by John L. Monk
“The Great Wherever.”
He nodded. “That’s the place. You wanna know what it was like for me?”
“Sure,” I said, hardly believing I was about to solve a twenty-year-old mystery.
“The last thing I remember was going to bed. Then I was floating in this gray stuff. I didn’t have a body … and yet, there was this thing sticking to me—a white cord that went on forever. And I never felt so happy in my life. I was only there a few minutes, and the next moment I was dying in bed and you were standing there looking at me.”
I couldn’t believe it—Nate had gone to the Gray Wherever. Unlike me, he’d been attached to infini-thread like those angel things.
“Did you see a big black mass of evil floating anywhere?” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Kind of like storm clouds, except absolute blackness and…” I struggled with a way to describe how it seemed more like an infection. “Like it was spreading?”
He frowned. “Nothing like that.”
“What about zooming snake things of darkness that chased you and ripped pieces out of you?”
He shook his head in horror. “Heck no, why?”
“Just wondering,” I said and grabbed the remote off the table.
“You saw all that before? I thought you go to a nothing place.”
“Usually,” I said. “But one time I didn’t.”
I flipped channels and waited for him to say something. There were a lot of good shows on. Tara had great cable.
Nate said, “Maybe because you, you know … the suicide? Sorry, this is just weird. That’s why I go to church, man. Let the priests deal with all that.”
I wondered if everyone got a white infini-thread, or if it was just the rides who weren’t scumbags. To find out, I’d have to ask a scumbag.
“Why don’t you find something cool on TV,” I said. “Relax a bit. Who knew a big guy like you was so nervous?”
“Muscles aren’t everything.”
In a rare act of trust, I handed him the remote.
While Nate flipped around for something to watch, I excused myself and went to the kitchen. If he had a cellphone, I didn’t see it in the usual cellphone areas. I did see Tara’s purse resting on the counter. Feeling like a thief, I popped the clasp and rooted around, then pulled out her phone. This one was newer than the last one she had, and thinner, and it had a cute little hard case with unicorns and dragons frolicking and getting along.
I slipped into the powder room just off the kitchen, locked the door, and sat on the toilet seat. Then I opened her contacts and thumbed through what must have been a hundred different names.
“Wow,” I said in admiration. I couldn’t imagine having that many friends.
Quickly, I found Nate’s number. I hated having to go through the minister all the time. After staring at it a moment, I moved to the H section and found Anthony Hendricks. When I looked at the number next to it, I gaped in shock.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Try as I might, I couldn’t focus on the minister’s number. Each digit slid from my consciousness as soon as my gaze moved to the next one. I closed my eyes and tried to visualize the whole thing as a shape and not a sequence, but it was useless. That place inside where the old memory had been was completely destroyed. Clearly, I wouldn’t be able to fill any of the holes left by the snakes. In the grand scheme of things, not a big deal. Dead spots in a city map I could handle, especially with GPS in every phone these days. But I’d never know Sandra’s face again.
Out in the living room, it sounded like Nate had found something to watch, because the volume edged up.
I highlighted the inscrutable phone number and hit the phone icon next to it.
When the minister picked up, he said, “Tara? Is everything okay?”
“It’s me, Dan,” I said. “I want to know where he lives. Now.”
Several seconds passed before he replied. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He hung up before I could argue with him. And when I tried calling again, it dumped directly to voicemail.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
After putting away Tara’s phone, I returned to the living room and found Nate watching a show on cycling.
“I don’t mean to harp on it,” Nate said, “but you’re leaving tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Not like I’m not grateful. I just wanna get things back to normal, you know?”
I nodded. “I know.”
“Tara’s been through a lot,” he added. “She used to cry a lot more. Now she slips off and cries so I don’t see it. I just wanna give her some stability right now. But I am grateful to you. Understand?”
I nodded again and watched the tension ease out of him as he settled into his show.
“Thanks for being cool about it,” he said.
In truth, I did think he was a little ungrateful. But I also thought he and Tara had a right to a Jenkins-free life.
Nate sure was into his cycling show. It was like he had this weird ability to focus completely on one thing at a time: his anger at me, his worry about Tara, his interest in the show. My guess was he used that intensity at the gym every day and probably didn’t realize he was different. Total alpha male. No wonder Tara liked him so much.
Because I had zero interest in cycling, or alpha males, I headed upstairs to Scott’s old office in hope of using the computer. Pausing outside Tara’s room, I remembered the time I’d slipped into bed with her without thinking, only to get half-murdered when she woke up.
The computer still didn’t have a password. I fired up a browser and ran a search on Trevor Ellis. His condition had been downgraded from critical to serious.
Thanks for that, I guess.
I’d had several rides after my patriotic exit in New Jersey as Andre, but still didn’t know the hitman’s fate. I’d spared him because he had a code, but now I regretted that decision. I wondered how far I’d fallen, where Andre’s murders were okay but Stephen’s weren’t.
A quick search yielded the hitman’s fate: stabbed to death in jail awaiting charges of murder and kidnapping. No suspects, no witnesses.
Can’t say I didn’t try.
Another search yielded a pleasant surprise—Queens District Attorney Rachael Anderson hadn’t been innocent after all. The headlines said it best: “Runaway DA In Cahoots With The Mob.”
Well, I’ll be damned. Rose was right.
The story said Rachael had been the unwitting target of a corruption investigation. She’d worked with specifically named crime families—not Lenny and the Carpinos—contributing to a power shift in the city as they dodged one raid after another, survived search warrants, and glided through wiretaps talking about the weather. Before her death, the criminals she’d worked for had enjoyed the good life.
Again, not Lenny and the Carpinos, who now flourished in the power vacuum her death left behind.
* * *
In the morning, Tara skipped and pirouetted around the room making scrambled eggs, bacon, English muffins, and keeping our juice glasses topped off. It was as if she were purposely banishing last night’s pall from the new and decidedly cheerful day.
“These are the best eggs I’ve had in my whole life,” Nate said before forking more into his mouth. The way he said it, I believed every word.
Tara laughed. “You say that every time I make them.”
Nate chewed contentedly, eyes half-closed. Then he surprised all of us.
“If your butt was made of these eggs,” he said, “I’d chew my way to your heart.”
Tara squealed with laughter and gave him a big kiss.
For my part, I kept my mouth shut, content to watch the new couple surprise and delight each other. When breakfast was over, I offered to help clean, and then it was just Tara and me and a sink full of dishes.
“Nate’s a great guy,” I said, “and lucky. And not just because he won the lottery.”
Tara said, “I don’t know how
anyone could win the lottery twice in a row like that. He’s giving away this one to charity. The whole thing. He’s also gonna make sure that poor girl Beth is taken care of for the rest of her life, the dear.”
I knew he was helping Scott’s saddest victim, but nothing about this second stroke of fortune.
“Twice?” I said. “In a row?”
Tara paused in putting a plate with filigreed purple flowers into the dishwasher.
“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” She looked around sheepishly and lowered her voice. “About two weeks ago, I told him he should play again, just for fun. He did—then he won. This one’s not as big as the last one. Only forty million.” She laughed. “Only forty million, would you listen to me? He’s so blessed. He doesn’t seem to care about money. He’s already given away half of his first jackpot. The few places he invested in are doing really well—amazingly well. Which shows that sometimes good things happen to good people.”
I thought about that as I put away dishes. Luckily, she didn’t notice how I knew where the plates, spoons, and glasses went.
Later that morning, Tara announced she was off to visit her mom. After she left, Nate and I hopped in his Ferrari and headed to the church.
“Eat your way to her heart?” I said as we pulled out. “You silver-tongued devil.”
“That’s me,” he said, smiling proudly.
Soon we were in a more densely packed section of Toledo. I almost asked him to stop somewhere for about three hundred scratch-off tickets to see the magic for myself, but then we arrived.
The church parking lot was nearly empty, but for a Humvee with temporary tags. Black, shiny, and new.
“Someone’s overcompensating,” I said as we passed it. “Wonder if it’s the minister’s.”
“Show some respect.”
“Just joking around, buddy, relax.”
“We’re about to enter a church,” Nate said. “And while you’re at it, don’t call Father Hendricks the minister. He’s a priest.”
When I’d met Anthony Hendricks, he’d been officiating Nate and Erika’s wedding, slumming as a Universalist minister. Now he was a Catholic priest again, despite not being completely on board with the church’s dogma.
“I didn’t know you were Catholic,” I said.
“I am now. Tara’s Catholic, so now I’m Catholic.”
“It’s that easy?”
He shrugged. “Tara makes it easy. And God’s God.”
Together, we went in. Nate paused to kneel and cross himself awkwardly. Deeper inside, the minister sat talking with an old man in one of the pews. The old man laughed at something the minister said. A minute later, they both got up and shook hands.
The man walked by us and said, “Good morning.”
Nate surprised him by shaking his hand and telling him, “God be with you.”
When the man left earshot, I said, “Taking the Catholic thing kind of seriously, huh?”
Nate nodded.
“Over here,” the minister called, heading toward us.
“How are you, Father?” Nate said and shook his hand, too.
“Fine, thank you,” he said before staring intently at me. “Is that you, Dan?”
“I am that I am.”
He frowned. “Follow me. Let’s not talk out here.”
We followed him back to that almost-secret door I’d knocked on the day before, which opened to a small office. Like the last time I was here, classical music played from a small radio sitting on a shelf. The minister turned it down, then indicated we should sit.
“Nate says you’re holding back my information,” I said. “I’d like to know why.”
The minister snorted. “I’ll give you ten reasons, and they’re all lying dead in a morgue in Washington State.”
“That wasn’t my fault,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. “How could I know the guy would do that?”
“You were there. You should have done more to stop him. But you don’t seem to have a problem with life and death. You have yours, and screw everybody else.”
At his harsh words, I felt mildly dizzy.
“What about you?” I said, shaking it off. “You’re the prophet, right? How come God didn’t tell you to call the police before it happened?”
He shook his head, face reddening, and my dizziness intensified.
“That’s not how these things work,” he said. “We’re given a little knowledge if we’re lucky and the rest is up to us. Otherwise what’s the point of living? You’re a selfish—”
“Father Hendricks, please,” Nate said. “Can you just get to the thing? What we talked about?”
The minister took a deep breath and let it out, and the pressure vanished.
“Thanks to Nate and his resources,” he said, “I have a list of about sixty properties belonging to a real estate holding company. I also have their headquarters.”
I smiled. “So give me the headquarters.”
“He can’t,” Nate said. “If he does that, you’ll go there and kill someone.”
It was true, no use denying it.
“I go there, kill him, and the threat to my family disappears.”
“If you kill him,” the minister said, “who will send out cars to pick up the demons?”
I laughed. “Now you want to help people like Stephen? You’ve changed in our months apart.”
“Not help them,” he said. “Banish them.”
“I don’t want nothing to do with killing,” Nate said, hands up, eyes wide in alarm.
The minister made a sound of frustration. “Nobody’s killing anyone. Dan and me, in a car for the next couple of weeks. We’re going to hit these houses and … well…”
“Well?” I said.
“May as well test it.” He pointed a finger at me. “Poke!”
And with that word, poke, the room flipped upside down. I hadn’t been kicked, exactly, but it was close. He’d used his holy powers on me again—on purpose.
“What the hell did you do that for?” I said, brushing off Nate’s steadying arm.
“Still got my touch,” the minister said, blowing the tip of his forefinger like smoke from a six shooter. “Imagine if I’d really tried.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “You’re going to roll in there like Father Merrin with holy water and a crucifix? You said there were sixty houses. That’s a lot. Then what—do it forever? You do know what happens when we get kicked out, right? We come back.”
The minister chuckled evilly. “Not when I do it, they won’t. Leave that part to me. And God. When we kick them out, they’ll be gone for good.”
We…
Not me and him, but God and him. It was interesting that he felt so sure of himself. Did he know something I didn’t? From one of those prophet dreams? Or was it all guesswork and faith?
“What about the threats to my family?” I said at last. “The landlord wants twenty thousand a month.”
“I thought you said it was ten?”
“I told you, I got that,” Nate said. “A little money is worth it to get rid of these assholes … uh, sorry, Father.” He crossed himself. “My guess is he makes way more money off these others than he’ll ever get from threatening you. He can’t afford to have them exorcised. Especially if they stay gone.”
The minister said, “I’d planned to hunt this Stephen creature down myself. Door to door, if I had to. It was Nate’s idea to hit the owner financially. If we can freeze this man’s cash flow, he’ll be way too busy struggling with his other problems to worry about your family. We just have to hit them hard. Send them back to Hell where they belong.”
I looked at Nate with newfound respect. One minute he’s complaining about how weird this is and wanting me gone, and the next he’s an old war veteran in the fight against evil.
The minister gazed at him like a proud father.
“I’ll only be around maybe two and a half more weeks,” I said. “If we hit these houses, there’s no telling if anyone will be t
here. You may have to do it for months before you see results. Even then, who knows how many hoppers actually use the houses? I only just discovered them myself.”
Confidently, the minister said, “We’ll do what we can. There can’t be more than two hundred fallen irin. It’s written in the Book of Enoch.”
Of course it is.
I needed the landlord’s address and didn’t have a way to pay my own investigators. For now, I’d play along. So long as Nate sent the money, I had plenty of time.
Something else occurred to me. “Got a piece of paper?”
The minister gave me a pen from a drawer and slid over a post-it note.
I took out George’s driver’s license and wrote down his address and license number.
“This guy’s not a killer or anything bad,” I said. “He’s more like Nate, except he doesn’t win the lottery every time he plays.” I looked at him. “How does that work, by the way?”
Nate smiled innocently and shrugged.
I shook my head. “Never mind. He’ll probably get fired from his job. From what I can tell, he really needs that job. If you can maybe hook him up with a little cash, you’ll have done another good deed. You know how you love good deeds.”
Nate took the post-it note. “If he’s like me, he’ll feel super happy. Then he’ll come back a few minutes later not knowing what happened. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Nate,” the minister said, then looked at me. “I’ve scheduled a sabbatical for the next two months. If I’m going to make the most of it, you and I need to leave today.”
Chapter Thirty
The minister didn’t own a car. In Nate’s typically selfless manner, he’d bought us that brand new Hummer outside. The perfect vehicle for our crusade against evil.
Nate and the minister shook hands. Then Nate seemed to realize he’d established an all-day precedent and shook my hand, too.
“Say bye to Tara for me,” I said.
“Will do. Good luck out there. Whatever happens, I don’t wanna hear about it.”
As Nate drove away, the minister said, “He’s perhaps the most single-mindedly good person I’ve met in my life.”