The Burning Time Page 8

  The Other’s influence is stronger than I thought.

  That sparked a new fear in John’s heart.

  Part II

  He speaks in words that sound like riddles

  He brings the lighting down to earth

  He makes the young girls leave their homes

  When the Stranger comes to town

  - The Stranger, undated Southern folk myth

  Chapter 13

  “And in the olden days, the dark days, the forces of Heaven and Hell fought mighty battles. Long before the God of Christianity brought his message of peace to the people of Earth, the Elders struggled for supremacy in the universe. From the farthest reaches of cold space to the lands and oceans of our own world, blood spilled in waves and mythical creatures fought with ferocity unlike anything witnessed before or since. Mountains shook with their fury, and their sciences were as magic to the primitive dwellers on Earth.”

  Reverend Christian paused to take a deep breath, and Mitch shifted nervously on the hard wood of the pew. All around him, the church-goers sat in enraptured silence, staring at the man who no longer stood behind the podium but stalked back and forth, his wireless microphone amplifying his voice to near-deafening levels. Sweat dripped off the noses, chins, and foreheads of everyone in the church, with the exception of Christian. He seemed immune to the heat, his long hair unkempt but suspiciously dry. Women fanned themselves with their church notices, and men wiped brows with already-damp handkerchiefs.

  Mitch cast a glance at Danni and saw she was as caught up in the sermon as the rest of the crowd, something he couldn’t understand. She’d never been much into religion. They only reason they even went to church was because they’d promised their mother, right before she died, that they’d go every Sunday until Mitch was sixteen. Then he could make his own informed decision.

  But lately, she’d gotten more and more interested in Sunday mass. Ever since Reverend Christian came to town, he realized. He doesn’t scare her the way he scares me. Or John.

  He still couldn’t believe the police had arrested John. There was no way he was a murderer. Mitch thought back to the day John had chased away the bullies and healed his cuts and bruises. If anything, the man was a hero. He wanted to tell that to Danni, but he’d promised John he’d never say anything about the black bag or its magic contents.

  It’s not fair! Everyone in town, even Danni, was convinced John was guilty. It’d been three days since John’s arrest, and Danni still got mad if Mitch tried to bring the subject up. People were even saying he deserved the death penalty. When he’d tried to say something in John’s defense, Danni had hushed him and said, “You’ve got to face facts, little brother. He pulled a fast one on us. I just thank the Gods he didn’t hurt you.”

  The reverend’s voice boomed out again over the new speakers placed throughout the church. “The time of retribution is at hand. Too many of our own have been taken from us these past weeks, and like the lambs sent to slaughter, they were sacrificed for the greater good of the community. Yes, that’s right, the greater good. For you see, our community isn’t just in this church, or in this town. It’s everywhere”—he spread his arms wide—“all across the nation and the world. And by giving their lives up, they’ve played their part in the Gods’ plan to return the world to what it should be.”

  He paused again, then returned to the small podium. “It is no coincidence that the Stranger came to our town. For we have been chosen by the Gods to bring him to justice. Not the Christian God. No, for he would preach forgiveness, even allow this man to rid himself of his sins through confession.

  “But is that what you want?” Christian’s voice rose in volume, startling several women and children.

  Mitch’s body jerked the way it sometimes did just as he was falling asleep, and he looked around, embarrassed at his momentary fright.

  “No,” murmured scattered voices across the church.

  Pounding his fist on the podium, Christian shouted, “I said, is that what you want?”

  “No!” This time the entire congregation responded, including Danni, whose emphatic shout scared Mitch more than the reverend’s antics.

  “No! That’s why when it comes to justice, the old ways are the best. So sayeth the Elders, those who know what it means to be betrayed, to take vengeance. These are the Gods, my fellow citizens, who have brought me here to you, to awaken you, so that you shall be prepared to fight in the coming battles.”

  Christian’s eyes narrowed, and his voice grew so soft that a single voice from elsewhere in the church would have drowned him out.

  But there wasn’t even a cough to interrupt him.

  “And mark my words, good people, there will be battles. The time of the Elders approaches once again, and we have been chosen to carry their flags. We are the soldiers of the coming apocalypse, and woe to those who stand before us. Now, let us pray.”

  Sudden chills went up Mitch’s spine as Reverend Christian closed his eyes. Everywhere he looked, people had shut their eyes as well, many of them murmuring under their breath.

  Christian opened his eyes and spread his arms once more. “In the name of those who wait in the houses of R’lyeh, we bow to you.”

  “We bow to you.” The congregation bowed their heads.

  For a moment, Mitch sat there, and then he saw Christian’s gaze fix on him, the man’s black eyes like twin gun barrels aiming death. Quickly, he bowed his head, afraid he might draw attention to himself by acting different from everyone else.

  He held his breath, not daring to look up too soon, but desperately anxious to know if he was still being observed. The silence in the church was so absolute he thought everyone must be able to hear the pounding of his heart. It seemed like an eternity until Christian cleared his throat and spoke in a normal tone.

  “Before we end today’s service, I want you to consider the debt you owe to the families of the young women we have lost. In their honor, the church will be holding a bake sale Saturday, downstairs in the rec center. Please help in any way you can, either by setting up a table of baked goods or simply purchasing a nice cake for your family.”

  Gentle clapping filled the air for a moment, and then the reverend concluded the Mass.

  For the first time Mitch could remember, no one idled at the bottom of the stairs, chatting with neighbors about the weather, or sports, or who was bar-b-quing where that afternoon.

  And no one waited to speak with Reverend Christian.

  Are they as frightened as I am? Or still under whatever spell he put on them during his sermon?

  Danni headed for the Mustang, as silent as the people around them. Trotting to keep up with her, Mitch asked, “Hey, can we grab an ice cream on the way home?”

  She stopped so abruptly he walked two feet past her before he realized it. “No,” she said, her voice filled with February ice. “I have to start cooking for the bake sale. It’s the least we can do, considering we were the ones employing the man who destroyed those families’ lives.”

  “We don’t know he’s guilty!” Mitch said.

  “Don’t be naïve, Mitchell. Didn’t you hear Reverend Christian? The stranger among us?”

  A thought struck Mitch. “Reverend Christian’s only been in town a couple of months. Does that make him a suspect?”

  Before he knew what was happening, Danni grabbed him and slammed him against the car. “Don’t ever say anything like that again!”

  “Ow! What’s your problem?”

  She relaxed her grip, and something seemed to drain out of her, leaving only the old Danni behind. She knelt down, bringing her face to his level. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just on edge, that’s all. Between John, the heat, and the bills...I’ll tell you what. We will stop for that ice cream. We deserve it.” She smiled and tussled his hair, and then got into the car.

  For the rest of the day, Danni seemed her old self, but Mitch thought maybe it was just an act.

  Like the one he put on pretending t
hat nothing was wrong.

  Chapter 14

  Tony Lopez blended into the night outside Lucy’s Bar and Grill. He was waiting for the blonde waitress with the big tits to come out. He’d spotted her as he finished his first beer of the night. As soon as he saw her, the Plan popped into his head. That’s how he was already thinking of it, with a capital ‘P.’

  He’d kept his promise to Billy Ray, staying low, avoiding the cops. But how many days could a man hole up in a cheap-ass hotel room? So he’d decided to grab a few drinks before buying a bottle and heading back to his squat. He’d purposely chosen a place in the worst part of the shitburg Billy Ray’d set up in, the kind of bar the town council liked to pretend didn’t exist.

  Watching her tits bounce under her tight shirt, he’d thought, Now, if I was killing broads, that’s the kind of girl I’d go after.

  And that was when the Plan came to him.

  Grab her. Rape her. Kill her. And then dump her in the river, just like the real killer had been doing. The best part was, the cops already had someone in custody. When another body showed up, they’d think they arrested the wrong guy, and let him go. Assuming he was the murderer, he’d probably pick up where he left off, and in doing so, take the heat off Tony.

  And if he wasn’t the real killer, then that psycho was out there, and it was just a matter of time before he struck again, also taking the heat off Tony.

  Either way, I win. He’d immediately left the bar and taken a position in the doorway of the abandoned building next door, where he’d settled in for a long wait.

  Just after two a.m., right after he’d lit his fifteenth cigarette of the night, she came out the side door and headed for one of the few remaining cars in the parking lot. Tossing the butt to the ground, Tony bent low and darted across the parking lot, coming up behind her just as she used her remote to unlock her door. A quick punch to the side of her head, and three minutes later, he was driving down the road, her unconscious body in the passenger seat.

  He’d parked the car outside of town and wasted no time stripping her clothes off and spreading her legs. He was hard before he even got her panties down over her ankles, as much from the thrill as the coming sex.

  When he was done, he wrapped the condom—he always put on the raincoat, too many diseases out there—and buried it. Then he drove back into town.

  He’d read enough of the local papers to know that all the bodies had been found under or downstream from the main bridge over the river. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out they’d been tossed over the side, usually while still alive. But he had no desire to expend that kind of energy. Instead, he slid her down the embankment and out into the river. When he reached the halfway mark, he pushed her under until bubbles stopped rising from her mouth and then let her go.

  Returning to the car, Tony paused. His fingerprints were all over it; even a Keystone Kop like Sheriff Fat-ass would be able to nail him in a heartbeat.

  Then he remembered his cigarette lighter. Congratulating himself on his own genius, he drove the car back to the other side of town, where he used strips of the blonde’s blouse to construct a makeshift fuse, which he shoved down into the gas tank.

  After lighting the fuse, he ran as fast as he could, feeling like a character from a spy movie. When the explosion came, it vibrated the ground under his feet even from thirty yards away.

  The walk back to his hotel was a long one, but he laughed most of the way. When he finally pushed an old pizza box off his bed and collapsed, his last thought was, Can’t wait to see the papers tomorrow!

  * * *

  On the opposite side of town from where Tony Lopez was busy lighting a car on fire, Officers Dan Kerwin and Geoff Daw were patrolling West State Street, near the State College, hoping to find some drunken college boys to rough up or, even better, some horny college girls looking for a good time.

  They’d just pulled in to the Handi-Mart for coffees when Kerwin spotted the man hitchhiking just down the road.

  Hitchhiking into town.

  “Sonofabitch,” he said, pointing the man out to his partner. “What kind of asshole hitchhikes in the middle of the night?”

  Daw’s face went tight. “Maybe it’s one of the Strangers Reverend Christian said to beware of.”

  Kerwin smiled. “Looks like we’re gonna have us some fun after all.”

  Daw gunned the engine. As they drew abreast of the hitcher, Kerwin opened his door. Too late, the hitchhiker realized what was happening and tried to leap out of the way, but the door sent him tumbling across the blacktop.

  Daw pounded on the steering wheel. “Twenty points!” He skidded to a stop and reversed, skidding again as they pulled up next to the man, who was rolling on the ground, holding his elbow and shouting in pain.

  “Damn, he’s a loud one,” Kerwin said.

  “I know how to fix that.” Daw slid his baton out and twirled it around. “Doctor’s orders, apply generous amounts of hard plastic to skull. Repeat as needed.”

  Kerwin laughed as he drew his own baton. As they approached the injured man, he shouted, “Hey, pal, the doctor’s in the house!”

  Daw landed the first blow, across the man’s mouth. Blood and teeth flew in all directions, and the man’s screams rose to an ear-splitting howl.

  “Well, that won’t do at all,” Kerwin said and brought his baton down on the man’s prominent Adam’s apple. There was a sound like dry twigs breaking, and the hitchhiker’s cries changed to choking gasps. He tried to bring his hands up to his throat but Daw swung several times in quick succession, breaking fingers and wrists. Kerwin turned his attention to the legs, striking the shins over and over until they took on unnatural shapes beneath their denim covering.

  Daw shifted his aim from the arms to the belly. On the fourth blow, the now-silent body emitted a sound like a loud, wet fart and the air filled with the hot stench of human shit.

  For a moment, the two police officers stood still, bloody batons in hand, staring at each other with shocked looks. Then Daw burst into laughter and Kerwin quickly joined in, laughing so hard he doubled over, holding his stomach.

  “Oh, man,” Daw said, when he was finally able to speak, “talk about beating the crap out of someone.”

  “Stop it, you’re gonna get me going again.” Kerwin held up a hand in mock surrender.

  “What should we do with him?”

  Kerwin shrugged. “Toss him in the river and let him turn into someone else’s problem.”

  “All right. But let’s make sure we dump him way downstream from town. The last thing the chief needs is another stiff showing up.”

  “Sounds good.” Kerwin opened the trunk. “I’ll get his feet. You grab his arms.”

  “Wait!” Daw dug through the cruiser’s trunk until he located a green tarp. “Lemme lay this out. I don’t wanna be cleaning shit and blood later.”

  “Okay. But let’s hurry. Our shift’s almost over.”

  “I hear you. Hey, when we’re finished, wanna grab a beer?”

  * * *

  John Root leaned against the wall of his cell, doing his best to ignore the springs poking him through the thin mattress. The sheets stank of old piss and sweat, the odors hanging in the hot, moist air like foul balloons.

  Even though the temperature had to be above ninety, John’s body trembled.

  Something’s out there tonight, something evil.

  He could feel it, a miasma wafting over the town, not unlike the tendrils of piss-stink swirling through the cell. Every now and then the dark energy would reach out and touch someone, infect them. Anger, envy, greed, fear, and frustration joined with the unnatural heat and brought out the worst in people.

  John knew well enough where that dark cloud originated: the thing that currently posed as Reverend Christian. In other towns, other times, it had used different names. Amaguq, Discordia, Loki, Wemicus. The Native Americans of the Southwest knew him as Trickster and Coyote.

  He was all of them and more.


  He was the Agent of Chaos who’d killed John’s mother so many years ago, and his grandmother before that.

  Unless he was stopped, Christian’s evil influence would grow until wife beatings, child beatings, rapes, murders, and suicides became as common as handshakes and how-do-you-dos.

  That’s how it had happened in John’s hometown, back when John was just a boy. By the time she drove the Ancient One away, more than half the town was destroyed, and John’s mother lay on her deathbed.

  Another shiver ran over him, and he prayed it was from fear, and not because another life had succumbed to the evil.

  Please, God, don’t let anything happen to Mitch or Danni while I’m stuck in this cell.

  He’d been thinking all night about the Andersons. He couldn’t help it, even if they no longer considered him a friend—at least Danni didn’t—and he had more important things to worry about. Like how he was going to get close enough to Cyrus Christian to stop him.

  Of course, if he didn’t get out soon, it wouldn’t matter.

  There’d be no town left to save.

  * * *

  The first two rings of the phone blended into the dream Harry Showalter was having about relaxing on a tropical beach with a margarita in his hand. Then the cries of the seagulls turned to a jangling electronic sound that roused him, and he fumbled for the phone on his nightstand. “Hello?”

  He glanced at the clock and his gut clenched. Five-seventeen in the morning. A call that early always meant trouble.

  “Chief? We got another floater.”

  It took a moment for Showalter to make sense of the night officer’s words. “What? Where? I mean...never mind. Is it...?” He let the sentence trail off, afraid to give it voice.

  “Yeah, another girl. Two fellas out fishing for muskies found her, ‘bout a quarter mile downstream from the bridge.”