#2 White Sheets

by H. D. Gordon

  My heart dropped as my eyes darted around the high-ceilinged, white-walled room. Not only was it filled with people, but it was familiar as well. My stomach gave a wrench and the food Michael had brought me earlier in the day lurched. A rush of heat ran down my back and my breath caught. This was where it was going to happen. This was where so many would die. I could feel it like a kick to the gut.

  My vision blurred and my knees suddenly felt like gelatin as I looked down at the wide, blood-red runner leading down the center of the room. My eyes darted around as images flashed through my head, overlapping the real world around me with gore and carnage. The crowd melted, the bodies of the people falling lifeless to the floor, some draped over the pews, others slumped against the white walls, mothers curled up around the shapes of their silent children, looks of terrible agony on their faces. Hundreds of sheets as white as snow appeared from nowhere and snaked up the bodies, wrapping around them tightly, like human-shaped cigarettes. The red runner leading to the pulpit became a river of blood, and I was certain I was going to be sucked into the current and drown in it.

  I took deep breaths, barely aware that most of my weight was being held up by Michael, trying my best, even in my odd state, to act as though nothing were happening. This time, I at least had the mind to recognize that I was having some form of a vision, and that the real world was continuing around me. It didn’t make the experience any less intense, any less terrifying. It was much like being dropped into a dream. Or better yet, a nightmare.

  Slowly, with great effort, I forced the images away. It was like shoving a heavy door closed, only it took mental strength rather than physical. Then again, it seemed to have stolen that from me as well. I locked my knees in place and gritted my teeth. The scene slowly returned to normal, but my pulse didn’t slow. I needed to get a handle on my ability. Later, when I wasn’t surrounded by all these people, I would ponder the fact that my precognitive skills seemed to be getting stronger, and whether that was a good thing or not. In the immediate situation, the answer was certainly not.

  Michael pulled me over to one of the walls, leading me through the thick crowd with his arm wrapped around my waist, giving me the support I needed to keep from toppling over. He smiled and exchanged greetings with people as we moved, but I could feel the tension in his body. Fortunately, he waited until we reached the west wall before he addressed it.

  “What did you see?” he whispered. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded in answer, happy that some of the strength was coming back to my muscles. Michael gave me a dubious look but left it at that, because the choir—some two dozen people in winter white robes—had begun singing. A small, motherly woman appeared on the stage and began approaching the podium. The already buzzing energy in the room kicked up at the sight of her, powerful enough to lift the hairs on my arms and the back of my balmy neck.

  And that was nothing compared to what it felt like a few minutes later, when he took the stage. As the crowd exploded in cheers and praises, the sick feeling in my stomach came back with a vengeance. If there ever had been, there was no longer any doubt.

  I stared up at the dark-haired, handsome man dressed in an all-white robe and swallowed hard. It was the Middle Man, right down to the pleased little smirk on his face. A familiar voice spoke in my head then, and as if drawn, my eyes found Mr. Landry in the crowd, leaning against the wall in the back of the room. He asked me telepathically if I was okay, and I confirmed this, hoping he was the only one who’d taken notice of my little episode a moment ago. Nonetheless, I breathed a sigh of relief knowing he was safe. It was short-lived, though.

  “We ain’t safe, soldier,” he told me silently, his blue eyes going up to the podium. “And, no, I’m not the only one who noticed. Open your eyes, girl. We’re all a bunch of sheep surrounded by wolves.”

  Chapter 17

  Dorie

  Tonight’s turnout was pretty good, which should please Father. Dorie Dunham scanned the crowd below from her spot on the stage, estimating there were four hundred people here already, and more still entering through the double doors in the back. She looked at each man, woman and child individually, separating them into three categories in her mind: those who were already members, those who were not members yet, but had attended service before, and the first-timers. These last two groups were her main focus. These were the ones Father would need to know about.

  Of all Father’s “family” members, Dorie Dunham was one of the most gifted. She had the memory of an elephant, and could map things out in her mind in graphs and charts. She could store an incredible amount of information, and this was something Father had recognized in her early on, and he had put it to good use. Dorie did all sorts of things to prove her devotion to him—all sorts of things—but her main, most important duty was being Father’s human rolodex. If one crossed paths with the church in any kind of way, their name and information was certainly on an invisible notecard stored in the box that was Dorie Dunham’s head.

  Most of the crowd were already devoted members, and she had no interest in them; they would play their parts, as they always did. She spotted the pretty young mother—Christine Mattock, age: 21, single mother on the run from an abusive boyfriend—she’d picked up at a gas station a couple nights ago entering with her daughter—Madison Mattock a.k.a. Maddie, age: 6—and smiled widely, waving to them. Christine returned the smile, and Dorie’s eyes moved on before coming to a stop on a handsome young man she’d never seen before. A first-timer. As he moved through the crowd, she saw that it was two first-timers. The handsome young man had his arm around a rather…peculiar young girl.

  It wasn’t so much her appearance that was strange—though the raven hair, fair skin and silvery-blue eyes did make for a striking combination—it was her behavior that made Dorie Dunham pause. For just a flash of a moment, a look of pure terror had come over the girl’s face and her eyes had gone wide and distant, as if seeing something that was not there. Had the boy not been holding her up, it seemed as though she might have collapsed.

  Peculiar behavior, indeed.

  Dorie filed it away—Raven-haired girl, age est.: 19-22…strange behavior—because it was just the type of information Father would want to know.

  Chapter 18

  Christine

  Her first thought was that he was good-looking—really good-looking, especially for an older man. His hair was dark and thick and styled like Elvis’. His skin was a nice olive tone that contrasted well with the stark whiteness of his robe. He more glided over the stage than just walked, and the people shouted out in joy at the sight of him. Christine found herself on her feet as well, not remembering when she had stood up. When his dark, deep eyes met hers from across the room and he smiled, his perfect teeth flashing behind full lips, Christine got a fluttery feeling in her stomach. He had noticed her. In this crowd of hundreds, he had noticed her.

  He waved to the people as he approached the podium, and then his powerful voice, that caramel sound that she’d heard in the cafeteria earlier, was booming over the sound system. “Good evening, Family!” he said.

  In unison, almost like a chant, the people responded, “Good evening, Father!” The sound of all those voices speaking together made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, and her fingertips seemed to tingle when the reverend met her eyes again for another stolen moment.

  As he spoke, his eyes travelled back to her often enough to make her feel as though he were addressing her specifically.

  “Well, now,” he began, the crowd falling silent. “You don’t know how much joy it brings me to see y’all here tonight. I wish you could see yourselves the way I’m seeing you right now, how beautiful you are. All of God’s children, all shapes, sizes and shades, coming together under one roof! It is a beautiful thing, Family! A beautiful thing!”

  There were shouts of agreement, hands held high in the air as the people swayed back and forth, eyes half-hooded.

  “First things first, who here needs a healin
g? Who has come here tonight needing me to take their pain away? Come now, don’t be shy!” His eyes scanned the crowd and settled near Christine. “You! You, there! You look like you could use some healing. You look like you could use some healing indeed.”

  Christine froze. For a moment, she thought he was looking at her, and then she realized he was addressing the older black woman sitting beside her in the wheelchair. A look of surprise came over her wrinkled features, and she gripped Christine’s hand, but her eyes stayed on the reverend.

  “There can’t be no healing me, Father,” the old woman called out. “I been in dis here chair goin’ on thirty years. I done prayed to Jesus, and He decided I wasn’t never gone walk again.”

  Her voice cracked as she said these last words, and a few tears escaped her glossy brown eyes. Christine didn’t realize it, but she was now gripping the old lady’s hand in return, her chest constricting at the pain so clearly etched on the woman’s face.

  The reverend’s smile was full of understanding and compassion, and Christine found herself thinking that it was a shame he was married. “I know,” he said, his voice gentle. “I know the pain you’ve felt, the things you’ve endured. You’ve been tested by the Lord, and he gives only what can be handled. You’ve got more strength in you than most of us here could ever dream of having!”

  More shouts: Yes, Father! Hallelujah! Yes, yes, yes!

  “And that ain’t all,” he continued, his deep, lulling voice rising. “The Lord wants you to walk again!” His fist pounded down on the podium, more cheers from the crowd, growing louder each time. “He wants me to show you the way, to help you find the strength that I see coming off you in waves. He wants to see you stand with us now!”

  Christine bit her lip, fighting back tears. The look that had come over the old woman’s face was so full of hope that it made her heart ache. She looked back up at the reverend and felt a bit of animosity. Didn’t he see that what he was doing was cruel? The woman was obviously too weak to hold herself up properly in her wheelchair, and he was telling her she could walk? What the hell was wrong with him?

  The old woman turned to Christine then, more unshed tears glistening in her old eyes. “Do you think I can do it, child?” she asked, low enough that only Christine could hear.

  Christine’s heart dropped. How was she supposed to answer that? Suddenly, she wished she hadn’t come here. Her mouth opened and she answered the only way she could, honestly. “I-I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe,” she added when the old woman’s face fell a fraction.

  The reverend spoke again. “Come, now! What you got to be afraid of? Give it a try, and let all your fears and all your doubts be cast away! The Lord says you have suffered long enough, and you will walk again! Ain’t that right, Family?”

  The crowd: That’s right, Father! Hallelujah!

  The old woman squeezed Christine’s hand once again, fear flashing in her eyes now. “Will you help me, child?” she asked.

  A tear escaped Christine’s eye, but she brushed it away and nodded, placing her free hand under the woman’s arm and pulling gently. The old woman’s face grew strained as she used what seemed like enormous effort to find her feet. Her stick-like legs wobbled underneath her like a levy about to give way. Christine thought then that if the crowd were not so loud, she would hear her own heart breaking.

  Around them, the audience cheered and cheered, growing louder with each inch the woman rose from the chair. Christine’s face flushed as she realized every set of eyes in the place was on them right now. When she looked up at the stage, she saw that his eyes were on her as well.

  Finally, the woman was on her feet, though she looked ready to topple over at any moment if the crowd around her breathed any harder. The reverend’s voice boomed over the loud system. “Now, walk, my child!” he beckoned. “Let go of your crutches and come to me! Feel the love the Lord has for you! Feel the love I have for you, and come to me now, child! Come to me now!”

  The old woman gave Christine a nod that spoke volumes…and slowly released her hold. Christine felt a panic rise in her as the old woman began supporting all of her own weight. When she took her first step, slow and painfully shaky, Christine stood beside her in wonder, her hand coming up and covering her mouth. When she took her second and third step, fresh tears sprang from Christine’s eyes. When the old woman picked up into a slow jog a few minutes later, her wrinkled arms outstretched to the man on the stage, Christine was crying out hallelujah along with the rest of the crowd.

  And as the reverend embraced the old woman, who moments before had hardly been able to turn her head without it creaking, he met Christine’s eyes across the room again and gave her another stomach-tingling smile.

  Christine bit her lip and returned it with one of her own, staring wide-eyed at him through her tears. She understood now why they all loved him so. He was amazing. He could work wonders.

  No, he could work miracles.

  Chapter 19

  Joe

  Seriously, it was amazing that anyone was falling for this crap. That was the real miracle. Obviously, the old woman in the wheelchair was a plant, someone the reverend and his flunkies had put in place to play the role of the healed. Looking around, though, at the wonder-filled, teary-eyed faces surrounding me, I saw that perhaps this was not so obvious. The old woman was a good actor, but I didn’t think she was that good, and it couldn’t be more apparent that I was in the minority with that opinion. I supposed there was a reason they called this part of the country the Bible Belt.

  Then again, I had to remember that I had the advantage of knowing what was going on, of walking into this whole production—because the longer it went on, the clearer it became to me that that’s exactly what it was, a production—with my eyes wide open. Perhaps if that hadn’t been the case, if instead I had stumbled into this church out of curiosity or spiritual pursuit, I would feel differently. But, honestly, I didn’t think so. This guy reeked so clearly of bullshit to me I was sure I would still smell it even if I had been blindfolded.

  On the other hand, some of the things he said and did made perfect sense, and what was more astonishing, seemed morally sound, as well. As Michael and I watched on, several people stood up and thanked “Father” for whatever healing they believed he’d performed for them. There were more than a dozen who claimed to have been addicted to some sort of substance for many years, and were saved from this state by something “Father” had done for them. A few others insisted that he’d cured them of cancer. Ladies swooned and grown men cried like babies. Other than Mr. Landry, Michael and me, everyone here seemed to be swept up in the strange phenomenon the reverend was causing.

  It was a terribly terrifying, yet infinitely interesting thing to witness. I had quite simply never been in the presence of a person who commanded such attention without even trying. Even now, the cadence of his voice drew me back in.

  “There is so much evil in the world, children!” he bellowed. “So many people out there who seek only the destruction of happiness and holiness! I know what some of you are thinking,” he stopped again for what seemed like his billionth dramatic pause, and my heart stopped in my chest as his dark eyes fell on me.

  I felt Michael’s arm tighten around my waist and had to suppress a shudder.

  “You’re thinking that the idea of evil is arcane, outdated.” Spittle flew from his lips as he slammed his fist down on the podium again, the sound echoing through the stuffy room. “But I am here to tell you that evil is real, and it walks among us every day. Evil is the rich CEOs, who fill their pockets with gold while their employees—good people like you and me—break their backs and work fingers down to the bone and can hardly afford to feed their children. Evil is the people who pay our politicians to forsake this country and everything it was built on. Evil is what drives the privileged few to take and take and take until the rest of us are left with nothing but crumbs!”

  The crowd, hands lifted to the sky, bodies swaying with the righteous
words of their unrighteous leader, cried out their agreement. Goosebumps broke out on my arms as I watched them, as I felt the buzz of their united energy filling the air. Across the room, Mr. Landry met my eyes for the briefest of moments, and he didn’t have to speak in my head for me to know what he was thinking.

  He’d been right when warning me earlier. I wasn’t just facing a single madman this time. I was facing him and his whole army.

  “Yes!” cried out the reverend, the baggy sleeves of his robe fluttering as he lifted his hands skyward as well. “Yes, my children! Evil is real and it walks among us!”

  Well, I thought, at least we could agree on something.

  Chapter 20

  Christine

  Yes, my children! Evil is real and it walks among us! But I am here to tell you that you needn’t be afraid of the vile demons who prey upon the less fortunate! Our strength is in our numbers, in our devotion to the good Lord and the tenets he so generously laid out for us in the Good Book. They want to see us suffer, but together…together we can thrive, my children. Together we can make this world into the heaven on earth the Lord intended for it to be!