The Reality Conspiracy (56 page)

Again he looked at the sprawled bodies on the kitchen floor. Shot in the face, the poor man must have died instantly. But the old woman must have known real terror. Had she been tortured? Burned alive?

Good God, what had happened in this house?

Sullivan shook his head. Grasping the cold knob in his hand, he prepared to yank the door open.

. . . neither man, nor woman, nor animal . . .

Why did he hesitate?

Why did his heart pound so furiously?

He had a gun; there was no reason to be afraid. Nonetheless, he paused a moment to pray. When he braced himself to open the door, he saw motion outside the window.

Who?

McCurdy and Jeff coming back?

He dropped to the floor, then crawled through waxy blotches of blood, until he could crouch below the windowsill. A man stood on the porch. He'd pressed himself tightly against the outside. Sullivan couldn't get a look at him.

The porch door opened slowly.

Hinges groaned.

Using both hands to steady his aim, Sullivan pointed the revolver at the widening opening. His hands were so slick with sweat he feared his finger might slip from the trigger.

Then he saw. "Alton!"

The newcomer dropped to the floor. He looked up at the priest, half smiling. "Jeez, Father, you gonna shoot me or scare me to death?"

The people in the field were oddly silent.

Motionless, they stared at the faraway light as if it were hypnotizing them. When Jeff and McCurdy carried Casey into their midst, they hardly paid attention.

McCurdy lowered the chair's small front wheels to the ground. Jeff put down the back. The bottoms of the thin rubber tires vanished into the grass and muck.

Jeff's muscles ached from the weight. Massaging his lower back, he wished McCurdy would move out of earshot so he could talk to Casey. Even if they could speak freely, he had little to offer but empty comforts. This whole situation was out of his control, had been since he saw the destruction that ghastly light could cause. Two vivid images held him at bay like twin barrels of a shotgun: the convulsing man whose heart had vanished, and the horrible little girl who'd been transformed into a—into a— God! His mind could not accept what his eyes had witnessed!

And if McCurdy could actually control that hideous light, then Jeff and Casey and all these people were at his mercy. Literally, at his mercy.

Just how benevolent was the mercy of a madman?

The only thing Jeff could hope to do was exactly what he had done back at the farmhouse: bide his time until an opportunity—and he had no idea what that opportunity might look like—presented itself. Till then he could only watch and plan and think and try to figure some way out of this.

Apparently McCurdy had achieved a sort of mind-link with his computer in Boston. It seemed impossible, but he'd learned to bypass the keyboard and operate the machine through concentration and force of will. Staggering enough by itself. But when Jeff reminded himself that McCurdy had harnessed the product of over four thousand years of magical practice and tradition, he realized just how powerful his adversary really was.

In effect, Ian McCurdy was the most powerful black magician who had ever lived.

Christ, what could Jeff do?

Could he compete for control of the machine by using the remote terminal in the farmhouse? Maybe. But as yet he'd had no such opportunity. Besides, he wasn't a skilled operator, not like McCurdy.

And how would he get McCurdy out of the way long enough to experiment with the thing?

Perhaps their only real hope was to put McCurdy out of commission. But that was dangerous. McCurdy could utter a fatal phrase or direct his lethal thoughts faster than Jeff could jump him or wield a weapon.

"Stand behind your daughter, Jeffrey," McCurdy said pleasantly, motioning like a preacher at a wedding and beaming his idiotic smile. "We're just three more sightseers, that's all. Just three curious people out to see what gives. . . ."

"Holy jumpin' Jesus, she sure wasn't in that condition when I left here!"

Color drained from Alton's face as he stared down at the little girl on the sofa. "Merciful Christ, I never seen nothing like this in my life!"

Father Sullivan put his hand on Alton's shoulder. He could feel the man trembling. When Alton lifted his eyes, Sullivan saw a kind of fear he'd never before witnessed. "Her lips was messed up jest the same," Alton whispered, "but her arms and her legs was just fine. Fact is, she was the one tied me up! Oh good God, Father, what could do somethin' like this to her?"

"She can't talk, Al. She can't tell us."

Alton dropped his gaze, then turned to face the priest again. Tears sparkled in the subdued light. "I know they can get inside my head and fuck it all up. And they can do somethin' like . . . like this to a little kid. What's happenin' here, Father? What kind of stuff is this? How the Christ can we fight it?"

Sullivan shook his head.

"Can't we do anything to help her, Father? Isn't there somethin' we can do?"

Sullivan nodded. All he knew for sure was what he had to do. He had to protect these people. "Yes, I think so. You can take her to your car and then drive her to the hospital in Burlington."

"But I can't leave you alone—"

"Yes you can. You've got to. And take Karen with you, if she'll go."

"But what about you?"

"I'll be all right here. I have your gun, remember? I want to look around some more. I also want to keep an eye on Jeff and his daughter."

"I . . . I—"

"It'll be all right, Al. This child needs medical attention. And frankly, I'm old-fashioned enough to want Karen out of harm's way. The best thing you can do is get them both out of here. Then go ahead and call the police."

"They ain't gonna believe—"

"It doesn't matter what they believe. Their job is to protect people. I think those people out there—all of us—need some protection right now. Please. Al, don't argue about it. Just go."

Al folded the quivering child in the woolen blanket and picked her up. The lower part of her body drooped over his arm like a sleeping snake. "It's okay, honey," Al said, "we're gonna get you out of here."

The little girl blinked and blinked and blinked.

In the distance Jeff saw the incandescent cloud glowing on the mountainside.

The sky was black now, undisturbed by the flash and whoosh of fireballs. Heavy rain pelted the ground and onlookers, as if the heavens had sprung a leak.

Nearby, two teenage boys, their denim jackets worn over their heads like monks' cowls, were going through a familiar adolescent ritual of courage-building. Jeff could hear every word.

"How the fuck should I know, man. Maybe it's a UFO or something. Bet the army shows up any minute. Sure wish I had my fuckin' camera."

"The army? Shit no, man; they'd be here by now if it was somethin' dangerous. You don't see no cops or firemen do you?"

"You think they know what it is? The army, I mean?"

"Hell yes, 'course they do. They got computers and stuff, right? You know, aerial surveillance, radar, stuff like that. They probably checked it out long time ago; now they're home in bed porkin' their wives."

"So why don't they tell us what it is then?"

"Probably did. You got a fuckin' radio?"

The more fearful boy shrugged.

"Tell ya what, man. I'm sick of standin' around here jerkin' off. I'm goin' up and have a look at that thing. You comin'?"

Jeff didn't hear the answer. He was too caught up in watching McCurdy, who was pacing around looking at the other people, introducing himself, smiling his crazed and saintly smile.

"We are the chosen ones," Jeff heard him say. "We are the witnesses, the selected servants who'll see this great event."

Long ago, McCurdy's religious mania had gotten under Jeff's skin. At the Academy, at least McCurdy held it in check. But now, with the awesome force of magic behind him, it had grown untethered, becoming monstrous.

Magic? Miracles? Jeff had come to accept massive doses of unreality. Still, he couldn't agree the driving force behind all this was purity and goodness. No, craziness and brutality simply were not part of any Christian tradition he had ever considered.

Then again, what did he know? He had always rejected the notion of God even when presented in far more palatable forms. McCurdy's God was tougher to reject and impossible to ignore.

Jeff shook his head. Standing behind her wheelchair, he massaged Casey's shoulders. Surely McCurdy realized Jeff wouldn't try anything violent with his daughter near enough to suffer. If this were a cosmic game of chess, Jeff had just lost to McCurdy's checkmate: he couldn't attack, he couldn't move, he couldn't escape.

"Stay calm, sweetie," he whispered. "Somehow we're going to get out of this. Somehow everything will be all right."

It was all he could say, and it was nothing.

When he looked down at her he almost cried. Wet and bedraggled, she'd been sitting in that same position for, it seemed, hours. Her fingers were snugly interlaced, her palms pressed together, her forearms pulled tightly against her chest. Shivering and pale, she'd sometimes rock back and forth and her chair would squeak. She seemed locked away in self-protective catatonia. Maybe the best thing was to leave her there.

McCurdy took a position in front of the crowd. He placed himself between the light and the observers. Now he was holding up his arms for attention.

Jeff's hands tightened on Casey's shoulders. Her right hand moved up and covered his left.

"Ladies and gentlemen . . . friends . . . we have been summoned to this place by a power far greater than we can imagine."

People looked at each other, trading puzzled, skeptical glances. McCurdy continued, "We have been chosen and we have been summoned; we are the ones brought here to witness a sign."

"Who the hell is he?" the boy whispered to his companion.

"Beats the shit outta me. Think he's with the army?'

The first boy giggled into his fist.

"What you will witness here tonight is the beginning of a change, a change that will swiftly circle the globe. I ask only that you watch, and believe, then go and tell what you have seen. You there—!"

McCurdy pointed at a man and a woman who were crossing the field. They were carrying video equipment. Jeff saw the Channel 21 logo on the woman's raincoat—a TV crew.

"—bring your camera and get ready for the biggest story of your life. You, young woman, have been chosen to record the changing of the world.
LOOK!
"

With a dramatic half turn and a sweep of the arm, McCurdy pointed to the mountain behind him. The strange light hovered and pulsed.

"Watch and believe." McCurdy fairly screamed, "Witness now the Light of the Lord!"

Beyond bent pasture grasses heavy with rain, beyond the stone wall and the acres of forest that dipped and climbed and became Stattler Mountain, beyond the slopes where the path ended and trees grew wild and tall, the light began to move.

Jeff saw it rise like a translucent hot-air balloon. It rose slowly until it was no longer visible against the mountain, but against the sky.

Casey's hand tightened over Jeff's. Murmurs and whispers raced through the crowd.

"Those who are faithful shall be rewarded," McCurdy chanted, "those who have lost faith shall have faith renewed. Those who've never known faith shall find it in the Light."

The light was moving closer now, traveling toward them like a glowing discus in the sky.

Unbelieving, Jeff saw that it did not illuminate the ground below as it passed.

"Holy Jesus," somebody said.

A boy and girl who had been holding hands at the edge of the crowd about-faced and started to run for their car.

"Look!" McCurdy cried. "LOOK AT THE LIGHT!"

The constant intrusion of a man's voice brought Karen around. She realized whoever was shouting was addressing the crowd, but she couldn't understand his words above the droning rain.

This is stupid
, she thought,
I can't keep freezing up like this. I could get someone hurt; I could get hurt myself
. She stretched her fingers, clenched both hands into fists. Her arms and legs tingled as the paralysis dissipated.