No matter what she meant, he had to look.
Strange thoughts tore at his courage, making him hesitate. Thoughts of Father Mosely battling the demon in the church. Of the remote assassination recorded on videotape. Stuart Dubois's disappearance and the dramatic light show in the sky.
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.
Whoa, she thought, this was the worst attack ever! What's happening to me, anyway?
Supported by the rock, she worked her way to her feet. Her legs felt like leaden weights, her arms numb as fence posts.
From where she stood she had a perfect view of the pale brilliance of the floating light. It moved slowly from the mountainside toward the gathering of spectators.
Heart pounding, she asked over and over, What can it be?
Her first impulse was to run, join the circle of observers in order to be with Jeff and Casey. Maybe they could tell her what was going on. But she couldn't ignore the potential danger in such an act. Instead, perhaps she should go to the house? That could be dangerous, too, but at least she could do it covertly.
With a mounting sense of dread, Karen realized she was absolutely alone.
She glanced at the house, hoping to see Alton returning. He said he'd be right back, she thought, so where is he?
How long had he been gone? She couldn't tell. She couldn't even guess the length of time she'd waited, locked in her terrified trance. What should she do now?
The old place appeared dark, lifeless. Something must be going on in there. Something bad. First Father Sullivan had entered, then Alton Barnes had followed. Neither had returned.
A cold spring of fear wound tightly in Karen's stomach.
She had to do something. She couldn't stay here. Not alone, not with that thing in the sky getting closer and closer.
Another moment of indecision held her in place.
Jeff watched the incandescence move with the lighter than air grace of a zeppelin—silent, smooth, slow, and steady.
As it got closer, it became less obscured by the damp air and rain. Now the amorphous cloud had taken on shape. It looked solid, a floating disk moving silently beneath black clouds.
He guessed it was halfway between the mountain and the crowd.
Jeff realized he hadn't been breathing. Tense throat muscles had locked it shut. He gulped in air, felt his heart pounding like a tom-tom.
So great was his rising terror that he might have turned, run away, abandoned his daughter and the crowd, his mind and heart and spirit empty of everything but the frenzy of escape. He might have done that were it not for the warm reality of Casey's hand on his own.
"Good God, Casey, what's happening?"
His eyes, her eyes, and every eye in that dark field locked on the circle of light as it came closer and closer.
A few moments and it would be above their heads.
Karen thought of the scene from Close Encounters when the giant spacecraft appeared in the desert. That's exactly what this looks like, she thought, it must be a hundred feet across!
Then she noticed an odd detail far more unsettling than the vision itself. Why didn't something as big and as bright project its light on the earth below? The assembly of onlookers appeared as three-dimensional shadows when the light passed over them.
That didn't make sense!
Could all this be an illusion? Could it be some kind of spotlight or a movie projected on the screen of clouds? Was it an ingenious magician's trick that looked real but wasn't there at all, like the holographic flames in Dr. Gudhausen's fireplace?
Then Karen observed something else: it wasn't raining beneath the light.
That means it's solid!
Holy cow! This was no vision, no optical illusion. The thing was large and round and silent. It sheltered the crowd from the rain like a giant umbrella.
It's gotta be a UFO, she thought. H
oly Jeez, something's making contact!
"Feel it!" The ranting man went on, "Feel the warmth and power of the Light."
Three members of the crowd dropped to their knees. Karen spotted Jeff and Casey. Oddly, Casey's head was down, her hand covered her eyes as if she were praying.
Karen checked to insure that no one in the crowd was looking in her direction, then she ran through the rain toward the porch of the farmhouse.
The moment Alton left with the child, Father Sullivan moved to a rain-spattered window from which he could see Jeff and Casey in the flashing distance.
When he identified them in the crowd, breath snagged in his throat. His lungs and heart seemed to suffer the icy grip of an alien force as he studied the strange drama playing out before him. The whole sky was awash with illuminated haze as if some powerful celestial spotlight were piercing the thick storm clouds from above. Silhouetted trees, wind-thrashed and tall, danced maniacally as if the forest were alive.
In the field, shadowy shapes cowered on their knees, or stared skyward, transfixed, dumbfounded. As if on cue, a trio of shadows broke away from the cluster and ran toward parked cars at the roadside.
Sullivan's mind confirmed what his soul knew: this was not the work of the Lord. Something fierce, maybe unstoppable, was taking its course.
Urgency seized him—he had to protect Jeff and Casey, he had to save them. For reasons he did not completely understand, he would willingly risk his life to get them out of here before.
Before what?
He took a breath, tried to concentrate.
What was really happening out there?
He'd often remarked that in an institution as fraught with mysteries as the Roman Catholic Church, it was tempting to stop searching for solutions. Much easier to abandon the questing mind for the comfortable complacency of blind faith. If voluntarily lobotomized, it might be possible to accept this travesty as some kind of revelation, some kind of miracle.
No!
His mind and soul and spirit screamed that this had nothing to do with the church, or God, or even Ronald Boudreau's angelic visitation. That was no angel in the woods.
The Reality Conspiracy Page 39