Then, uplifted by the grace of God, they prepared to march into the lion's den. Because it was a costume shop, Nick had little trouble finding all of the supplies they needed. With a little latex and the Lord’s blessings, he transformed both of them into different people in under an hour.
“What do you think?” he asked Edward, holding up a mirror and the photograph of Cecelia and Jackson Lindell.
“I think you may have missed your calling,” Edward said. “This is exceptional.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Nick said. “Now, let’s get moving. We’ve got a funeral to crash.”
Chapter 38
Hiding their true faces behind thin disguises proved invaluable in gaining access to the interior of the church. The Slaves of Solomon standing at the entrance barely gave them a passing glance, despite holding clipboards bearing Nick and Edward’s likenesses. It was clear they had instructions to be on the lookout.
“Do you think this is going to work?” Edward asked, pushing a strand of synthetic hair back over his ear.
“We better hope so,” Nick said. “Otherwise, this whole town is going to be infected with a super strain of Morningstar.”
The church auditorium was cavernous and filled with more members of the Slaves of Solomon. The only difference between these cult members and the ones outside were the guns they carried concealed beneath their robes. Huddled around the coffin, the cult members were armed with Glock .9mm’s that they wore in shoulder holsters beneath their garments. The guns weren't noticeable unless you knew to look for them. Most of the congregation was too preoccupied with finding a seat, planning what they would do with the extra $500 they had just been given, and posting random thoughts about the strangeness of the event on Twitter or Facebook to even consider searching for such a threat. It was clear everyone thought the masked, robed figures were odd, but not so much that they were deterred from seeing what was going to happen next.
Further diverting attention away from the obvious weirdness was the slideshow that was playing on the big screens on either side of the stage. Photographs of Cecelia Lindell had been used to make a videography of her life, and the footage played continually while a quartet sang a medley of hymns, beginning with “Amazing Grace.” Most people were focused on the screens and their cell phones, not the men in masks.
After looking around for a moment, Nick pointed toward a long hallway behind the main stage and to three others situated around the arena. “Look,” he said. At first Edward didn't see what Nick was referring to. Plush, purple curtains blocked him from seeing what was going on further down the hallway. Then someone pushed through the heavy fabric partition, and Edward caught a glimpse of what was waiting back there. A glimpse was more than enough.
The lions and tigers were chained to eye bolts that had been fastened to the concrete walls. Two of them were waiting in each hallway, eager for the moment when they would be released to dine on Christians.
“Over there too,” Edward said, directing Nick’s attention to several Ionic columns that had been erected in the aisles. The sight made him remember what had happened to Kelly, how Nero had burned her alive as one of his human torches.
“We’ve got to stop this,” Nick said.
As they fought their way to the front, they felt like salmon struggling upstream to spawn. At times, they had to push their way through the throngs of people. Yet, no one seemed to mind. They were all here for the spectacle of the event, not to mourn with Lindell. These were the people that would slow their cars at the scene of an accident, craning their necks for a view of the carnage. These were the people who would watch the movie of Lindell’s life and find it entertaining in a morbid sort of way. They weren’t here to see the body of Lindell’s mother. They were here to see how Lindell, himself, would react. Nearly every one in attendance had brought a digital camera or a cell phone with them. This was more circus than ceremony, and the bloodbath was going to be documented en masse.
As Nick and Edward edged closer to the stage, one of the Slaves of Solomon grabbed a sledgehammer that looked best suited for work in a slaughterhouse and used it to bang a huge, shimmering gong. The sound was a noisy, droning lament that was joined by a hurdy-gurdy and bagpipes. The instruments Lindell had chosen weren’t normally used for festive music. These were instruments suited for creating death music.
In his youth, Edward had been to quite a few rock concerts, and the atmosphere in the auditorium was similar. There was a rowdy sort of anticipation in the air. The mood was electric, and when the lights went down, the expectancy heightened to a fever pitch. The show was about to begin, and everyone was eager to see what Lindell had in store for them. A few people actually cheered when the place went dark and the spotlights hit the stage. Edward wouldn’t have been surprised to see a cigarette lighter or two.
The gong continued to chime as the Slaves of Solomon began to show themselves. The sight of these strange figures got the crowd’s attention, and for the first time, a sense of quiet unease began to filter through the place, passing from person to person, making the hair on the back of each neck stand up.
The congregation went still at the strange music, chilled by the bleak coldness of each note. One by one the Slaves of Solomon took their places before the crowd, lining up to display masks featuring varying degrees of sadness. All dressed in white, they looked like an imperial guard. Only Nero was dressed in purple. The men parted as Nero emerged onto the stage. He held his hands out to the people in the crowd.
“You have all come to learn why bad things happen to good people,” he said, his voice thunderous in the amplified auditorium. “I will show you.”
The people in the crowd stirred a little as Nero began to speak. They knew him as Halford K. Lindell, one of God’s chosen shepherds who did his best every day to lead others to Christ. Hearing that voice erupt from behind that sinister mask was enough to give the group pause. Nero’s leering, tear-stained mask was featured prominently on the enormous screens on either side of the stage. The eyes that glared through the slits, however, were maniacal, demonic, not at all like what everyone was used to.
At Nero’s urging, the Slaves of Solomon descended from the stage and headed to the exits, all carrying logging chains. Confusion swept through the crowd, but no one was panicking yet. Watching the Slaves chain the doors shut, however, did the trick and people began to clamor and try to leave their seats. This lasted only a few seconds until Nero raised a gun in the air and fired it several times in succession. The report was deafening, made so by the echoing acoustics of the arena and by Nero’s lapel microphone which was secured to his toga.
“Let’s all be seated, shall we?” he said. “We’ve got some lessons to learn here today.”
Under normal circumstances the crowd might have ignored Nero and taken their chances with the men at the door. However, the cult members weren't concealing their weapons anymore. The majority of the crowd realized that staying put was their best option at the moment.
Then there was the one guy...
The man who marched toward the stage was the kind who goes into a department store and demands to speak to the manager every time because he feels he‘s been wronged and deserves vindication. He’s the one who asks for a discount at the drive through because he has to wait too long. He’s the one who attends the city council meetings and speaks up because the world needs to hear what he has to say.
He was trouble.
“You can’t hold us here against our will,” the man said, pointing his finger at the stage in accusation. “I’ll sue you for every penny you’re worth.”
“You’re right. I can‘t hold you,” Nero said as he pointed his gun at the man and fired twice. Both slugs punched through the man’s chest, spattering the crowd around him in crimson. “You’re free!”
The arena was immediately filled with the sounds of panic, but the Slaves of Solomon were nothing if not efficient. By this time they had already secured all of the exits and moved back down
the aisles. No one else tried to leave their seat, fearful that they would suffer the same fate as the outspoken corpse lying cold in Section B.
“This is going to be harder than I thought,” Nick whispered to Edward. “I wasn’t expecting a full blown Circus Maximus, but that’s exactly what we’re looking at.”
“How are we going to get close enough to the stage to pull off this plan?” Edward said.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Nick admitted. “Take your cues from me.”
On stage, the gong sounded again. No doubt this was to still the tidal wave of worried conversation that swept over the congregation following the cold-blooded murder of one of their own. Everyone got the message.
“Ah,” Nero said. “Another soul gone to Heaven. Why was I so generous to him? I should have shot him in the kneecaps and made him live out the rest of his miserable life here with the rest of us. Of course, maybe he didn’t go to Heaven. After all, he obviously listened to the false teachings of Halford K. Lindell.”
The crowd stirred at this. Hearing their pastor refer to himself in the third person was unsettling. Especially considering that he had killed someone while dressed like a dead Roman emperor.
“No, no,” Lindell said, taking off the mask and looking around with a dazed sort of detachment. “The teachings aren’t false. Forget I said that. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m overcome with grief.”
The crowd calmed a little at the sight of Lindell without his mask. This was the man they knew and trusted. Maybe none of what they had seen was real. Maybe it was all part of some elaborate theatrical show.
“We’re here for a very specific purpose today. We’re here to celebrate an angel. We’re here to understand why God allowed something horrible to befall this woman who loved Him so.”
At his urging, one of the doors was unchained to reveal a team of bridled pale horses. They were harnessed to a chariot driven by one of the senior members of the group who had chosen a scarlet garment to show his profound sadness at the occasion. At the driver’s command, the horses galloped down the aisle, pulling the chariot and its precious cargo: the casket bearing the body of Lindell’s mother.
“Come on,” Nick said, punching Edward in the arm. “Let’s go while everybody’s watching the horses.”
As the casket drew near the front of the auditorium, Edward and Nick inched their way ever closer. Lindell gasped audibly at the sight of them, his surprise echoing through the monitors.
“I can’t believe this,” he said.
“It’s now or never,” Nick whispered, as they broke through the wall of people and emerged before Lindell. A group of Lindell’s masked goons quickly moved toward them only to be waved off by the madman.
“It can’t be you,” Lindell said, trembling. “You’re….you’re dead! My father is dead.”
Nick was relieved that his impersonation of Lindell’s father was convincing. “Well, believe it,” he said in a slow, Southern drawl. “I’m here, boy.”
“But you can’t be,” Lindell exclaimed. “I killed you myself!”
The confession temporarily took Nick aback but he didn‘t hesitate long. “It’s been a long time since I showed you who was boss, and I think it’s time I made that right. Nobody does the kinds of things to me that you did without punishment.”
Lindell’s lower lip began to quiver and tears streamed down his face. “No, Daddy, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. Don’t beat me! Please!”
“You’ll think sorry when I get finished with you.”
No one had ever seen Lindell react this way before, and no one really knew what to do. So they observed as Nick proceeded to remove his belt. “You know what this is for,” Nick said. “Spare the rod and spoil the child.”
Something in Lindell changed at the sight of the belt and the mention of the Bible. A sinister gleam crept back into his eyes. Nero was back. Calmly, he put on the mask again. “Those tricks don’t work on me any more, old man.”
With a snap of his fingers, several members of the cult retreated into the hallways to loose the tigers. They quickly emerged with the beasts. Edward knew it was his turn to step up before something much, much worse happened.
“No, Hal, please don’t do that. You’ll disappoint me so much! I never taught you to behave this way!”
Lindell turned to study the person who looked an awful lot like his dead mother. “Dad is the one who murdered these people. He’s forcing me to stand up to him and show him how strong I really am! Bad things happened to me because of him. Because he chose to show his face today bad things are going to happen to these people too. They don‘t deserve any better than what I got.”
“Bad things happen to lots of people,” Edward said. “Most of them don’t turn out to become killers.”
“True,” Nero said. “Then again most of them aren’t me. I was destined for greatness.”
“Take that mask off!” Nick said, in a booming thunderous voice that sounded nothing like his own. Lindell clutched the sides of his head as the war inside his mind ripped him apart. Eventually, he did as he was told and slid the mask off. Then, just as quickly, Nero reasserted himself and pushed the mask back on. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Daddy’s not in charge anymore.”
“Please, Hal,” Edward pleaded. “Don’t forsake all the things I taught you. Your Daddy was an evil man, but I did the best I could. The ways of God are right and true. I taught you how to live. Don’t you remember any of that?”
“You shut up, you filthy cow!” Nick said, smacking Edward across the face. That was the push that Lindell needed and he leapt off the stage with fire in his eyes. “You leave her alone,” he said, lunging at the man who looked like his father. The bait had worked, and the moment Lindell left the stage the place erupted into all-out pandemonium.
The tiger handlers loosed the cats, and the animals raced into the crowd, spilling blood at every turn. Some of the Slaves captured congregation members and tied them to the poles in preparation to make human torches. Huge portions of the crowd raced toward the exits before being cut down by machine gun fire. A chariot driver sat calmly at the front of the church with his arms crossed, taking the whole spectacle in. Like their master, the driver’s horses were calmly watching the massacre with a detached indifference.
While Nick and Lindell were fighting for supremacy of Hal’s independence, Edward raced toward the chariot driver, knowing that the casket could not be opened. There was no telling what would happen if the Morningstar virus was released. Edward knew he had his work cut out for him, but even he was a little surprised when the chariot driver pulled out a bullwhip and cracked it in his direction, lashing his cheek and drawing blood.
The chariot driver shook his head, warning Edward not to come any closer. Edward didn’t move forward, but he didn’t move back either. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see tigers dining on innocents and hear the screams of the dying. It gave him an idea.
The chariot driver was surprised to see Edward run away. In truth, Edward wasn’t fleeing. He was going for help. About 20 yards away a tiger was staining its muzzle red on the remains of a fat, balding executive-type in an expensive suit. Although it was risky, Edward ran up behind the cat, smacked it on the flank to get its attention, and ran as fast as he could back to the chariot. He glanced over his shoulder once, saw the tiger turning in his direction, and prayed that he would be fast enough to make it out alive. The tiger roared and chased him down the aisle. The chariot driver realized what was about to happen, but he wasn’t quick enough to stop it. Edward ran past the chariot and circled around behind it. The tiger was running at full speed and wasn’t deterred by the fact that Edward had gotten away. It saw the chariot driver and considered him a suitable replacement. The chariot driver tried to crack his whip in the animal’s direction, but there wasn’t time. The tiger was on him before he could get away, and it was only a matter of seconds before the masked man’s screams became little more than watery gurgles that might have b
een last ditch pleas for help.
Edward waited until the cat had eaten its fill and moved on to more attractive morsels before approaching the chariot. The dead man’s blood stained the carriage, and it was all Edward could do to summon the courage to drag the mangled carcass out. The horses whinnied to show their irritation. Thankfully, the coffin seemed intact. Edward knew that wouldn’t be the case for long if Nero had his way.
He wasn’t exactly sure how to drive a chariot but grabbed the reins anyway. The horses responded to Edward’s tug and with a flick of his wrists they were in motion, pulling the chariot away from the carnage. The horses were well trained and that helped as Edward tried to navigate the aisles of the church. People were still screaming all around him, but he tried not to focus on that. Instead he focused on a hallway ahead that seemed perfect for getting away from all of the bloodshed.
As he piloted the chariot toward freedom, he turned around long enough to see Lindell shoot Nick at point blank range. Then, he was inside the hallway and racing toward freedom.
Chapter 39
Edward knew that Lindell would be giving chase and that the deranged preacher would have the advantage. Lindell was on his home turf and knew the ins and outs of this place. Edward didn’t. For all he knew the church could be booby trapped in a hundred different places and the wrong move could be his last. It would have been like Nero to devise some gruesome contraption that would appear from out of nowhere and spill his blood with a single blow.
The horses, however, didn’t seem concerned.
They ran down the hallway with reckless abandon, and the casket bounced erratically inside the chariot. Edward prayed the lid wouldn’t come loose. He wasn’t too excited about the possibility of dying a slow, agonizing death.
Besides being extremely dangerous, the chariot ride was also bumpy. With each twist and turn the horses made, Edward’s costume shifted more and more. He prayed that his outfit would survive the journey. Several times it felt like his wig might come off, and he tried to hold it in place with one hand while manning the reins with the other. Somehow, he knew the costume might be the only thing that saved his life. Lindell’s mother was sacred to him. He wouldn’t dare harm her.
The Tears of Nero (The Halo Group Book 1) Page 24