud away with my hand.

I could hardly breathe with the river chilling me, but I remained long enough to memorize the license number. Then, dripping and s.h.i.+vering, I hurried up the log and got out of there.

The effort may have been worth it. The car had a Montana license plate.

13.

IGAVE BRETT HENCHLE a call and he came out to the river to have a look, putting on some waders and double-checking the license plate. I didn't say anything about the car being from Montana and what that could mean. I was hoping he'd make the connection himself. If he did make the connection, he didn't acknowledge it.

”Okay, I'll check into it.” He threw his waders in the trunk of his squad car and drove off, leaving me standing alone on the riverbank, feeling let down. I wanted to think well of him. I wanted to believe he would be objective and do his job as a lawman, but . . . he had been healed by Brandon Nichols, hadn't he?

FRIDAY MORNING, halfway through my breakfast, I heard a lawn mower cutting laps around John Billings's place. I knew John wasn't home, so I had to wonder, Now what?

I stepped out on my front porch and looked across the street. This was something new: an older, chubby fellow in lemon yellow shorts riding a s.h.i.+ny red Honda mower. Did John hire this guy to do the job Brandon Nichols never finished? Was this the apostle Paul, or perhaps Abraham? Should I ask?

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