The Reality Conspiracy (51 page)

Father Sullivan paced back and forth, his hand on his chin. "Wait, Karen, wait. Let me think a minute."

"But we can't wait—"

"We've got to. It's too late to stop him before he gets to the farm. If we're going to go barging in there, we'd better plan it out and do it right. We'll only get one chance at it."

He walked to the window and stood beside her. "Frankly. I think we should call the police."

"But, Father—"

"Look, I understand all the reasons not to, but this is dangerous. I don't think we can pull it off on our own. Think about it. Apparently this McCurdy character is holding Casey up there. Now he's probably got Jeff, too. And it looks to me as if he's bright enough to guess we're likely to follow. I can't see the point of jumping right into the fire."

"Call them, then. We've got to do something! We've got to hurry!"

Sullivan walked to the desk in his study where he kept his telephone. He picked up the phone book, began flipping pages. Karen glanced at her watch.

As Sullivan ran his finger down a column of names, a deafening crack, like cannon fire, shattered the silence. Bright light flashed in the room.

Karen looked through the rain-splattered window. "That's all we need, a thunderstorm."

Sullivan tossed the phone book aside and began to rummage through the scattering of papers on his desk. "I just thought of something," he said. "Turns out I've met someone from the state police. I'm going to phone her." He picked up something from the desktop. "Ah, here's her card. Sergeant Shane. At least we've met, so maybe she won't think I'm a complete nut case."

He began to punch the buttons as another thunderclap shook the rectory. A blinding flash left the room lights flickering. Then they went out.

Everything went dark.

"Damn!" said Sullivan. "The phone just went dead in my hand." He slammed it into its cradle and reached for a cigarette. The match illuminated his face.

"That's too weird," Karen said in a whisper. "It's as if . . ."

"It's as if the phone circuits went out along with the lights. Come on, Karen, that's perfectly normal in an electrical storm. Let's not let our imaginations make this situation worse than it is."

"But is the thunderstorm normal? A little while ago it was nice outside. The sky was clear and there was a moon."

Sullivan looked as if he might say something. Instead, he took an aggressive drag on his cigarette. Air hissed. Smoke billowed from his mouth. "So we get in the car and we drive to the police station," he said.

"Do you think the car will work?"

He looked as if he were about to lose patience. "You're convinced now that we're dealing with magic, aren't you?"

"I saw the videotape, Father. You didn't. It was pretty convincing. More than Father Mosely's journal."

A series of thunderclaps rocked the sky. The glass shade of a table lamp rattled. Overhead, the cast-iron chandelier shook.

Sullivan's cigarette glowed like a red eye in the darkened room. It moved as he looked up. "We could use some light in here," he said, positioning a chair beneath the chandelier. He climbed up and lit the candles.

The room trembled with the next explosion of thunder. The chandelier quivered. Plaster dust snowed down. Sullivan jumped from the unsteady chair. "Whoa! That one felt like an earthquake!"

"Father, come here. Look at this!"

He joined Karen at the window. Rain pelted the glass. Together they watched a ball of light streak across the sky. Then another and another. They were like a premature barrage of Fourth of July fireworks, dramatic, beautiful.

"Are those meteors?" Karen asked.

"Comets? Meteors? I don't know."

Soon the black forms of pajama-clad people appeared at front doors on the other side of the street. Some were holding flashlights. Everyone looked upward, watching the white globes flash across the sky.

"Something's happening," Karen whispered.

"So it would appear. I know what you're thinking, Karen. Assuming you're right about this, the only one who might know what's going on is Mr. Barnes. Do you think you can . . . I want to say 'deprogram' him. Can you remove the suggestion that's affecting his behavior?"

Karen looked at the sleeping man in the chair. Head tipped forward, his chin rested on his chest.

"I don't know," she said, her voice fiat with worry. "Let me give it a try."

J
eff stomped the brake pedal when his headlights washed over something in the driveway. Through the swishing windshield wipers, he recognized the reflective metal frame of Casey's wheelchair. Then he saw his daughter on the spattering ground.

And who was that crouching nearby? Some little kid? Had there been an accident here?

What the hell was going on?

"Casey!"

He fairly leapt from the car. Wind-driven water smacked him like an ocean wave as he ran toward the girl.

A fireball hissed overhead. Its stark white glare streaked across the field like a searchlight.

At first Jeff didn't know where the thick low growling was coming from. Before he could think about it, the naked child sprang at him.

She wailed like a cat, flinging her arms wildly as she flew through the air. Wet sinewy legs coiled around his waist, her arms encircled his neck. Still growling, she attacked with her head, bashing at him. He braced himself for an assault of teeth. Instead, a moist leathery suction attached itself to his cheek.

"Get off me!" he cried, trying to pull the convulsing child away. Her arms and legs tensed, coiled tighter. She pumped her bony pelvis against his abdomen. He felt his cheek swell and tear under the incredible suction of her mouth.

"Dad!" Casey screamed. "She's crazy, Dad. She's crazy."

Jeff lost his footing, tumbled to the muddy road. He felt the impossible sucking lips crawl across his face, widening their hold. He felt them touch his own lips and it disgusted him.

Jeff locked his hands between his neck and hers. Then, with all his strength, palms pressing her throat, he tried to push her away. She didn't budge, she was stuck to him like a parasite.

Adrenaline shot killing thoughts into his mind.

No! God! This is a kid, a little kid. I can't
—

But she was strong, full of manic energy, and he had to do something to stop the attack.

Christ, this little kid could kill him!

In mounting panic instinct overcame conditioning—he hit her. Big fists pummeled her head, her neck, her shoulders.

She whined like a squalling feline, slamming her heels against his spine. One connected with the soft flesh covering his kidney.

Sharp pain turned to nausea.

Casey was working her way across the damp ground toward the struggling pair. Squinting into the rain, she grabbed a handful of the girl's greasy hair and pulled. "Leave him alone! Leave my father alone!"

Something happened.

The word "father" worked like a magic word. As if suddenly understanding that this man was not an enemy, the little girl stopped struggling. Her arms, legs, and those terrible lips released their powerful hold. On all fours she scampered away into the shadows.

Panting, Jeff touched his cheek. The skin was raw. His fingers came away damp, slick with a mixture of saliva, blood, and rain. The viscous liquid glistened in the white beam of his headlights.

As he tried to catch his breath, another car pulled up and ground to a halt.

Two sets of headlamps combined to make an illuminated island in the dark farmyard.

Rain battered the ground.

A car door opened and slammed. A shadow moved behind the headlights.

In a moment, Jeff recognized a familiar sound. "Tch, tch, tch." McCurdy. "Yes, Jeffrey, we are all together. But it is nothing like you imagine."

With new strength he'd been conserving for this confrontation, Jeff sprang to his feet. Rage pumped adrenaline to his muscles and his mind. His nerves were on fire. "You sick son of a bitch, McCurdy. You've really gone too far."

McCurdy seemed calm, as if the situation were civil and entirely under control. "1 was just doing what I had to do, Jeff. Just like you do what you have to. But we're both working for the same thing. Don't you understand that?"

"I don't think we are. Not anymore. I know what you're working for and by God I'm going to put a stop to it. If anything happens to me, that videotape will go right into the hands of somebody who can do something about it."

McCurdy laughed. It was condescending, full of derision and superiority. "Tch, tch. tch. Jeffrey, you can't believe all this has anything to do with that videotape. Haven't you figured it out by now? Can't you understand anything on your own?" He clicked his tongue. "You're nowhere near as bright as I'd hoped, you and your priest and your girlfriend."

Jeff turned his back on McCurdy and went to help Casey into her chair.

"Stop!" McCurdy cried. "Leave her right where she is. You're working for me, Jeffrey, you must learn to obey."

Jeff turned on him. "I'm working for—? You really are sick, aren't you? I am not working for you or anyone else. But I am going to put you and that whole lunatic asylum you call the Academy out of business. You can be damn sure I'm not the only one who won't tolerate what's going on there."

McCurdy wiped rainwater from his eyes. "Jeffrey, listen to me. Listen. You'll have to sometime, it might as well be now."

"Like hell I will—"

"I told you the computer would work magic, remember? And that's what you think. That's what your videotape proves, am I right? But listen, it isn't magic, it's more than that. It's miracles, Jeff. That machine helps me do the work of God. I am God's Man, Jeffrey. And I can prove it. You'll believe it, too. Let me show you."

Jeff knelt beside Casey, his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes were wide with terror.

He remained highly alert as McCurdy walked through the lighted area toward the filthy, cowering beast-child. He grabbed the cringing creature by her hair and dragged her into the rain-softened glow of the four headlights.

"I had told my ratty little friend here to keep your daughter inside. That was her job. That was all I expected of her. Jeff, I promise you I never meant for Casey to leave the house and get into a situation as . . . uncomfortable as this. For that I must apologize to both of you."

Redirecting his attention, McCurdy spoke through clenched teeth, "The problem is here."

He shook the sobbing child by the hair and flung her into the mud where she curled into a tight, protective ball. Jeff could hear her whimpering.

"As always," McCurdy continued, "the fault is with the soulless ones. They're imperfect, incomplete. They don't
need
to perform good works for they have nothing to gain; salvation is beyond them." He kicked the child. "They're here to
serve
us. And in the case of completely defective ones, like
this
"—another kick—"they are ours to destroy. The power of the Light can make them— Well, let me show you."

McCurdy closed his eyes. His lips moved silently as if he were praying.

Lightning flashed. Another comet split the sky.

Jeff held Casey tighter. Her fingers dug into his arms. He felt her breathing rapidly, trembling. Gently, Jeff pulled her rain-soaked head to his chest.

And still he watched, fascinated, as a tiny bead of white light, intense as a laser, appeared about three feet above the whimpering child. It enlarged to the size of a golf ball, then flattened until it was the size of a dinner plate. It hissed and spat white sparks, as if it were burning the damp air through which it moved.

Thunder crashed overhead. The sky flared with lightning.

Casey buried her face against Jeff's arm, yet he watched in wonder. "What the hell's going on . . ." he said, but not loud enough for anyone to hear.

A black spot appeared at the center of the fiery dinner plate. It broadened as the perimeter of the light expanded. Soon the thing had formed itself into a three-foot blazing circle. To Jeff, it looked for all the world like a white-hot hula hoop.