Part 50 (1/2)
”h.e.l.lo . . . testing . . .”
”Come on, come on! We're driving through town, remember?”
”Let the, uh, ears of the mult.i.tudes be opened before the, the, uh, coming of the Lord!”
”Go out a little farther,” Matt directed. ”We're getting some feedback.”
This is dumb, Michael thought. He'd never spoken a test prophecy before. He walked several yards out in front of the truck, talking as he went. ”Let those who have seen no mercy now see mercy! Let those who are hungry come and dine! Let the blind see the light of the Messiah come to this place!”
The back door of the ranch house opened and Brandon Nichols walked out from under the patio roof and into the sunlight, his image reflected in the swimming pool.
His hair was neatly combed, parted in the middle, and cascading to his shoulders. His beard was shaped and trimmed. He was wearing a white robe and mantle, and biblical leather sandals. The full sleeves of his robe were just short enough to reveal the scars on his arms. He looked like a piece of religious artwork, and he was ready. Mary Donovan followed him, her robe and shawl perfectly in place, her eyes full of wonder.
”Let's go,” he said.
MONA DILLARD knew she would lose her mind. As if she wasn't sickened and frightened enough over dirty-eyed Norman, now it turned out that the couple who'd rented Number Eight weren't really a couple. They were two halves of two other couples, and one of the other halves, a semimaniacal black belt, was kicking on the door, trying to smash it in, yelling and swearing.
”Now, now you stop that!” Mona pleaded from a safe distance across the parking lot. Where, oh where, was Norman?
The brute just kept kicking. ”Sutter, you're gonna pay for this!”
Another kick. A woman inside screamed. A man inside screamed something about being sorry and making a mistake and why don't we talk about this.
The door caved in. The brute ran in. A woman ran out, hands over her head, screaming, while all h.e.l.l broke loose inside. A lamp went through the window and landed in several pieces on the concrete. Then a suitcase.
Then Sutter.
Mona ran to the office to call the police.
ADRIAN FOLSOM opened the bottom drawer of her dresser and pulled out the remaining stationery she'd purchased for her special ministry. She wouldn't be needing it anymore.
”Is that all of it?” asked her husband, Roger.
”This is it. I wrote . . .” She consulted a list she kept in the box, counting all the names. ”I wrote fifteen letters from Elkezar to all these people.”
Roger was dismayed. ”Fifteen!”
”I thought he was-” Adrian winced with shame and embarra.s.sment. ”I thought he was an angel of G.o.d. I really did.”
”Where is he now?”
”Oh, I don't know! He's a spirit, Roger! You can't just go out and find him.”
”Well he'd better take his business elsewhere, that's all I've got to say.” He shouted to the air, ”You hear that, Amazar?”
Adrian whispered, ”You'll scare Melissa! And his name's Elkezar.”
”He knows who I mean.”
She looked at the list of names in her stationery box. ”I'll have to write back to every one of them and tell them to throw the letters away.”
Roger nodded with a smile. ”I'm feeling better already.”
Just then, they heard the voice of their granddaughter Melissa, playing in the living room. ”Hi! What's your name?”
Roger and Adrian exchanged a look, then ran.
Five-year-old Melissa and Jillie, the schnauzer, had been playing fetch with Jillie's ball, but now they stood in the middle of the room looking up at . . . nothing. Melissa was making a face. ”That's a funny name. I'm Melissa.” Seemingly in answer to a question, she looked at Jillie and said, ”This is Jillie. She won't bite you.”
Adrian and Roger stood frozen in the hallway.
”Melissa,” Adrian said, her voice trembling with fear she tried not to show, ”would you come here please?”
Melissa looked their way but didn't move. She was still talking to someone. ”This is my gramma and grampa.” She told Adrian and Roger, ”This is Alka-Seltzer. That's his name; I'm not making it up.”
”Melissa! I want you to come here this instant!”
Melissa shrugged and came toward them. Adrian stepped forward, reached, and yanked Melissa to her side. Then she scanned the room, her eyes darting wildly for any stirring, any shadow or sign.
Jillie was the best sign. She was still looking up at something no one else could see.
Melissa got fussy. ”He wants to play with me!”
”Alkanar . . .” said Roger.
”Elkezar,” Adrian corrected.
”Elkezar, get out of the house. Right now. You're not welcome here!” Even his voice was shaky.
Jillie watched something move through the room, then followed it past the kitchen and toward the back door, her eyes locked on it, panting, trotting, and leaping playfully, but not barking.
The back door opened by itself and Jillie dashed into the back yard.
”Jillie!” Adrian cried, running after her. ”Jillie, come back here!”
”Adrian!” Roger ran after her with Melissa at his heels.
Jillie snarled and then yelped. Adrian flung the back door open and stepped onto the walkway.
She screamed, stepping backward, turning her face away, covering her eyes.
Roger grabbed Melissa, but too late. She saw it too, and shrieked, burying her face in his leg.
Jillie lay twisted and dead on the gra.s.s, eyes vacant, legs crookedly skyward, her innards strewn about the yard in torn lengths and pieces.
JIM BAYLOR didn't even get through the police station door before he b.u.mped chests with Deputy Mark Peterson coming out.
”Hey, whoa there!”
”In a hurry, Jim!”