Showdown (36 page)

“It comes from worms?” Samuel asked.

“It comes from the worms,” a young boy said to Samuel's left.

The boy's eyes were nearly swollen shut. Samuel didn't even recognize the student.

“What's your name?”

The boy glanced at Billy and answered. “Bob,” he said.

Bob? This was Bob? “Do your sores hurt, Bob?”

“Yes.”

“And the salve helps the pain?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like the pain, Bob?”

“No.”

“Shut up, Samuel,” Darcy said.

“Did you have pain like this before you went into the tunnels, Bob?”

The boy didn't answer.

A single, soft sob broke the silence. Samuel spotted the thin girl behind Darcy.

“Shut up, Shannon,” Darcy said, but her voice was less demanding.

The young girl tilted her face into her hands and started to cry softly.

Samuel glanced at Billy and saw the boy staring at Shannon with tender eyes. And then another child on Shannon's left began to cry.

Billy lowered his eyes and nudged the grass with his shoe. So, the boy's heart still pumped red blood and swelled with real emotions.

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled Samuel. He turned to find Christine and Tyler standing there, smiling. Samuel acknowledged them with a nod and faced Billy again.

Billy was horribly deformed, bleeding, and covered in a disgusting salve. But Samuel saw a lost, lonely orphan, confused and dejected, mortally wounded and desperately wanting love. Emotion swelled in his chest. He felt his legs moving under him, carrying him to his old friend. He knew it was crazy, but he couldn't stop himself. And to make matters worse, he began to cry.

He reached Billy, completely not caring about the smell and the sores and the salve, and he encircled the boy's body with his arms and held him gently.

Billy froze.

“I'm sorry, Billy,” Samuel said. “I'm so sorry.”

Christine and Tyler walked behind Billy and gently laid their hands on him. They stood in silence for several seconds.

And then the beautiful, awkward moment ended, and Samuel dropped his arms. Billy stood still for a moment, his head bowed. He nudged the grass with his toe again.

Then he turned and walked away. Darcy hurried to catch up. As a unit the others followed.

Samuel tried to wipe the tears from his eyes, but he couldn't because of the salve on his hands and arms.

“Boy, do they need a bath,” Christine said, sniffing her hand.

“And now I suppose we do too,” Samuel said. “As soon as possible. I think this stuff messes with the mind.”

Samuel watched the students exit the library. A few short days ago they would have been laughing at someone's joke, or talking in urgent tones about a theory raised in class.

But they'd chosen Billy's path. A path to freedom, they claimed, to the discovery of their true selves—to the creator in all of them. Well, they had discovered something all right, but it resembled slavery more than freedom.

“How's Paradise?” Christine asked.

“Good,” Samuel said with a sigh. “Paradise is good.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

PARADISE

Sunday night

BY THE end of the day Thomas had two dozen troublemakers in custody, including Steve Smither, who had evidently taken to putting the neighbors' pets out of their misery.

Thomas focused exclusively on those that Johnny considered dangerous. There was no way to round up the whole town, and no reason to do so. The plan was to eliminate Black's front guard before confronting him directly the next time he showed up. If there was a next time. If they were lucky, Thomas had already scared him off.

Good plan.

Only one, the owner of the feedlot, Burt Larson, put up any real fight. But Thomas put him on his back quicker than a heartbeat when the rabble-rouser went for a gun under the counter.

By nightfall they had all the instigators secured.

All but Marsuvees Black.

There was no sign of Black anywhere in Paradise. If any of the others had the slightest clue as to his whereabouts, they weren't saying. A search of the business district turned up nothing but empty buildings. Thomas inspected each of the ringleaders' homes and each time came away empty-handed. Marsuvees Black was simply nowhere to be found.

The only real challenge surfaced late that afternoon, after Thomas and Johnny returned to the church. Stanley Yordon, preacher-turned-jailer, met them at the top of the stairs.

“I'm not an expert on the law,” he said, “but doesn't someone have to press charges for you to legally hold these prisoners?”

“Press charges? After what they've done, no.”

“Well, actually, that could be a problem.”Yordon led them into his office and turned around. “I can't seem to find anyone to press charges.”

“Like I said, Reverend. No need.”

Yordon continued as if he hadn't heard Thomas. “
I
could press charges, but I'm not sure I
should
.Most of the townsfolk are still behind Black.”He shook his head. “God knows I'm not. But I have a certain responsibility to keep my people's confidence. I can't just turn against them. What would that do to their faith in me?”

“They kidnapped you,” Johnny said. “They destroyed your church.”

“They also paid for that church. And when this is over, I'll need their loyalty. I think you'll have to find someone else to press charges. And I hope you do, but I'm afraid I face a conflict of interest here.”

“We don't need to press charges,” Thomas said. “Is it just me, or am I repeating myself here?”

“All I'm saying is that I don't want to be associated with what you've done here. It wasn't my idea. I've only been doing what you've made me do. And I find it strange that there aren't more policemen here. I'd feel a lot better if there was a stronger law-enforcement presence to take the heat off me, if you catch my meaning.”

Thomas pulled out a chair and sat down. “Fine, Stanley. With the phones out, I can't get help here tonight, but we'll bring the cavalry in at first light.”

“What about your cruiser? Can't you call on your radio?”

The cop looked at Johnny. “No.”

“Why can't you go for help?”

Thomas shifted in the seat. “You check the vehicles lately? Someone went to a lot of trouble putting everything with wheels out of commission. The distributor cap has been smashed on every car in town. Including yours, Stanley.”

They'd discovered this universal damage several hours earlier. It had been Billy's doing—had to be. He could write one sentence in his book and the damage would be done. Samuel could fix them all just as easily, now that he knew about it, but Johnny didn't think he wanted to. That, just like bringing real cops into Paradise, could prove disastrous if Billy got smart to it.

“What about your car?” Yordon asked.

Thomas shook his head. “That won't work.”

“So you'll spend the night?” Yordon asked.

“If you don't mind. I'd like to keep an eye on the prisoners.”

“Sure,” Yordon said, but Johnny could swear he detected a hint of reluctance in the man's voice.

Yordon lifted a hand to his lips and wiped the sweat gathered on his upper lip. “Where
is
your car?” he asked, training his eyes on the cop's face.

“I came on foot,” the officer replied as though it were not only obvious but common in these parts.

“You
say that as if you always walk around the mountains without wheels. What exactly brought you to Paradise?”

“I received a call,” the cop said.

“How could you receive a call? The phones have been out for a while. Cell phones are even out.”

The tone in Yordon's voice had just changed from inquisitive to demanding, and Johnny felt a bead of sweat pop from his forehead.

“My call didn't come over the phone, Stanley.”

“Is that right? Don't tell me God told you to come.”

Thomas just looked at the reverend. He was in a corner. Even if he wanted to lie, he would be hard-pressed for an explanation.

Yordon arched a brow. “Did God tell you it was two miles?”He drew the number two in the air.

“What does it matter?” Johnny asked. “He saved this town, didn't he?”

“No, Johnny, I want to hear this out. Sounds an awful lot like Black to me. What was that Black said?
God told me to bring grace and hope to
Paradise?
Something like that if my memory serves me. You peddling grace and hope too?”

“You think Thomas is anything like Black? He's nothing like him.”

“Doesn't it strike you as odd, Johnny, that our police officer here came into town on foot, just like Black, claims to hear from God, just like Black, even talks a bit like Black. And the only person we haven't rounded up today
is
Black. Don't you find that just a little strange?”

Johnny blinked. “What're you saying? That Thomas is Black?”

“Did I say that?” Yordon still didn't move his eyes, but now he wore a small grin. “Just stated the facts. You draw your own conclusion. Maybe we shouldn't be so hasty.”

Was that possible? Actually, Johnny didn't have proof that Samuel had written Thomas into Paradise. What if something had happened to Samuel, and this was another scheme by Billy, like the story about the hallucinogenic sludge? Maybe he'd found out what was up and written Thomas himself.

“I'm not Black,” Thomas said. “I'm the law. I'm the law come to set Paradise straight. Help her see the error of her ways. Consider these my commandments.”He slipped one of his six-guns from the holster and spun the chamber. “And these bullets my precepts. And if these aren't enough, there's an awful lot more where they come from. Enough firepower to make your head spin clean off. I suggest you pay them some respect, Stanley.”

Yordon stood and walked from the room, leaving Johnny and Thomas in the guest chairs without a host.

Thomas turned to Johnny and winked. “You okay?”

“I think so.”

“Too obvious?”

“He's wrong, right?”

Thomas stared into his eyes for a long moment. “Believe, Johnny. Trust me, I am as un-Black as they come. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“That's good.” He sighed, then stood and ruffled Johnny's hair. “Come on, son. Let's get this place locked down for the evening. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

STANLEY YORDON slept in his house, alone. More alone than he'd felt in a long time. He'd lost his stomach for the shepherding game for the time being. He had lost his flock and with it his power.

Now he had these voices about grace and hope—Black's grace and hope—droning relentlessly in his mind. To make matters worse, his sheep had been reduced to blithering idiots who didn't know how to blink much less think. There was nothing worse than a fixed stare, and this insipid bunch had perfected it.

When he finally drifted off, his head filled with the voices.
Time for
church, Stan! Wake up, Stan the man. Suck up some grace-juice, Stan.

Was he really hearing that?

Wake up! Wake, wake, wake!

Yordon's eyes sprang open. He jerked his head toward the door. Marsuvees Black stood tall, alive and in the flesh, not five feet from him.

“Am I your cowboy, Stan? I rather like that name. Endearing I think.” Black's voice rasped as if he had a cold. He smelled musty—like a stale, damp dishrag.

Yordon scrambled off the bed. “How . . . how did you get in here?”

“You have a door, don't you, Stan? Everybody has a door. There's always a way in.”

“But it was locked.”

“Don't be a fool. Your door has never been locked.”

“What are you talking about? I swear I locked it just last night.”

“Stanley, Stanley. You're babbling about things that are meaningless. Powerless words. It is a bad habit with you. What does it matter how I came in? The fact is, I'm in.”

Yordon felt the wall behind him. “So what do you want with me?”

Black wagged a finger.“Wrong question, Stan. I want nothing with a pitiful soul like you. I'm here because
I
can do something for
you
.”

Yordon swallowed. Black's thin black hair snaked past his thick neck. He still wore that blasted hat. What did he have to hide up there, a hole? The wind howled past the window behind Yordon—a storm rode on the air again.

“What can you do for me?” he asked.

“I can give you what you want, that's what.”

“What?”

“What, what, what? Power! You want power. I've got it. I want to give it to you.”

“Power?”

“What's the matter? You can't speak more than one word at a time now?” Black raised his hand in the air and brought them together in a booming clap. “Power!”

Yordon jumped. “You take me for an idiot? Stop patronizing me.”

“Now that's more like it,” Black said. “Show some spine. You're going to need it.”

“Why?”

“You've always wanted to have power over people, Stanley. It's why you went to seminary in the first place. You weren't about to be a lowly butcher like your father, now were you? No, the idea of a hundred or so lost sheep licking at your hands was far more appealing. And in a small town like Paradise even the pagans respect you, don't they?”

Black clasped his hands behind his back and spread his legs. “But we have a problem in Paradise, Yordon. A very bad problem. The people no longer like you. You are powerless. Let's face it, the only power a preacher really possesses over any flock is bound up with their minds.”

Black walked to the desk. He picked up a picture of Yordon standing outside the church during his first week. A large sign that hung over the front doors read,
Welcome to Paradise, Father. We Love You.