The red church (20 page)

The Hung Preacher rolled his eyes in her direc-tion, looking at her appreciatively. Then the thick apparition turned his face back to Archer.

The Hung Preacher's black lips parted, and insub-stantial things wiggled inside his mouth. "More," he said, moving his lips again, but the second time he made no sound.

A vision,
Linda told herself.
An honest-to-God vision. Just like Archer always promised.
The Baptists had raved on and on about Elijah and the burning bush, about how such-and-such was re-vealed to God's chosen, but nobody at First Baptist had ever had a vision of his or her own. Well, Boonie Houck had laid claim to a few, but his revelations never seemed religious in nature, especially since they usually came after a week of the trembles. But this . . .
this
. . .

The Hung Preacher dangled in full glory before her. But even now he was shimmering, fading back into his holy realm beyond this earth. Linda felt her heart leap with uncertain loss. Archer clutched his hands together and edged to-ward the dogwood tree on his knees. "Don't go, oh sweet prophet," he pleaded, his voice almost childlike.

The Hung Preacher mouthed the word
more
a final time, the dead face contorted in rage. His arms fell limp at his sides, and he drifted into invisibility.

Archer stood and ran to the spot beneath the tree. He reached his arms out and hugged the empty air to his chest. "Come back," he said softly. He had a lost look on his face. Linda had never seen Archer appear in any way vulnerable. It made her heart soar with joy. She could be of use to him. He
did
have needs. He needed
her.

Archer had given her so much, opened her eyes to the follies of Christianity, saved her soul. The least she could do was comfort him now in his time of trouble. At last she had something to offer. She touched his shoulder. His coat was so hot that it al-most burned her fingers.

He spun. Linda drew back, her hand covering her mouth in shock.

Archer's face contorted as if the bones of his skull had broken and the fragments were trying to push through his skin. His forehead flattened and elon-gated, the lower part of his face funneled together, the nose broadened over the mouth. His eyes wid-ened, and a fierce golden color ringed the black, marble-sized pupils. Archer's eyes glittered, captur-ing the moonlight and turning it into green and yel-low diamonds.

A low animal growl came from his throat, and tri-angular ears pricked up at the top of his head. Whisk-ers like silver wire sprouted from the sides of the black-gummed mouth. The eyes narrowed, catlike, and Archer fell onto his hands.

No, not his hands. Paws.

Archer's suit ripped, and reddish brown fur sprouted over the preacher's flesh. The creature stepped forward, out of Archer's shoes, its thick claws curling into the ground through the socks.
A mountain lion.

David had told her stories about them, her father had hunted them, and the Appalachian settlers used to fear them so much that they became the stuff of fireplace scare stories. But all the mountain lions were dead.

She had never doubted that Archer could work miracles. Now, with this undeniable proof, she gave the last of herself to him. She fell before the great cat and bowed her head, trembling, awaiting the mighty gnash of its teeth or the swift stroke of its talons, whatever method Archer deemed most fit-ting. Salvation was all about sacrifice, Archer had told her, and she was willing to make the ultimate one. Jesus divided loaves and fishes and walked on water.
Big deal.
Jesus had never been anything but Jesus. This proved that Archer was better, the true savior, the real Son of God. This proved that Archer was master of the atoms and cells and all that other invisible stuff that made things what they were. The animal growled again, a low rumbling noise in its chest. It moved forward and sniffed at Linda. Despite herself, she shivered as warm, moist breath passed across the back of her neck.
Please make it not hurt, Archer.

The mountain lion waited. The sky was a shade lighter now, a deeper blue from the east pushing away the black. The forest was still, hushed in that moment just before dawn when the diurnal and noc-turnal animals changed shifts. The great cat's soft breathing was the only sound besides the pounding of Linda's heart.

The cat moved away, toward the still-unconscious sheriff. Linda felt a small surge of disappointment, but also a rush of relief.

So I'm to be spared. I promise to have a purpose if you only let me live, God. You need me here to serve
Archer, to help him do whatever he needs done to save the world. To beat Jesus and Satan forever.
She watched as the cat lowered its head toward the sheriff's neck.

THIRTEEN

The house was dark when Linda drove up. That meant the boys were asleep. She hated to neglect them the way she had been, but Archer needed her more than the boys did. A servant should have only one master, Archer always said. And God was a jeal-ous God.

She had passed the body that had been lying on the side of the road. Some of the other parishioners had probably passed it as well, though all would mur-mur to themselves, "There must be great sacrifices." Linda recognized David's jacket draped across the body. So her husband had been out nosing around. She hoped he would stay out of the way. If David left her alone, maybe Archer would spare him. David had married into the Gregg family, not earned the birthright with blood. The Days weren't one of the old families, so they owed no tribute to the red church and had no iniquities to pay for. She got out of the car and took a breath of fresh air. The smells of the farm, freshly tilled soil, hay, and chicken manure always comforted her. That was one of the ironies of her life: she'd always been afraid that she'd wind up trapped in Whispering Pines, yet she had never really felt comfortable anywhere else, especially in California. Not even Archer's wonderful presence there could totally erase her homesickness. The moon was low in the sky, three-quarters full over the uneven mountain ridges. The deep indigo of the night and the scattered pinpricks of stars were beautiful. She would miss this world. It was hard to believe that a better one existed, but Archer said be had a place for her waiting in heaven. The
real
heaven, not that mock-up illusion that the Christians peddled.

Harps and white robes. What a laugh.

She went into the house, careful not to make any noise. She would go in and kiss the boys good night and make sure the blankets were tucked under their chins. Her hand fumbled along the wall until she found the light switch, and she flipped it up.

"Well, well, well..." David said. She jumped back against the door.

"... if it ain't the whore of Babylon," David fin-ished. He sat on the couch, still in his work clothes, eyes alert. His rifle was across his lap.

"What in the world do you think you're doing here?" she whispered, as loudly as she could without waking the boys.

"Taking care of my own." His eyes narrowed as he patted the gun barrel. "Somebody's got to do it."

"Get out."

"Not while that . . . that McFall bastard is on the prowl."

"Leave Archer out of this."

"I wish I could."

"You think this is all about you? This doesn't have anything to do with you, so just mind your own busi-ness."

David watched her as she stepped away from the open door and eased toward the kitchen. Only his eyes moved. The rest of him remained rigid. "What's going on up at the church, Linda?"

"Nothing. Just getting services going again." Linda looked away to escape his gaze. "How are the boys?"

"Oh, they're just fine. Ain't nothing like being scared to death and having their mother taking up with a touched-in-the-head bunch of midnight wor-shipers."

"Those are good folks. You know most of them. They're our neighbors."

"Yeah, at least the ones who are still alive."

"You saw her?"

"Yeah."

Linda's eyes grew moist. She had not allowed her-self to mourn for Donna. But now that David had reminded her, she couldn't fight the mortal weakness of tears.

"Boys saw her, too." David's voice was sharper now that he saw he could cut her with his words.

"Lucky for them, they didn't find out who it was."

Linda leaned against the jamb of the entryway that led into the hall. The guilty had to die. But why did it have to be Donna? Her cousin had never really done anything wrong, except maybe committing a little adultery. Was Donna's heart really that tainted, just because she liked to love other women's hus-bands?

"That makes three," David said. "One every night. Just like in California." Linda slammed her fist against the cheap panel-ing, and the trophy heads on the wall shook. "Why didn't you just let me stay in California?" she said, louder than she wanted to.

"You're going to wake the boys."

She crossed the room and stood over him. "Why didn't you leave me out there? I was happy. Maybe for the first time ever."

David took his hands from the rifle and cupped them over his knees. "Because you turned your back on the Lord. And on me. I couldn't let Archer McFall and that bunch rot your soul." She snorted, her nose red from crying. "Soul? What do you know about having a soul?"

"I know what's right. And Archer ain't right. He's the devil. He's worse than the devil. At least the devil plays by God's rules, and knows good from evil. Your precious preacher seems to get them a little mixed up."

"You're crazy, David."

"I ain't the one praying to a murdering monster."

"Archer has nothing to do with the killings."

"Sure he don't. Mighty big damned coincidence, wouldn't you say? Archer goes to California, people die hard. Archer comes back to Whispering Pines, people die hard."

"Sometimes the innocent must die—"

"I got news for you. None of us are innocent."

Linda shook her head. "You don't get it, do you? I've been praying and praying, asking God to throw some light on you so you'd see that Archer is the real savior. But I guess that ten-dollar-a-week Jesus is all you've got the brains for. Serves you right to follow him to hell."

David stood suddenly, the rifle thumping to the floor. He glared down into her eyes, but Linda wasn't afraid.
There will come great trials,
Archer said. She would be strong. Her faith would not waver.

"You can follow that fool," David said between clenched teeth. "But I'll be damned if you're going to take the boys with you."

"That's right.
You'll
be damned," she said, angry now that David was taking her greatest possessions, the greatest tithe she could make to Archer. The boys were her ticket into Archer's heart, into the kingdom of God.

David bent and picked up the rifle, holding it across his chest between them. "Then let the son of a bitch come and get them. But he'll have to come through
me
first."

David's eyes were hard. She knew how stubborn he could be. He had worn that same expression in California, when he came into the temple after Archer had disappeared. He'd carried her out to his pickup, then drove back to the mountains, stopping only for gas and food or when exhaustion forced him to nap for a few hours. Now, as then, Linda realized just how much she loved him. But love was a trick, a scare tactic that led to desperation. Archer said that earthly love was just another vanity, didn't he?

Love in its way was a false idol. Love was as hollow as a golden calf—all shiny and bright on the outside, nothing but bad dark air on the inside. Love gave you nothing, but took every little thing that you had.

Human love was an altar that you crawled on and then asked to be slaughtered. Love was Jesus' greatest lie.

She would be strong.

"I hate you," she said, her chest cold, her heart coated with the iron will that Archer had instilled. David held up a hand, glanced at the front door and then the window. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

David thumbed the rifle's safety off and tilted his head to listen. "Shh."

"It won't come here," Linda whispered, trying to reassure herself. Archer would send his heavenly agent for the boys. But he'd promised to wait until they'd become part of the fold. That would ensure their place in Archer's eternal glory, and secure her place by Archer's side.

Something rattled at the front door.

It can't be. Tonight's sacrifice has already been made.

In the silence
,
the ticking of the clock was like raindrops on a coffin. David put his cheek to the gunstock and waited for whatever was outside to enter.
Can you hear Him aknocking?

Ronnie pulled the covers over his head, but the suffocating darkness made his fear grow instead of disappear. Mom and Dad had stopped arguing
,
so maybe they had heard the noise, too. Tim was snor-ing, but Ronnie hadn't been able to close his eyes since they'd arrived home. He was afraid that if he slept, he'd dream about the black shape that flapped across the sky like a jaggedy kite.

And now it was here, the Bell Monster, the scary thing from the church that had wings and claws and livers for eyes. It had followed them home, and Ron-nie knew—
knew
—that it had come just for him. Be-cause he had sinned in his heart, and the devil had sent a demon from the pits of hell, just the way Preacher Staymore had threatened in Sunday school.