The Atheist's Daughter (21 page)

Of course, if things had worked out as planned, he wouldn’t have been on the road at all. Registration at the seminary would have been completed by noon if he hadn’t had to fill out every financial application in the world.

“No money, no entry,” the front clerk told him. The clerk’s philosophy didn’t seem Christian at all.

By the time he was ready to leave the campus, the evening street lights were coming on. Hawkins suggested they spend the night in Oklahoma City. Predictably, his father refused just as their car passed a Super 8 Motel.

After all, the Pastor Hawkins said, if they drove all night, they could still make the Saturday Bible class in Winterhaven. A Bible class attended by a half-dozen retirees and his father’s new girlfriend. Soon-to-be girlfriend, anyway. Not that this had anything to do with it.

“They’re counting on us,” his father told him, the Super 8’s illuminated sign disappearing from their rear view mirror. “It’s the right thing to do, Gideon. We have to do the riiiiiiiiiight thing.”

Okay, he hadn’t said it exactly like that. But he’d said it.

It wasn’t as if the old women waiting for them didn’t know the story of Jonah and the whale. (“The big fish,” said the Reverend, knowing full well Hawkins could quote the scriptures, too, chapter and verse. “There’s no mammal in the story. It’s Noah and the big fish.”) He was pretty sure the matriarchs of the class, Jolene and Jewell, were qualified to step up to the chalkboard if Hawkins and Son failed to make a timely appearance.

The real reason they were on the road? His father wanted the pleasure of seeing his son take his first steps toward becoming a preacher. It was touching, in an aggravating, sleep-deprived kind of way.

“Dad?”

His father’s eyelids remained shut. His breathing was deep and relaxed. Somehow, his father’s face appeared older when he was asleep. His stern jaw was softer, his piercing eyes closed.

Meeting him now
, Hawkins thought wryly,
you might mistake him for a kindly middle-aged man. Watch him at the front of his church, pounding his fist on top of the pulpit, and you’d see him for who he really is.

A warrior of God.

It was a challenge, being the son of a warrior. Personally, Hawkins tended to see shades of gray where his father only saw black and white. He was willing to seek compromise in areas where his father demanded a fight.

Was this a good thing or a bad thing? Would a softer viewpoint help him when he became a preacher? Would it hurt him?

Or would it only leave him confused?

The wagon’s headlights flashed over a roadside sign:
Gas and Services 10 miles
. At the bottom of the sign was the logo for Ashfork Big Burger.

“Now we’re talking,” Hawkins said, letting his fingers dance over the curve of the steering wheel.

24-hour a day fast food. A cheeseburger and chili fries for breakfast. What could be better than that?

But, first, let’s hope the bathroom door isn’t locked.

* * *

Her hands on her hips, Mrs. Norton kept the tips of her polished shoes a safe distance from the blood encircling Sheriff Archer’s head. “Such a bother.”

Mr. Brass squatted down to examine the victim’s destroyed skull. “I knew Mr. Locke was stupid. Didn’t think he was this stupid.”

“He was hungry,” Alice Poe said.

“Bring him to me,” Mrs. Norton said.

“He’s gone. He ran off.”

“Did he?”

“He killed bad meat,” Miss Sweet said. “It would have happened, sooner or later. He always thought he was more than he is.”

“And now?” Mr. Brass asked, grinning.

“He has a better understanding of his place in the universe.”

“This won’t do,” Mrs. Norton said. “Diseased or not, this was the town’s most important law officer. When a policeman disappears, alarms are sounded. People come from everywhere. They scurry about, poking and prying into every corner.” She frowned disapprovingly at the corpse. “Did the Sheriff tell anyone he was coming here?”

“I didn’t think to ask,” Miss Sweet said. “I had no reason.”

“Did he have family? A significant other?”

“His heart was empty.”

Mr. Brass trailed a finger through the thickening blood. “So we have a little time.” He admired the vibrant color as it drooled down his hand in a winding streak.

Mrs. Norton focused on Alice Poe. “You asked for Mr. Locke. When I allowed you to approach the Void with me, we heard a thousand crying voices. You wanted him.”

“I was drawn to him.”

“She told him to run,” Miss Sweet said.

Alice Poe dropped her eyes, studying the floor. “I could have left. He asked me to go.”

“You could have gone. No one keeps any of you here. Did you think of leaving?”

Alice Poe gave a shake of her head.

“I thought as much,” Mrs. Norton said. “Return to your room and close the drapes. Find something to put in your mouth. With the sun rising, there may be people on the sidewalk. Your screams must not be heard outside of this building.”

“What’s to happen with Mr. Locke?” Miss Sweet asked.

Her gaze steady, Mrs. Norton said, “When the Fates decide, we’ll meet again.”

Mr. Brass nudged the shattered skull in front of him. “What should I do with this?”

“Chop it up. Chop it all up.”

* * *

From somewhere in the darkness, she heard a voice. “Liz. Liz Wheeler. Liz, wake up!”

Blinking her eyes, Liz saw Dr. Silva’s face in front of her. This close, the pores in his nose were
huge
. “What?”

“You fell asleep in your chair,” Dr. Silva said.

Tell me something I don’t know
, Liz thought. It was amazing she’d stayed awake as long as she had.

The teacher remained inches away from her, an obvious non-believer in the concept of ‘personal space’.  Liz asked, “Did I miss something important? Are we doing test questions or something?”

“There’s still a few hours until the final exam. To get everybody in the right spirit, we’re going to play a game.”

“A game? Sure, yeah. I’m up for it. Whatever.”

“It’s my own invention.” Dr. Silva smiled. “Calculus Pictionary.”

Liz laughed. When his expression fell, she said, “You’re serious?”

Past him, the other students were squeezed together on the large sofa. In front of the coffee table, a makeshift easel was positioned. A large sketch pad sat on the lip of the easel, a circle drawn at its center. Inside the circle was an inscribed hexagon.

“What do you think?” Dr. Silva asked.

I am so going to flunk this class
, Liz thought. “Great,” she said.

* * *

Hawkins guided the car into the parking space labeled
Pastor Parking Only!

Lost in thought, his father remained in the seat beside him. An hour out of the city, he’d woken abruptly. Other than to ask when they’d arrive in Winterhaven, he hadn’t offered any conversation.

Probably another bad dream,
Hawkins thought.

His mother had died years ago but his father still awoke with a cry at least twice a month. He was unusually quiet more often than that. Whatever he’d seen while asleep, he kept it to himself. The Reverend wasn’t one to share his miseries.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea for his father to find a new love. It might open him up a little.

Walking together under the darkening clouds, they went through the building’s side entrance and into its main classroom. True to their respective natures, Jolene and Jewell had everything ready for the study session.

Seated side by side were five elderly women, one ancient man, and Brenda Parkes, the divorcee who had caught his father’s interest. As one, they rose to their feet when Hawkins and the Reverend entered the room. Sloppily but enthusiastically, they applauded.

“Well?” the tiny, gray-haired Jolene asked.

“Did you get into Oklahoma Trinity?” the tiny, white-haired Jewell questioned.

Hawkins blushed. They applauded again.

“Congratulations,” Brenda said with a smile. When the others broke into conversation, she moved toward his father.

Reverend Hawkins ignored her. She stopped abruptly before awkwardly returning to her plastic chair.

Going to the window, the Reverend opened the checkerboard curtains. “It’s started to rain,” he said. “Kristin is here.”

Streaks of dirt ran down the glass in rivulets. “Fantastic.”

“She’s out at the curb. Sitting in a car.”

“She didn’t come all the way here to wait in the car,” Hawkins said. “I’ll bet I can get her to come in. Maybe she’ll stay for the class.”

“No.”

“I’m not going to freeze up, Dad. Not that anyone would care if I did, anyway. Kristin certainly won’t care.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His face drawn, he let the curtain fall. “Tell her to go. I want her to leave.”

“Howard?” Brenda asked, concerned.

Around them, the soft murmur of conversation stopped. Jolene adjusted her hearing aid, wanting to catch every word.

“She doesn’t belong here,” Reverend Hawkins said. “Something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but something.”

“Dad –”

”Don’t let her into the church!”

* * *

Kristin tried Hawkins’ cell phone number but, as before, a mechanical voice immediately directed her to a message box. She dropped the phone into her purse.

Overhead, rain drummed against the car’s metal roof.

Great, no umbrella
, she thought
. And here I am in shorts, a tee and an old sweatshirt.

When I go up the walk, I’ll get soaking wet. Talk about inappropriate attire for your first official visit to church.

She flicked her finger at the dashboard Mickey Mouse. It bobbled to and fro. “It’s only a damned building,” she told the plastic figure.

Oops, not allowed to say those kinds of things.

That was part of the problem; there were so many rules to be followed. There were things you shouldn’t say, things you should say, things you weren’t allowed to do, and things you should never, ever, even
think
of doing. If you weren’t raised on the Word, you practically needed to consult a play book before even entering the premises.

Not a play book, a Bible.
Not that she had one of those lying around, either.

It wasn’t like Hawkins hadn’t left a dozen of the things at her house. Every few months, she was dropping another one into the donation bin outside the local Salvation Army. She’d actually tried to read one of them, a St. James version of the Old Testament. She hadn’t lasted an hour before getting lost in the arcane wording. She felt overwhelmed by all of the begatting and forbading, the “thou this” and the “sayeth that”.

If the writing of the Bible had been guided by the hand of God, why was it harder to understand than a Stephen King novel? The whole thing was silly. Church, the Bible, religion itself. All of it.

No, be honest with yourself
, she thought.
You don’t think this is silly. If it were silly, it wouldn’t matter.

The fact is, you’re scared.

This wasn’t the first time, either. Far from it. Every time she walked past a place of worship, her heart beat like crazy. When Aunt Lois sent her a gold crucifix necklace, it left a welt at the center of her chest. The one time she’d tried to attend Galilee Church, as a birthday surprise for Hawkins, she’d gotten dizzy when she stepped onto its walkway. Feeling sick, she ran back home.

Hawkins still didn’t know. What would she have said? “I meant to drop by but I was too busy hurling into the bushes”?

“Not my fault, Hawk,” she said. “I tried. Believe it or not, I have a phobia about the whole thing. As if I wasn’t damaged enough already.”

The condition was called ecclesiophobia, a fear of churches, and she didn’t believe there was any such thing, either, until it swept over her. Her favorite on-line encyclopedia said thousands of people suffered from it. She knew Hawkins might doubt her but could he doubt Wikipedia?

“Bet there aren’t too many celebrity telethons for this kind of disease,” she told Mickey. “Maybe I can form a support group. I’ll bet most of us would be free on Sundays.”

Mickey’s happy expression suggested he liked the idea.

Muffled music played inside her purse. Removing her cell phone, Kristin brought it to her ear.

Before she could say anything, her mother snapped at her. “Where’s my car?”

“I have it.”

“You asked to borrow it – when?”

Kristin sat in silence. Rain pounded on the roof overhead.

“You’re busted, Ms. Grand Theft Auto,” Becky continued. “As of this second, the car is off-limits. You want to use it, you’ll need written permission.”