Crucifax (19 page)

"I think you would've been a great mother, Faye."

She tilted her head and lifted a cautionary finger. "Ah-ah, don't say that, Junior.
Everyone
says that. Thinks that. Then, one day, the piper comes. And he seldom leaves empty-handed…."

Seventeen

By six-thirty that evening the rain had diminished to a weak drizzle, but the wind continued to blow.

Bainbridge carefully steered the van around the narrow curves of Beverly Glen until he got to Mulholland Drive, where he took a left.

Three years ago Bainbridge had come across a spot just off of Mulholland that provided a beautiful view of the San Fernando Valley. Whenever he was under a great deal of pressure, or when there was an especially difficult problem in the group, Bainbridge left the house and drove up to that spot, where he silently prayed as he looked out over the sparkling lights of the Valley.

He pulled the van off the road, got out with his umbrella, and crossed over to the ledge.

The view was not as clear as usual because of the weather, but the lights still twinkled through the mist, like glitter spilled by God.

Bainbridge had been a useless, scattered wreck since his conversation with Nikki at the house, but what had happened in front of the care center had doubled his anxiety.

He had never felt such inexplicable fear, such crystal-pure dread as he had in the presence of the man with those strange golden eyes.

Almost the color of whiskey,
he thought.

They had glinted with a kind of corrupt joy, almost winking as the man patted Nikki's belly and said, "Just admiring your work, Reverend."

Worse yet was the peaceful look on Nikki's face as she watched the man with rapt interest, as if she knew him well and was thrilled to see him, although she claimed they'd never met before.

Bainbridge's encounter with the stranger had been so deeply disturbing that by the time he got back to the house he was trembling and perspiring despite the cold; the activity around him made him feel claustrophobic, so he'd left, to get away from the others and to escape the haunting-ly familiar taste that was lingering in his mouth, a taste he hadn't known in years, decades, and was craving like never before.

As the drizzle spattered his umbrella he felt the burn of unfallen tears in his throat, and when he closed his eyes he saw Nikki's pain-wrenched face, heard her sobbed words….

You said God would be understanding, forgiving….

You said…

You said!

He lowered his umbrella and lifted his eyes, letting the rain fall on his face.

"Oh, Lord, forgive me for failing You," he said, his voice cracking. "And for failing those precious young souls." His words were swallowed by the wind. Tears fell from his eyes and mingled with the raindrops.

In failing Nikki, he felt he'd failed all of his kids. If one of them could not depend upon him, how could the others?

Trying to lift his spirits, Bainbridge thought of the successes he'd had so far with some of the kids, and the successes that were sure to come if he held onto his faith in God and himself, if he did not allow one mistake, however dreadful, to defeat him.

Jim, for example. He'd been arrested a couple times for possession of marijuana, and his parents brought him to Bainbridge, insisting that he live at the Calvary Youth House for a while. During summer school his grades had improved, and as far as Bainbridge knew, he'd been off the grass for over a month. But he was still very quiet and withdrawn, almost brooding. Jim had very dark interests and was an avid reader as well as an aspiring writer. He spent most of his time reading novels that were pornographic in their depiction of sex and violence and dealt almost exclusively with the occult. Bainbridge had thrown them all out—horrible things with garish, bloody covers and titles like
Evilspawn
and
Blood Curse
—and had confiscated his writing—equally dreadful stuff, obviously influenced by the paperbacks. Then he had tried to aim Jim's writing talents and reading interests in more positive directions. Whenever Jim threatened to run away, which he did frequently, Bainbridge reminded him that he would not only be in danger of imprisonment, but he would also be in danger of losing his soul.

Then there was Ellen, who wore only black clothes, sported a lizard tattoo on her arm, and wanted to be a rock star, "like Joan Jett," she often said. She was, indeed, blessed with a beautiful singing voice, and Bainbridge tried to coax her into using it at the weekend meetings, but she was more interested in singing her own songs about street life and sex than in singing music of a more sacred nature.

Bainbridge had a few more problem kids living in the house, but those two were his biggest concerns because they each had so much potential. New ones came in all the time, either brought by their parents or by social workers who supported Bainbridge's work. And the Valley below him, sparkling like a vast garden of diamonds, was filled with many, many more young people hungry for the truth, for the Lord's love….

Taking in a deep, fortifying breath, Bainbridge wiped the tears from his eyes and said in a full voice, "'To the Lord our God belong mercies and forgivenesses, though we have rebelled against Him,' amen."

He felt a little stronger, more prepared to look into those young eyes. Most of all, he was ready to face Nikki again. It was not the Lord's will that she end the life growing inside her, so surely He would give Bainbridge the wisdom to change her mind.

He closed his eyes in a prayer of thanks for the strength he felt when he heard two soggy footsteps behind him.

"Bitchin' view, isn't it?"

Bainbridge twisted around toward the long-haired man he'd encountered earlier.

"Who are you?" the reverend snapped. He was suddenly trembling again.

Smiling, the man said, "We weren't introduced. I'm Mace. And you're Reverend Bainbridge, right?"

"What do you want?"

"Hey, hey, chill out. Just here to enjoy the view." His hands were buried deep in the pockets of his raincoat, and he did not look at Bainbridge.

The reverend ground his teeth together for a moment, asking God to help him hold back his anger and calm the strange fear this man seemed to stir in him.

"You followed me," Bainbridge said.

"Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. Just like I don't know why you would take such pleasure in frightening a young girl, as you did today."

"I didn't frighten her. She was upset. I made her feel better."

Bainbridge took a step toward him, his knuckles white as he clutched his umbrella. "You know very well what you did."

Mace grinned at the Valley below them. "So do you, Reverend."

"Look. I don't know how you know the things you do, but they're none of your business. That girl is in the middle of a personal crisis, and you'll only confuse her further by—"

"Aren't you in the middle of that crisis, too, Reverend?" His hair whipped about in the wind. "Haven't
you
confused her, too?"

Bainbridge realized his chest was heaving with angry breaths, and he decided it was best to leave.

"Just leave her alone. Leave all of my kids alone." He turned to go.

"Oh, don't leave, Reverend. Let's talk." He sounded genuinely friendly. "We have a lot in common, you know."

Turning back to Mace, Bainbridge barked an incredulous laugh and said, "What could we possibly have in common?"

"Several things. We've both come to feed the hungry souls of the young people here in this valley, am I right?"

Another laugh from the reverend, then: "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm trying to—"

"I know what you're doing. I'm very familiar with your work. In fact, you might say we're in the same business."

"I am not in any business. I work with young people, I try to—"

"So do I."

It occurred to Bainbridge that this man might be a problem in the future, a stumbling block to his kids. Perhaps it would be a good idea to learn as much about him as possible. Still, Mace unnerved him and gave him the feeling that he was in danger.

"I bet you do," Bainbridge said. "What are you into, my friend? Drugs? Are you a pusher?"

Mace chuckled. "That's always the first thing you think of, isn't it? Blame everything on drugs."

"Whatever you do, I wish you'd do it away from my kids."

"They need me."

"What could they possibly need from you? I've taken those kids off the streets, out of broken homes, away from abusive parents, I've—"

"I do that, too. With one difference." He finally turned to Bainbridge, and for the first time the reverend realized how very tall the man was. Mace towered over him. "I accept them, Reverend. As they are. Flaws and all. I learn their strengths and nurture them. I find out what they want to be, and I encourage them."

A shudder passed through Bainbridge, a shudder so powerful it forced him to stagger backward a step. His mouth worked a moment before any words came out, and then his voice was weak: "I give them salvation."

"Whether they want it or not."

"They need it."

"They need acceptance, too."

Bainbridge felt dizzy, overwhelmed by the need to get away from the man. He spun around to return to the van as the rain began to fall harder, sounding like machine-gun fire on his umbrella, but he lurched to a stop when something moved at his feet.

"Don't go yet, Reverend," Mace said. "We're not through."

He took another step, but something made a horrid, threatening hiss, then a guttural squeak—and the reverend saw the eyes looking up at him from the wet weeds around his feet, from the brush that grew along the road.

Fear sprang up inside Bainbridge like water from a geyser.

"They won't hurt you, Reverend. If you just stay and talk awhile."

Bainbridge slowly backed up until he was standing beside Mace again; he was trembling so violently, his umbrella jittered above him.

"You know, Reverend, I bet that if you changed your methods a little, your group would grow like you never thought it could."

The reverend began to pray silently, his lips moving frantically as he watched the dark, squat creatures move toward him.

"I bet if you and I worked together," Mace went on, putting his hand on Bainbridge's shoulder and turning him toward the sprawling view, slipping his arm around the reverend, "all this"—he swept his other arm over the Valley—"could be ours. All those kids looking to be accepted, looking for someone to say, 'Hey, you're okay,' they'd all be ours, Reverend. If you'd just work for me."

Bainbridge was frozen with fear, he suddenly felt certain of who, of
what,
this man was, of what he wanted. He had to swallow several times before he could find his voice.

"You're evil," he croaked.

"Evil?" Mace laughed. "But I just told you, we're doing the same work. Getting those kids off the street.
Saving
them, as you'd put it."

"But your intentions are… are evil. Selfish."

"And yours? You want them to be what
you
want them to be. And remember, you've got a baby growing inside a girl barely old enough to drive a car. If I'm evil, Reverend," he laughed, "I sure hope you aren't an example of good."

Tears blurred the reverend's vision as he pushed away from Mace, stumbled, and almost fell as he sputtered, "D-don't t-touch me! Don't touch me!" He ran into the cluster of glowing eyes, and they hissed and squeaked, snapping at his feet as he ran toward the road, toward the van.

"Reverend," Mace called.

Bainbridge pressed on as sharp teeth tore his pants, the hem of his coat. He collapsed his umbrella and began swinging at them, praying for deliverance as he felt something crawling up his leg, beneath his coat, up his back.

"'G-get thee hence, S-Satan,'" he cried, falling forward, dropping the umbrella, clawing at the muddy earth, "'for it is written th-thou sh-shalt worship the Lord th-thy G-God and-and-and—'" They crawled onto his back, heavy and wet. "—and him only shalt thou seerrrve!'"

Mace's feet stepped before his face, and Bainbridge heard the man's dry laugh.

"What's your hurry to get back, Reverend?"

Bainbridge held perfectly still as the creatures squirmed over him, their breath hot on his neck.

"Want to see Nikki? She won't be there. She's at my place."

"
Liar!
"

Mace offered his hand. "Why don't you give me the keys to your van, Reverend, and we'll go for a ride. I want to show you something."

Eighteen

Jeff called Lily twenty minutes before he was to close the store for the evening. She was so upset about Nikki that at first he had a hard time getting her to complete a sentence.

"She kept saying she didn't know that guy," Lily said, "but she talked about him like she did."

"What'd she say?"

"That she had to talk to him, she
had
to talk to him. He understands, she said, and he would help her. Anyway, I knew she was zoned, so I asked her to a movie tonight, to get her mind off it, you know, and she says she can't and gives me a bunch of bullshit Calvary Youth reasons why spending time and money on movies is a sin, so I told her that if God didn't want her to go to the movies, He never would've, like, made Tom Cruise, so she says okay.
That
was a surprise. Anyway, we agreed I'd come get her after I changed my clothes, then I dropped her off at her place. But I called her before I left my place, and her mom says she never came in! Jeff, I'm scared. I mean, that guy gives me the creeps, and if she's with him… But I'm afraid to tell her mother, 'cause, like, what if I'm wrong? Nikki'd shit! She'd never forgive me."

"Maybe she's at the Calvary Youth House."

"Uh-uh, I called. The woman I talked to said Nikki hadn't been in since the group went out in the van. And they're all back."

Jeff thought a moment, drumming his fingers on the counter.

"Are you busy now?"

"No."

"What do you say we go down there?"

"Where? The sewer?"