Harry Nautilus was revisiting the park in his head when a knock came to the door. He opened it to find Richard Owsley in a dark suit, his features darker still, the bright smile now a thin-lipped frown.
“Mr Nautilus, I’d like to talk to you.”
Nautilus waved entry. “Step inside, Pastor. You’re paying for the room.”
“Actually, I’m not,” Owsley said. “At least after today. I’m here to tell you your services are no longer needed.”
“Might I ask why?”
“I’ve made other arrangements.”
“Did I do something wrong?” Nautilus gave it three beats. “Like go to the facility on my own the other night?”
“Your unheralded appearance was rather surprising. The, uh, others wondered why you were there.”
“I saw smoke and reported a fire, Pastor.” It was, Nautilus knew, fully true, though he refrained from mentioning that he had set the fire.
“I also heard that you went to the facility again yesterday and assaulted a man on a work crew.”
“Nope,” Nautilus said. “The guy was irritated that I’d gotten dust on his shoes and approached me with intent of doing harm. I disabused him of that notion, rather gently, given the circumstances. What really happened was—”
A raised hand from Owsley. “I don’t want to get into who did what, Mr Nautilus. I’ve accepted a position with the Crown of Glory network and my family is moving to Jacksonville. Your services are terminated as of today.”
Nautilus nodded. The weirdness was continuing. “In that case I’d like to say goodbye to Rebecca, Mr Owsley. She’s a fine person.”
“Becca is grounded, Mr Nautilus. She lost her cell phone, worth over five hundred dollars and has to learn consequences.”
Owsley turned for the door, his brief sermon over, not so much as a thank you for your work.
“Pastor?” Nautilus said.
Owsley paused, hand on the door knob. “Yes, Mr Nautilus?”
“Who did I piss off?”
“Pardon me?”
“It was that sad old fuck in the wheelchair, right?”
Without a word, Owsley left the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Nautilus went to the balcony, stepped outside, and thought for several minutes. He returned to the room, packed, and departed for the airport.
“I know someone’s there!” Sissy Carol Sparks shouted. “I hear your goddamn breathing!”
The hissing of breath. The sound of something touching the floor, a clicking, like stones bouncing together. Though her eyes were open her world was like the bottom of a mine, black as black ever was. When she breathed she felt the hood moving out and back, held in place by a knotted cord.
Steps circling to her right. She swung a fist and struck only air.
“Take this goddamn thing off my head. Have the balls to let me see you!”
“Flth … jzbel …”
“Stop mumbling and talk!”
Sissy’s mind raced as her hands scratched the emptiness, the footsteps dodging and weaving, cat and mouse. Think! What advantage did this pervert have? Everything. He owned the situation. What did Sissy have?
Nothing.
No, that was wrong. From the top of her shining auburn hair to the tips of her pink and perfect toes, she was Sissy Carol Sparks. She had the mind, she had the machinery … and she had never met a man able to stand up to it. She heard an object swish past her ear, smack a wall a split-second later. What the fuck was that? She heard something rolling on the floor, nudge her foot.
It felt like a goddamn rock. Was this loonie throwing rocks at her?
“For he is the servant of God,” the voice said like a chant, “an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer …”
“What are you saying, you pervert!”
She heard her captor grunt with effort and the sound of another object hissing past, so close to her right wrist she felt its passing breath. Sissy swallowed and took a deep breath. She was a performer and the performance of her life had to come right now.
“And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world …”
Hearing clicking of stones and knowing her captor was going for a third shot, she stood straight, cocked a hip and stared through the mask toward the muttering voice. “I know you’re playing with it,” she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling. “Your dick.”
“… he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him …”
Another grunt of effort. Fierce pain in Sissy’s thigh as a rock slammed home. She stifled the scream and fought to keep her hand from the pain. Don’t give him the satisfaction. The rocks clicked again.
“You’re scared of women,” she said, knowing she was throwing her last spear. “That’s it, right? The bag over my head thing? It’s the shame.”
The clicking stopped. “What did you say to me, harlot?” The voice was a ragged whisper.
“You know what I do for a living, right? Now and then I get guys want to fuck me with a bag over my head. They’re ashamed, that’s why. They know I can see them and they’re scared of what I can see. What are you scared I’ll see?”
“For he is the servant of God,” the toneless chant continued. “An avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer …”
The clicking of stones. A grunt. Something slammed the wall at her back and rolled away. Sissy made herself giggle. “Oh sure … throwing rocks at a girl with a bag over her head. Did your daddy teach you that one? Was your daddy scared of girls, too? Or is it more a mommy thing with you?”
Every sound ceased. The chanting. The footsteps on the floor. The clicking of the rocks. Hands surrounded her neck and the room exploded into light, Sissy blinking into eyes inches from hers, a mouth twisted in a hideous snarl, the hood in a brown hand that looked like a claw.
“SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH, WHORE!”
He back-handed Sissy into the dark concrete wall, a high heel snapping off as she fell. The man stared from a dozen feet away, his hands balled into fists and his eyes like pinpoint jets of gray flame.
Sissy’s skirt was hiked high and showing sleek lengths of silken leg, one foot bare. She brought a hand to her face to push back a fallen lock of hair, using it for cover, the other hand undoing a button on the sheer black blouse to display additional cleavage and the frilly top of her black bra. Pretending to be dazed, Sissy pushed herself to sitting, taking deep breaths to let the boobs press against the silk.
Look at them, monkey man. They have more power than you do.
I hope.
Sissy stood unsteadily, feeling the man’s eyes across her as she leaned the wall. She was in a goddamn barn, wood walls, heavy wooden supports, windows boarded over. At the far end was a concrete bench with its top scorched black, beside it a pile of cloth strips, a half-dozen bottles labeled Naphtha, and a gallon jug of oily-looking shit.
Sissy shook back her hair, gave her captor a hit of the eyes. She let her mouth droop open as the pink tongue traced her lower lip. Her captor stood motionless with his mouth lolling wide, gray eyes drinking in every glorious inch of Sissy’s body, a man who’d crawled a hundred miles of desert to suck from a sweetwater oasis. He looked more dazed than Sissy as his hand fell to the front of his pants and clutched. He winced and moaned. Sissy’s eyes looked past the fondling hand and saw something glistening on the faded blue denim.
Jesus God … is that blood?