The crowd continued to push the priest back towards the altar. He turned and headed for the pulpit. From his higher position, he watched the church fill with several TV camera crews, radio reporters, and photographers wearing army green vests with multitudes of cameras hanging off their necks. The camera crews and radio reporters pushed and shoved each other in their scramble to place a microphone near the pulpit. The reporters fired a volley of questions at the priest. The questions were incomprehensible as one question cut off the other in a swirl of noise and confusion. Father McDuffy began to shake. He suddenly felt very tired and short of breath. The room seemed to move from side to side and then he felt someone grip his arm. Two altar boys had grabbed him and slowly lowered him to the floor. One ran into the back office and called an ambulance. The media people watched with jaded eyes, and then frowned in disappointment.
"At least we got that other weirdo outside," one of camera technicians said to Wanda Jackson.
"Yeah," she replied in a tone of disappointment. "Let's interview some of these people, and then we'll come back in an hour for the priest."
"It's a good thing you spotted this story on the wires," the technician said.
"We'll give it to the national feeds after we air it. I just know they'll pick it up," Wanda Jackson said.
The News - Chapter 24
Carson sat down at his dining room table waiting for Linda to bring in two plates filled with one of her gourmet dinners. He offered to help, but Linda refused. It was 6 pm and the linen drapes filtered a yellow-orange light into the dining room giving Carson a feeling of warmth and security. Linda carried two white plates with two slices of gravy-covered meatloaf, buttered string beans and fluffy brown rice. Carson filled their glasses with red Bordeaux and buttered two freshly baked dinner muffins.
"To us," he said raising his glass.
"To us," Linda said clicking her glass against his.
"This is great," Carson said smiling. "You make the best meatloaf around. I'm glad I gave you my mother's recipe."
"I didn't use your mother's recipe," Linda said.
"No?" Carson said.
"Joan Paulson gave me hers. She's a teacher at school."
"Well, it's great. Better than my mother's."
"Thanks, darling," she replied.
The phone rang.
"I'll get it," Linda said rising from her seat.
"No, no. Sit. You made dinner. I'll get it."
Carson walked into the kitchen and picked up the phone.
"Carson! Did you catch the six o'clock news on Channel 7? They're doing a story on Ocean Village. Turn on your TV!" Stokes shouted.
"Really? No kidding! Okay."
Carson rushed into the living room and turned on the TV. A car commercial was on and the announcer was talking about a marathon of sales with great deals and low cost financing.
"More bullshit," Carson mumbled to himself.
The TV commercial ended and a shot of the anchor desk appeared on the screen with a close-up of an anchorwoman.
"Devil worship appears to be on the rise in Monmouth County today. Here's a report from Eyewitness reporter Wanda Jackson in Asbury Park," the anchorwoman said.
Linda joined Carson.
"What's going on?"
"I'll tell you later. I have to watch this," he said.
"Churches here in this tiny, religious community appear to be losing their followings to a group of Satanists, who appear to be growing in strength..." Wanda Jackson said while holding a microphone in front of St. Mary's Church.
"That's St. Mary's!" Linda said.
The report showed the interview with Father McDuffy and with Hermes, and then the screen switched to another reporter - a young man in a brown suit.
"This is Richard Dieters from the Monmouth County Sheriff's Office. Sheriff James Locust has noticed a higher than usual crime wave in the past three weeks and he attributes it to the Satanist movement in Ocean Village..." A burly man in his 50s with graying hair then appeared on screen.
"In the past three weeks, we have had several model parolees commit the worst crimes in their prison record. It has us baffled until one confessed that it's because of the devil worship," Sheriff Locust explained.
The camera moved to Dieters. "Do you mean that model prisoners have become worse because of the Satanism, Sheriff?"
"I guess. All I know is that several of them told me they don't have a reason to be good anymore because they believed they were going to hell anyway. It's all tied in with those people burning up over in Ocean Village."
The phone rang again. Carson ran into the kitchen and picked it up.
"Did you hear that? This thing has gone far enough. We've got to do something!" Stokes yelled.
"What can we do?"
"I don't know," Stokes replied. "I’ll think of something."
"I start in the lab tomorrow and maybe I can clear it with Doctor Hansen to start some tests and we can nip this in the bud if we can come up with a diagnosis," Carson said.
"I'll talk to Hansen tomorrow and get that cleared. He may not believe any of this stuff, but if I talk to him, he'll take my word," Stokes explained.
"Okay. Are you all right? You sound frazzled."
"I am." Stokes replied.
"Don't you know what this all means Carson?"
"No. It's just a disease we can't detect, and people are very frightened because they choose to believe it's tied to religion."
"You might as well be from another planet. You're way out in left field. People no longer believe that God is there for them - they think the devil has won the war of good against evil. They believe God has abandoned them and allowed the devil to get stronger and be able to take souls into hell. The very foundations of all religion are being shaken for the first time in the history of mankind. Without some kind of religion whether a man worships a giant rock or the sun, man is nothing but a savage animal. Religion is man's hope for a better future, a better life, everything better. Religion is a check and balance system for mankind. Without that hope, he has no reason for living and no reason for doing the right thing. Criminals become extremely evil when they believe there is no hope for them. No one is born a criminal and no one aspires to be criminal. They do evil things because they believe there's nothing good for them in the world, that they don't deserve anything good - that they have been denied the good life for whatever reasons. Religion is the glue that holds our society together."
"What about the atheists - the nonbelievers - they don't believe in God?" Carson asked.
"They don't believe in God or a formalized religion, but they have religion. They may believe in themselves or in fate, and they have hope. It's not in the shape of a formal religion. When you have people doubting their religion like we have here and their religion is all the hope they have in their lives, then it's dangerous," Stokes explained.
"How dangerous?"
"It scares the hell out of me, excuse the pun. I can't be sure, but the fear of God and his reprisals have probably kept some people in check - you know from going off the deep end and doing wild and crazy things. Religion is one of the foundations of our civilization. Not everyone is like this, but there are some who have repressed desires that they might want to satisfy now since they believe everything is lost, and they no longer fear God and his reprisals. I'd be careful and keep your eyes open, Carson."
The Dogs - Chapter 25
The overweight, middle-aged man with gold wire rim glasses stepped into a black 1977 Chevy Impala with red vinyl seats. The car was a leftover from the days of GM lavishness when bigger meant better and cost didn't matter. The man had purchased the car new and now used it for hauling firewood, furniture and items too small for a truck, but too large for his wife's scaled down Mercedes. The man drove through several towns that dotted the New Jersey coast until he entered Long Branch, once a great resort that attracted many prominent men and women in the earlier part of the 20th century. The man stopped in front of a animal shelter in th
e downtown section, where every other storefront was boarded up. He looked at himself in the rear view mirror and smiled a smile of victory. He entered the small building and was struck with the pungent smell of animal urine, sundry odors and the explosive sound of barking dogs.
"Hello Mr. Jones," said a thin, pimpled-skinned youth from behind a glass-topped counter. It was cluttered with point-of-purchase display cards from the humane society and other similar organizations. "How's the breeding going?"
"Oh, just fine, just fine. I'm here to pick up the Dobermans Larry said he got in," the Magus said.
"Oh, yeah, Larry said you would be by today. I'll get them," the young man replied.
A few minutes later, the youth returned out of breath with two black barking Dobermans tugging frantically on their leashes.
"This one is a bit vicious...so be careful," said the young man gasping for air. "The other one is ok until he's with this one."
"Thanks, but I always tie them to the seat belts," the Magus replied.
The Magus took the leashes and pulled the dogs with him. He stopped, put his free hand in his pocket and pulled out a $20 bill.
"Here," he said. "For your trouble."
"Thanks, Mr. Jones. Anything else you need, just let me know!" the young man said.
"There is one thing...just don't spread it around that I'm breeding. You know, I don't want the competition to get wind of it," he said.
"Sure, Mr. Jones, I know," the youth said.
The overweight man was winded by the time he reached his car. He opened the rear door on the passenger side, and then walked around and opened the rear door on the driver's side. He backed into the car and secured the leashes onto one seat belt, then dragged the dogs into the car, moving out of the car as he pulled the leashes. He shortened the lengths of the leashes by attaching them to another seat belt. The dogs sat in the back seat, and the short leashes prevented them from moving forward or jumping into the front seat. The Magus closed the car doors and drove away. The dogs barked at every passerby. When they were not barking they snarled and growled as if they knew who their new master was and what he had planned for them.
The Magus turned onto Route 35 and headed towards his house. The dogs became more excited as the car increased speed. They struggled desperately to get free and strained their necks to get out of the collars, occasionally letting out horse coughs. The Magus occasionally looked back at them through the rear view mirror. A few moments later, the dogs were silent. The Magus turned up the radio. Mozart's fifth symphony was playing on one of the classical music stations broadcast from New York. He placed his arm across the top of the bench seat and enjoyed the music. A few moments later, the Magus heard the dogs breathe in deeply and then growl. Suddenly, his arm burned in pain - a piercing pain so intense his vision blurred. He turned to look, but he knew before he looked what had happened. He was filled with horror - one of the dogs had gotten free and was ripping his forearm to pieces with its crushing jaw and razor-sharp teeth. The Magus pulled his arm away, but the dog hung on ripping more flesh as he tugged. He saw his ivory shirt turn crimson as his blood soaked into the material. He instantly brought his other arm up and made a fist aimed straight at the dog's head, but he was never able to follow through with the punch. The other dog jumped up, and with a single bite grabbed hold of the Magus throat, and ripped. Blood showered the windshield and the dashboard. The Magus slumped down in the seat his life ebbing away with each heartbeat. His foot held the accelerator and the car veered off the road into an open field and continued accelerating like a wild comet. The comet slammed into a large oak tree cutting the car nearly in half. The front end crumbled like tin foil and the engine and transmission were pushed into the front seat. The massive engine pinned the Magus between it and seat, nearly severing his limp body in two at the waist. The windshield shattered spewing tiny, red clumps of glass everywhere. The glass looked like rubies in the mid-afternoon sun as they shimmered in the peaceful grass. A small fire started in the carburetor and began to ignite the fluffy insulation lining on the underside of the crumpled hood. Smoke oozed from under the wreckage as the fire burned steadily and stronger. The dogs, sensing the fire, quickly squeezed out of the car though the shattered windshield and vanished into the nearby woods. An old, white-haired woman stepped out of her tiny house nearby and surveyed the wreckage. She ran back into house and called the police.
The fire ignited a clump of dry leaves under the car and soon the front tires were ablaze pushing out billows of black smoke like two giant chimneys from a turn-of-the-century factory. The flames joined the others inside the car. Within minutes, the interior was glowing orange as the flames appeared like bright orange serpents trying to escape out of the glassless windows. A police car and an ambulance arrived, along with a fire truck. The firefighters jumped off the truck and scrambled to get a hose out and pumping. One moved too close with the waterless hose and an angry billow of fire roared out of the window nearly swallowing the young firefighter. His hair and eyebrows were singed. The dogs watched from the woods; they seemed to be smiling.
* * *
Stokes was enjoying the sunset on his enclosed porch and reading the last chapter of Sankara Saranam’s God Without Religion, when the phone rang. The last hint of the golden orange sun disappeared and a gray pale was beginning to shroud the last light of the day.
"Hello, this is Doctor Stokes."
"Doctor Stokes, this is Doctor Hillgren from Riverdale Medical Center ER. We have one of yours...just came in. His name is Henry Graber..."
"Is he all right? What happened?"
"A car accident. He didn't have a chance..."
Stokes was silent.
"Hello, Doctor Stokes? Are you still there?"
"Yeah...he was a good friend," Stokes said in a near whisper.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?"
"How did it happen?"
"We're not sure, yet. The body was pretty well burned."
"Burned? What happened?" Stokes asked.
"His car struck a tree on Route 35. Could have had a heart attack."
"Oh, no!"
"I'll keep you informed when I know more," Dr. Hillgren said.
"Please do. Has his wife been told?"
"I don't know. The police usually take care of that."
"Sure."
Stokes went back into the living room, sat down and cried. He had known Henry Graber most of his life. Their children had played together, swam together on the beach and enjoyed summer cookouts. Mary entered with her unfinished quilt and a wicker sewing basket with pieces of wicker sticking out. When she saw Stokes' face, she dropped the basket and went to him. Stokes looked up at her through a blur of tears and fetched a pad and pencil to make sure she didn’t read his lips incorrectly and wrote,
"Henry Graber is dead. Killed in a car accident...just this afternoon."
Mary's face constricted and tears ran down her face. She wrapped her arms around her husband and they cried together. Stokes wrote on the pad again.
"I'm going to Riverdale; I want to be there. He was a good friend."
Mary nodded.
As Stokes drove to the medical center, he had to keep wiping his eyes to see where he was going. He entered the hospital through its emergency entrance and had to push his way inside. There were lines formed outside.
"What's going on, here?" he asked one of the fleeing interns.
"I don't know," he said.
Stokes went to the main reception area, where several nurses and doctors rushed back and forth trying to keep up with increasing number of patients.
"Does anyone know what's going on?" he asked.
A petite nurse sitting behind the counter looked up.
"No sir," she said. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Doctor Stokes from Ocean Village and I'd like to know what's going on here?"
"Your guess is as good as ours," she explained. "It's been like this for the past two days. Everybody with the slightest ailment is here and the
y all have the same excuse, that if they die they will go to hell and they want to make sure they stay healthy as long as they can. These people are totally paranoid of dying. It has something to do with that priest dying over in Ocean Village and the Satanist cult," she explained.
"Who's in charge of the ER tonight?" Stokes asked.
"Doctor Hillgren. His office is down that hall; first door on the left," she said. "But I don't think you'll find him there. He's running around like the rest of us."
Stokes darted away and pushed open two swinging doors that led into the examining rooms of the ER. He began to gasp for air. He rushed to each examining room asking for Doctor Hillgren. Panting, Stokes dragged himself into a room at the end of a long corridor and abruptly pulled the curtain aside. Stokes saw a sandy-haired doctor placing a stethoscope on an old women's chest. Two nurses stood next to the doctor.
Absence of Faith Page 17