The body was dressed in a black tuxedo; the head pok-ing out above it was bald and white. Stray wisps of hair caught the spotlight, and the eyelids opened to reveal empty sockets where the eyes inside had shrivelled and gone. Pink embalming fluid ran from the man’s nostrils and down over his jacket.
People in the audience screamed as the corpse twisted itself up and out of the coffin. Its legs hung over the edge briefly and then its whole body flopped to the floor. Gabriel stood near by, waving his hands over the body, like a puppeteer. The corpse staggered to its feet and raised its head. A stream of viscous liquid poured from its mouth and across the stage. It let out a horrifying cry of pain then fell, its legs and arms racked with twitches and spasms before it became completely still.
“That is a miracle,” Gabriel said.
With a movement of his hand, he trained a spotlight on to Ezekiel Crane, who stood cowering with shock near the wings.
“What is my name?” Gabriel said.
Crane said nothing.
“What is my name?”
Crane blinked slowly. The silence was broken by a tremendous clap of thunder which sounded as if it would split the theatre in two. Doors flew open in the auditorium and wind howled through, blowing pamphlets and books into the air. There was another thunderclap and the lights flashed and fizzed as rain and sparks started pouring down from the roof.
Gabriel stood his ground in the spotlight and stared at Ezekiel Crane. “What is my name?”
Crane wiped the rain from his eyes and looked across at the golden-haired boy. “Is it Baal?” he asked nervously. “Is it Asteroth?”
“Is that what you think?” Gabriel said, recognizing the names of fallen angels. “Is that what you think I am?”
“I think you are worse than a fallen angel,” Crane said. “I think you—”
Suddenly the remaining lights exploded above their heads, showering the audience and themselves with shards of splintered glass, and the theatre went black.
Rachel was suddenly aware that Gabriel was standing over her bed. She opened an eye. He was soaking wet and covered in blood and broken glass. Adam sat bolt upright in the other bed, a terrified expression on his face.
“What happened?” he bleated. “I had a terrible dream.”
“So did I,” Rachel said. “The dead body…”
“Yeah,” Adam said. “And that preacher.”
Rachel jumped out of bed and sat Gabriel down. She brushed away the splinters of glass from his chest and shoulders and then grabbed a towel and began to dry his hair.
“I’m afraid it wasn’t a dream,” Gabriel said.
Rachel dabbed at the spots of blood on his face with the corner of the towel. “Who is he?” she asked.
“He’s that freaky preacher we saw on TV,” Adam said.
“That’s not what I mean.” Rachel stared at Gabriel, waiting for an answer. “You know him, don’t you?”
“He’s an old enemy,” Gabriel said. “Someone we need to stay well away from. For a while, at least.”
“Why do I get the impression you’re not being completely honest with us?” Rachel asked. She leaned her face close to his. “Why do I always have that impression?”
Gabriel almost smiled. “It’s good to be suspicious. You just have to make sure you’re suspecting the right people.”
“So what do we do now?” Adam asked. He was thinking about the carnage they had left in their wake in Cincinnati and now in St Louis. “I thought we weren’t supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves.”
“Pack your stuff,” Gabriel said. “We need to get back on the road.”
The night they had spent in Indianapolis had left Laura and Kate feeling tired, tense and irritable.
Having made contact with the twins, neither had slept well. Their minds had been racing with thoughts and possibilities. They both needed to rest, but equally, both wanted to be up and on the road early, excited by the knowledge that Rachel and Adam were somewhere ahead of them.
Two hours out of Indianapolis Laura felt her eyes begin to droop. She swerved and narrowly missed an oncoming truck, the jolt of adrenalin suddenly bringing her attention back to the road in front of her. She looked over at Kate, who was sound asleep, her head resting against the car window. Laura saw a diner up ahead and knew that she would have to stop.
She pulled into the forecourt of the Moonshine Diner, where two cars and a camper van were already parked. Laura killed the engine. Kate stirred and opened a bleary eye.
“Where are we?”
“About two hours out of Indianapolis,” Laura said. “I need coffee.”
They got out of the car, taking their backpacks with them, along with the police scanner Kate had bought in New York. Laura felt it was a good idea to stay vigilant, but Kate seemed almost oblivious to the fact that she was wanted for murder on another continent. Her desire to catch up with her children was clearly of more concern to her than her own freedom.
The diner was bright and cheerful. They sat in a booth with shiny red plastic seats, its table laden with bottles of ketchup and sachets of every other condiment known to man. Laura smiled at the family in the next booth: a mother, father and two lively kids – a boy and a girl. They looked relaxed and happy, and their casual clothes suggested that they were on holiday.
“They look like they’re having a great time,” Kate said, sitting down.
“Lucky them,” Laura said.
“It’s a dim and distant memory.” Kate smiled sadly, thinking back to a time when her family had looked like that.
A pretty, middle-aged waitress came to the table with her pad open and ready. A badge on her white overalls announced that her name was Estelle. “How you guys doing?”
Kate and Laura nodded, said that they were good, even though they weren’t.
“What can I get you?”
Laura ordered coffee and scrambled eggs. Kate asked for a blueberry muffin.
They didn’t talk much while they waited for their order. Kate flicked through the pages of a local paper and Laura plugged an earpiece into the scanner, which was crackling quietly in her pocket, and adjusted it to the local frequency.
Their food arrived, but just as Laura was about to eat her eggs, she saw a Harley-Davidson roar on to the forecourt. A large policeman dismounted and headed for the diner. He pushed open the door, took off his helmet and sunglasses and unzipped his leather jacket to reveal a big belly that stretched at the buttons of his shirt. Then he stomped over to the counter and sat at the same stool he obviously used most days of the week.
“How you doin’, Scotty?” the waitress asked.
The policeman took a toothpick from the counter and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “All the better for seeing you, Estelle.”
Estelle smiled and asked him if he wanted the usual –which he did.
Laura watched Kate pick at her muffin, keeping one eye on the cop at the bar and one ear on the police messages that were coming through every few minutes on the scanner. She was about to say something when information she recognized cut through the interference and crackle:
“…Interstate 70, blue Ford rental, licence plate…”
Laura looked out of the window and across at their car; she listened again as the number of their licence plate was reeled off by the police controller on the scanner.
They were in trouble.
“Any agents in the vicinity? … Scotty, you out there?”
At the counter, Scotty sighed and reluctantly answered the call on his radio. “Yep, check you. I’m here.” He filled his mouth with hash browns and a swig of coffee.
“Repeat: blue Ford rental, licence plate…”
Scotty swallowed the mouthful. “Nope, not seen nothing.” He winked at Estelle, who poured him more coffee. “I’ll keep my eyes open.”
Laura stuffed the earpiece into her pocket and leaned over to Kate. “We need to go,” she said.
“What’s the matter?”
“We need to go
now.”
Hearing the urgency in Laura’s voice, Kate grabbed her bag and got up from her seat. Laura threw a twenty on the table, and the two of them hurried out of the door.
Estelle came round the counter and walked towards their table, one eye on the fleeing couple, the other on the bill Laura had left behind.
“Everything OK over there?” the cop asked, seeing her puzzled expression.
The waitress shrugged. “They seemed in a bit of a hurry, is all.”
The boy at the next table watched through the window as the two women hurried across the car park and climbed into his family’s camper van.
“Dad…”
The family looked on, horrified, as their vehicle reversed and then drove off the forecourt, before speeding away west along I-70.
“Hey, that’s our van!” the father shouted, rushing towards the door.
Officer Scott McAndrew levered himself from his stool just in time to see the cloud of dust raised by the stolen camper van and to register the licence plate of the blue Ford that was still parked in front of the diner.
Laura drove as fast as she could without drawing attention to herself, then slowed and turned off into a side road in an effort to shake off anyone who might be following. The camper van cruised along a tree-lined residential street, past rows of almost identical houses in a variety of colours. Freshly washed family sedans were parked in most of the neatly kept front drives.
“The suburbs,” Laura said.
Kate looked out of the window. She barely noticed the smartly dressed young couple standing on the doorstep of a pastel-pink house set back from the road…
“Who could that be?” Barbra Anderson asked when the doorbell chimed. She rose from the breakfast table, brushing the crumbs from her blouse and adjusting her hair in the hall mirror before opening the front door.
She smiled warmly at the couple standing on her doorstep. They smiled back. The boy who lived next door cycled past, waving, and a squirrel scampered across the top of the white picket fence that edged the front garden of the pink house.
“Good morning, ma’am,” the young man said. “We’re from the Church of the Triple Wheel. Could you spare us a few moments?”
The smile of young woman next to him got even wider. “You’ll be so glad you did,” she said.
“Well, we’re having breakfast,” Barbra said. She looked at the man’s smart grey suit before admiring the lovely blue twinset that his companion was wearing. She glanced up at the clear blue sky and remembered what her mother had always said about seeing the good in people; about how strangers were only friends you hadn’t met yet. “But you’re welcome to join us,” she added.
“That’s very kind of you,” the man said. “Maybe just some coffee.”
Barbra stood back and allowed the couple in. She led them into the kitchen and introduced her family. “This is my husband, Bob.”
“Bob Anderson,” he said. “I’m in computing.”
Barbra laid a hand on the shoulder of each of her children. “And this is Eden … and Tammy.”
Eden, who was nine, and his older sister, who was thirteen, both said hello politely and grinned at the newcomers.
“My name’s Brother Thomas,” the young man said. “And this is Sister Marianne.”
“You have a beautiful family,” Sister Marianne said.
Barbra blushed and beamed and poured out coffee for her guests.
“There’s oatmeal too,” Eden said. “And Mom’s pancakes are just the best.”
“We don’t want to take up too much of your time.” Brother Thomas pulled out a chair. “It will only take us a few minutes to change your lives.”
“I think I’ve seen you people on the TV,” Bob said.
“Right,” Eden agreed. “There’s ads on the radio, too.”
Sister Marianne nodded. “It’s an important message,” she said. “We try and deliver it any way we can…”
Continuing to eat, the Andersons listened politely as their guests told them about Pastor Ezekiel Crane – about the wonderful vision of the man who had founded the Triple Wheel movement. A man who had new and amazing ideas about what it meant to be human.
“I’ve never heard anything like it,” Barbra said. “What about you, Bob?”
“Sounds … unbelievable,” her husband said.
“It is,” Sister Marianne said. She leaned across the table and placed a hand over his. “It is unbelievable, but just listen to Pastor Crane and you’ll know it’s true.”
“And you’ll want to join us,” Brother Thomas said. “Of your own free will.” He grinned at the children. “Now then, you kids like presents?”
“Sure,” Tammy said. “Who doesn’t?”
Brother Thomas dug into his black backpack and produced several parcels. “These are gifts from the Triple Wheel,” he said. He passed four watches across the table; each had the words TICK-TOCK and the symbol of the Triple Wheel emblazoned on its face. “They keep pretty good time too.”
“Wow, thanks!” Eden said, already fastening the plastic strap round his thin wrist.
“That’s very kind,” Barbra said.
Brother Thomas smiled and took a slurp of coffee. “We’ve barely started.” He handed over a book and a couple of CDs to each member of the family. “The words in that book will lift your hearts and excite your minds,” he said. “They will help you prepare for the Gathering.”
“What’s that?” Eden asked.
Brother Thomas ruffled the boy’s hair. “It’s all explained in the book,” he said. “All you have to do is read it. Better than Harry Potter, I promise.”
The boy laughed and began flicking through the book.
“Is this music?” Tammy asked. She was studying one of the CDs and finding it hard to tear her eyes away from the picture of Ezekiel Crane on the cover.
Sister Marianne smiled. “Well, there’s some music on it, but it’s mostly just Pastor Crane talking. His voice is better than any music you’ve ever heard.”
“Listen to these every night before you go to sleep,” Brother Thomas said. “I guarantee they will give you the best night’s sleep you’ll ever have.”
“That sounds good,” Barbra said. She nodded at her husband and stage whispered, “Bob snores…”
Sister Marianne looked deep into Barbra’s eyes. “Better than good,” she said. She reached into her own backpack and produced four plastic containers, each one the size of a small lunch box and a different colour. “You each get one of these too. So who wants the red one?”
The children argued half-heartedly over the colours, but eventually each one of the Anderson family had a box to go along with their book, CDs and wristwatch.
“What’s in these?” Eden asked. He held the box up to his ear and shook it, as if trying to work out what was inside a Christmas present.
“Those are not to be opened just yet,” Brother Thomas said.
“These are your survival packs.” Sister Marianne gently tapped the lid of Eden’s box. “They are to be saved until the great day dawns, and then Pastor Crane will tell us all what to do with them.”
“Sounds mysterious,” Barbra said, laughing.
“It certainly is,” Brother Thomas said. “It’s the greatest mystery of all time, and you can be part of it. You’re lucky we came to your neighbourhood today.”
“Thank you,” Barbra said. She smiled and reached out to take her husband’s hand. “Now, are you sure we can’t offer you anything to eat?”
Brother Thomas glanced over at his companion.
“We’ve got a lot of households to visit, Thomas,” she said.
“I know, but I don’t think any of them will be as warm and as willing to listen as this one.” Brother Thomas looked around the table at the Andersons’ four smiling faces. “And those pancakes do look pretty good…”
When Rachel was thirteen she had made a list of all the places in America that she wanted to visit. She had filled three pages of a notebook with the n
ames. The major natural attractions were there, obviously – the Grand Canyon, Yosemite National Park, the Everglades – but Rachel had learned all about those places at school and it was the cities she had wanted to see, above all.
Nashville. San Francisco. Honolulu. New Orleans…
Even the names sounded exotic somehow, and she had lain awake at night in the apartment in New York City, trying to imagine what the scenery would be like, wondering how the people would talk. Back then, she had promised herself that she would get to all those places one day – she would travel as much as she could, ticking these amazing cities off her list one by one.
Now, driving through yet another city as they gradually made their way west towards Alamogordo, Rachel’s spirits sank even lower than where they’d been when they had driven out of St Louis six hours before. The car cruised past the same chain stores in the same strip malls that they had seen in every other place they had stopped at, and she wondered why she had ever wanted to see these places, how she could have been so stupidly enthusiastic. Every coffee shop and pharmacy – each one a facsimile of a thousand others – only reminded her of how far away from home she was.
Only reminded her that she no longer had a home.
Adam read her mind. “It’s hard to get excited about anywhere when you’re running,” he said. He put his hand on her arm. “When this is over, you can go see all those places you dreamed about, and I promise you they’ll be every bit as exciting as you thought they’d be.”
“Sure,” Rachel said. “Thanks.” She smiled at her brother – but he didn’t understand. It was not excitement that she craved now; it was the opposite: gloriously dull and uneventful ordinariness.
Normality.
“Hey, what about that place?” Adam asked, pointing out of the car window. It was just after midday and they had been looking for somewhere to eat ever since they had first hit the outskirts of Tulsa, Oklahoma.
Their driver, a nice man called Elliott, who had told them he was an insurance salesman, pulled over and smiled at his three passengers as they climbed out of the car. Watching them walk away towards the roadhouse, he struggled to remember what on earth had made him stop and pick them up in the first place. Why, when he had only popped out to get milk from the grocery store, had he agreed to drive them all the way from St Louis to Tulsa? He waved a cheery goodbye and turned the car around to begin the six-hour drive home, wondering what he would say to his wife when he got there.
Triskellion 3: The Gathering Page 12