It was another fitful night’s sleep for Rachel McPherson … if you could call it sleep. First there was the conversation with David—the words chasing and tumbling upon themselves inside her head:
“You have no idea what I’ve done.”
Murderer!
“He will forgive …”
Baby killer!
“That was the whole purpose of His coming.”
“ ‘This is the lesson which thou must learn—’”
“Christ will forgive anything …”
“‘—Thou receives only what thou dost earn.’”
Then there was the baby’s screaming. For the most part, it had quieted down. If not quieted down, then at least it was drowned out by the fighting and arguing of her spirit guides … the gods whose forms now surrounded her on the bed. As Orbolitz continued increasing the Presence throughout the night, her gods had become more and more visible. In fact, for the first time since they’d taken up residence inside her so many years before, Rachel could actually see their features. Granted, part of it may have been her forty-eight hours with no sleep. Maybe they were just fragments of dreams, hallucinations. But somehow she had her doubts. They were just too real.
For the most part they looked like gargoyles, three to four feet tall with froglike faces. Their skin glistened in murky browns, greens, and blotches of black. None of them had hair, but many were covered with knobby, wartlike growths. Their feet and hands were webbed and several had long, razor-sharp claws. Nearly all sported protruding teeth and fangs.
Not only had they become visible, but as the Presence increased, they became more agitated …
It’s only getting worse, a smaller one at the foot of her bed sulked. Rachel had heard its voice before, though not often. It was one of the weaker ones that was seldom given the opportunity to speak.
You know nothing, a larger brown one snarled from atop her headboard. Rachel looked up, startled at its close proximity.
I’ve felt the burn of His Light, the first one argued. I know when His —
Silence! the larger one commanded.
I know when His beloved invite Him to—
I order you to be silent!
I know how He sears us with His approaching—
The larger one streaked off the headboard and hit the smaller one, throwing it onto its back, ripping at its throat and belly with its talons. The little one shrieked and Rachel screamed, pulling up her feet, distancing herself as far from them as possible.
Enough! another voiced boomed.
She instantly recognized it. Osiris. Mr. Sparks. She turned to her left and saw the largest of the group, his face longer, more reptilian. He looked nothing like the Mr. Sparks she had first invited inside. No grand, towering figure. No majestic form clothed in sparkling white light. But she knew it was him.
The fighting continued until, with a shout, he darted to the foot of her bed and entered it. With a series of lightning-fast slashes, he cut deep into the attacker’s face. The recipient shrieked and howled, staggering backwards, away from Osiris and his whimpering victim.
Others on the bed appeared unfazed, as if the action wasn’t that unusual. Maybe it wasn’t. Rachel had certainly heard them arguing before. Heard, but never seen.
It’s only going to get worse, a hunch-backed one to her right whined. Rachel recognized that voice as well … Miss Priss. She had been the strongest during Rachel’s adolescent years, at times almost paralyzing her with self-criticism. But eventually Rachel had learned to circumvent and overcome that voice. Yet, there were times, if Rachel wasn’t careful, that Miss Priss would still try to control and dominate.
She’s right, another one near her shoulder agreed. Each hour this Presence grows, our situation worsens.
But it’s not Him, a shiny black one by her knee insisted. It’s only this thing’s perception of Him. By the way it pointed and sneered at her, Rachel knew she was the “thing” it referred to.
It makes no difference, Osiris growled. If she experiences it, we experience it.
As long as we remain within her, the one by her shoulder hissed … as long as she remains alive. It bared its teeth at Rachel, causing her to shudder. She had no idea they could be full of such hate.
That is precisely my point, the attacker argued. Whatever she experiences, we experience. That is why we must leave.
And go where? the black one demanded. The thing has been ours for years; I will not go looking for another.
You will if I so order, Osiris snarled.
The creature bared its fangs and hissed at Osiris, while taking a defensive step backwards.
Perhaps one of the others would be a more suitable host. Rachel felt this creature as much as heard it. It had entered her not long after Mr. Sparks. It was the one that drove and hounded her to have sex with the boys. What of the young girl?
I do like girls, the smaller one agreed.
Young girls mean young men … virile young men.
You are a fool! Miss Priss scorned. Every host’s experience will be the same.
Except His Beloved, the black one argued.
We dare not approach the Beloved!
They are only men.
They are His men. And growing wiser every hour.
Silence!
We must remain!
The decision is not yours!
What of the girl?
He is right, it is safer to—
I do like girls.
And so the argument raged throughout the night as Rachel drifted in and out of fitful sleep—each hour the creatures growing more and more visible—each hour, Rachel becoming more and more frightened and dismayed over the decision she had made so many years before.
Orbolitz stood just inside Preacher Man’s door watching as Reverend Wyatt quoted Scripture to the man:
“‘Let us walk honestly as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying—’”
Through his goggles he saw Reverend Wyatt’s hooded figure raise its sword. The blade hovered directly over Preacher Man, who leaned against his dresser, staring at a recently emptied glass. From his side hung the faint remains of the round disk, all but disappeared.
“‘—But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh.’” With the last word, he brought the sword down hard into the old-timer.
Preacher Man screamed as the blade severed a large piece of the violet darkness from his shoulder. It fell to the floor where it hissed, then quickly shriveled and evaporated.
It was quite a spectacle. But Orbolitz, who stood at the doorway between his bodyguards, watched with mixed feelings.
“Leave me be!” Preacher Man roared at the Reverend. “It ain’t none of your business!” Filled with anger and self-loathing, he poured himself another glass, brought it to his lips, and drank. As he did, the dark, glowing shoulder regrew, replacing what had been lost.
Orbolitz sighed impatiently. It was nearly morning. Helgeland had just contacted him, saying the Presence was at 44 percent. Everything was on schedule. And from what he was able to observe through the goggles, each member of the group responded exactly as their fifteen-teraflops supercomputer had projected.
Save for one exception.
By now all three layers of each of the subjects were clearly visible …
First, there was the thickening violet shell, or “sins of the flesh,” as the Reverend called it. Although some of its growth came from outside sources like Albert’s porn or Preacher Man’s booze, much of its increase came from eating into the second layer—the orange-red glow. And the degree that it ate and thickened determined the amount of the orange-red glow that remained.
Except … and this was the part that irritated Orbolitz … except when it came to the third level—the nucleus—that tiny, hollow pocket in the center of each of the participants. Well, hollow for half of them—Albert, Savannah, Rachel, and that trampy girl from the streets. But for the others— the Reverend, Preacher Man, Nubee, David, and the boy— it was a different story. Because inside each of their pockets was an intense, white brightness. In Nubee, it was dazzling, nearly impossible to look at. In David and Reverend Wyatt, it was dimmed by the thickness of their outer shell. But regardless of its brightness, it seemed to provide sustenance to the surrounding orange-red glow—replacing to one degree or another whatever the darker outer shell ate and devoured.
And that was Orbolitz’s frustration, his sense of injustice. Why did those with the core brightness have their orange-red glows constantly replenished … while those without that light simply have theirs eaten away by their outer shell?
“Come on now, Reverend!” Orbolitz taunted. “He can’t keep on sinnin’! He’s a man o’ God, like yourself. You can’t let him get away with that!”
Reverend Wyatt looked over to Orbolitz. It was clear he agreed. It was equally clear he didn’t want to—especially if it meant inflicting more pain. Turning back to Preacher Man, he pleaded. “You must stop this, my friend. Exercise discipline, use self-control.”
Staring at the glass, Preacher Man gave no response.
“I understand that it must be difficult, but I assure you if you would try harder, if you would practice just a bit more self-restraint, you would—”
“You can assure me nothin’!” Preacher Man shouted.
“Friend—”
“Nothin’ can help me! Not your formulas, not your high-falutin knowledge o’ Scripture!”
“You must—”
“Leave me alone!”
Grieved, but seeing no alternative, Reverend Wyatt prepared to raise his sword again. “‘Wine is a mocker, strong drink is raging: and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.’”
“You think I want this?” Preacher Man’s voice cracked with emotion. “Don’t you think I’d stop if I could?”
“You know the Word of God! You know His commands!”
Preacher Man shook his head and reached for the bottle.
Reverend Wyatt quoted: “‘Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are these; adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, idolatry, witchcraft …’” He raised the sword high over his head. “‘… hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, and such like: of the which I tell you before, as I have also told you in time past …’” Gripping it firmly, he took aim, preparing to strike. “‘… that they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God.’”
With the final phrase he brought the sword down, once again hacking deeply into Preacher Man’s shoulder. Again, Preacher Man screamed as a large slab of his violet light fell to the floor.
“Please,” Reverend Wyatt begged. “You must end this.”
But the self-hatred, the guilt, and the pain were more than Preacher Man could bear. As soon as he was able, he resumed pouring his drink. As he did, the darker light regrew.
Orbolitz watched in disgust. For as the darkness regrew, as it devoured the orange-red glow for much of its power, that orange-red glow barely decreased in size or brightness. As in every other occasion, it was replenished by the man’s blazing center core.
“Unfair!” Orbolitz shouted. “That is so unfair!”
Neither Preacher Man nor Orbolitz seemed to hear as Wyatt again raised his sword and again recited, “‘And be not drunk with wine, wherein is excess …’”
But Orbolitz had seen enough. He turned to leave. The two could go on like that forever—the Reverend hacking away at Preacher Man’s darker shell, Preacher Man constantly regrowing it by feeding upon the orange-red glow … that was constantly feeding upon the blazing light. It was a perpetual tug-of-war to which there appeared no winner.
rachel had not seen David since she’d fled his room last night. But their conversation had never left her thoughts— even now as she walked through the forest trying to quiet the voices, trying to quiet her soul. How was it possible? The forgiveness he spoke of? Everything else in the universe was cause and effect. If you jump off a cliff, you fall. If you hurt someone, you pay. “Sowing and reaping,” “an eye for an eye.” Wasn’t that in the Bible? And yet, according to David, there was something greater than this principle. Someone greater.
Funny, over the years she’d learned never to say His name out loud—not even to swear—a lesson Albert was apparently learning as well. Saying the name Jesus Christ had always brought a gentle correction from Mr. Sparks. Nor was he particularly fond of those who practiced Christ’s teachings. He said Jesus’ original instruction had been good, but that it had been twisted and perverted until it made today’s followers self-righteous, unloving, and intolerant.
But now, after spending time with David, she had her doubts. How could someone who was encouraged to admit his mistakes and ask for forgiveness be considered self-righteous? And Christ’s command to extend that forgiveness to others, regardless of their actions … well, that sounded anything but unloving or intolerant. Unbelievable, yes. Illogical, of course. But not something her gods should be so uncomfortable with.
Then there was her other concern. As Orbolitz continued increasing the Presence, things continued to grow more disturbing and uncomfortable … for everyone.
Savannah’s violet shell had become so thick and bulky that it was difficult for her to pass through doorways, let alone move up and down the stairs. It pained Rachel to see the woman eye something in the lodge, or even in magazines, then watch her darker light suddenly absorb its shape. It was one thing to take in the Tiffany bracelet or the Fabergé egg on the fireplace mantel, but there were much larger items—pieces of clothing, Native American artwork, the silver serving trays from the kitchen, even the hand-carved beaver and the crouching bobcat in the entry hall. It wasn’t always clear what she had absorbed, but the bulging angles and increasing size made it obvious she could not stop.
The same could be said for Albert. Shadow snouts and snapping fangs stretched and poked in every direction. And not just around his head and neck, but in his chest, his abdomen, even his back. Rachel had thought the pornography Orbolitz supplied would have curbed his appetite, but surprisingly, it only seemed to make it worse.
Word had also reached her of Preacher Man’s struggle up in his room. And David’s. And Starr’s. Dear, vulnerable Starr. She was glad they’d become friends so quickly. And she was grateful the child trusted her enough to be taken under her wing. But now …
Earlier she had knocked on her door, but Starr had already left the lodge. No breakfast. No word to anyone. Only when Rachel ran into Luke and Nubee outside did she learn what had happened the night before in Nubee’s room. He’d tried his best to be delicate in the explanation, but there was no doubt what had occurred.
And it broke Rachel’s heart.
How had the girl misunderstood what she’d been so careful to explain? Worse than that, had she inadvertently encouraged her?
Then there were the voices …
The thing is getting old.
It will continue to serve us.
What about the young girl?
I do like young girls.
Young girls mean young men … virile young men.
Were they planning something with Starr? She wasn’t sure. She hoped it was only their agitation from the increasing Presence. The good news was she no longer saw them. Not like last night. The bad news was, as the Presence increased, she was able to see their dark, swirling shadows more and more clearly … even in daylight.
The girl is not our solution.
She too is under the influence. Everyone here is under the—
Not everyone—
So young, so luscious.
What of those in the mountain —
No.
—they have not received—
I said, no!
Young girls mean young men …
And so the argument continued—a schism forming. Some wanted to take flight and depart their host, the “thing,” the “it,” the “her.” Others wanted to take their chances and remain. Of course, she would have liked to weigh in, but she knew it made no difference what she thought. It never had in the past. So, with a weary sigh, she continued up the steep, fern-covered ridge searching for Starr … and a little peace.
That’s when she heard the clapping.
She picked up her pace and crested the ridge. Down below, where it flattened out near the bluff, she saw Albert and Starr. Albert sat in the shadows on a fallen tree, encased in his dark, luminous shell. He was clapping as Starr leaped and spun, skipping around him in what she must have thought to be a dance of seduction. But it was seductive only because she had stripped down to her underwear.
Albert loved it. Rachel could tell, not only by his clapping and the way he followed her every move, but by his outer darkness. The snarling, snapping jaws, pushing at the edges, hungrily stretching toward the dancing child.
Beautiful, isn’t she?
Luscious.
Ignoring the voices, Rachel shouted, “What are you doing?”
She headed down the slope, slipping, sliding. “Get away from her!”
He rose to his feet.
“Get away!”
“I didn’t—”
“Get away!”
It was clear she meant business, and Albert quickly scurried around a fallen tree for protection. As he did, he briefly stepped into a shaft of sunlight, nearly erasing his dark glow. “It was her idea!”
Rachel slipped and fell. But the rage kept her going. She was back on her feet, heading directly toward him.
“Don’t blame me!” He backed away into the shadows, his glow returning. “It was her!” He pointed at Starr. “It was her idea!” The girl had come to a stop, suddenly looking very self-conscious.
Rachel continued toward him, not slowing.
He hesitated, glancing to one side then the other, before turning and starting to run.
“Get out of here! Go on! Get out!”
He stumbled once, twice, but continued running. Rachel thought of pursuing but knew she couldn’t catch him. She slowed to a stop, breathing hard. “Go on! Get out!”
He stumbled again and continued.
“If I ever see you around her again, so help me, I’ll—”
“What are you doing?” Starr shouted.
Rachel turned to her. “What am I doing? What were you doing?”
Starr nervously scooped up her clothes. “I was celebrating my … femininity. I was empowering myself by …”
“By what? Parading around naked in front of that … pervert!”
Holding her clothes against her nakedness, Starr argued, “I was not parading. I was starting to sky clad. The books say that—”
“I know what the books say. And they don’t say anything about doing it in front of dirty old—”
“I can do it where and when I want!”
“Starr—”
“‘Do what ye will and if it harm not—’”
“Yes, but you have to practice a little wisdom. You can’t just foolishly—”
“I am not a fool!”
“Nobody said you—”
“You ruined it!” Starr’s voice broke. “You ruined everything!”
Rachel started toward her. “I’m only trying to protect you from—”
“I don’t need your protection. I’ve got the gods!”
“You …” The phrase brought Rachel to a stop. “Starr, listen, you don’t understand—”
“I understand everything! It’s in the books!”
“Yes, but … you’re not even initiated. You’ve not even—”
“I’m doing it myself. The books say I can.”
“Not by sky cladding in front of some sicko! There are ways—”
“I don’t need your ways!” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Starr—”
“And I don’t need some old … cow to tell me—”
Again Rachel started toward her. “I’m just saying—”
“Leave me alone!” The girl turned, wiping her face, then suddenly bolted.
“Starr!”
She stumbled but caught her balance and continued into the woods. “Leave me alone!”
“Starr!”
She kept running, threading her way through the undergrowth, clutching her clothes.
“Starr!” Rachel took several more steps before she slowed. “Starr …”
I wonder though, if the same problem your father has, if it is not similar to your own.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means some of your outer shell, it is boiling much as your father’s.”
Luke glanced down to his chest. His vision had improved from the day before, but it was still hard to see anything clearly. “No way.”
“Yes, I am afraid way. We are approaching the forest now. We must turn to the right.”
Luke continued, half walking, half limping, while angling Nubee’s wheelchair off to the right. His ankle was only a little better, but it felt great to be outside again … even if it was only the lawn in front of the lodge … even if it did mean using Nubee as a seeing-eye chair. He’d take what he could get. Anything to get away from the grownups and the weirdness of their lights.
“May I make another observation?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Most likely not.”
Luke hid his amusement with a sigh. “Go ahead, Nubee, observe away.” He’d always liked the guy, even when he couldn’t speak. And now that he could communicate like a regular person, like a regular smart person, well, he liked him even better.
“I do not think your anger is directed entirely toward Orbolitz.”
“If you’re going to say I’m not crazy about my dad, save your breath. We already know that. And we’re trying. We’re not doing great, but we’re trying.”
“Orbolitz and your father are only part of the problem. A bit more to the right, please.”
“Who else is there?”
“Everybody.”
“What?”
“Nobody meets your expectations.”
“Nobody meets your expectations, because you do not meet your expectations.”
Luke remained silent.
“‘As you judge, so will you be judged.’”
“You lost me.”
“Your anger at everybody, it is because you are angry with yourself.”
“You learn that watching Oprah or Dr. Phil?”
“I learned it by watching myself. I hated myself for my failures so much that I began hating others.”
Luke said nothing.
“Because you hold an impossible standard for yourself, you hold it for others. And when they fail to meet that standard, especially those closest to you, such as your father, then you are critical and angry at them as well.”
“Nubee?”
“Yes, Luke.”
“Shut up.”
“I am sorry. I am only trying to—”
“No, I mean it. Be quiet.”
“I am only—”
“Listen.” Luke slowed the chair to a stop. There it was again, the buzz he’d heard by the fake tree. But there was no fake tree here. “Don’t you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“That humming sound, that buzz.”
“No, I don’t. And if you are trying to change the subject—”
“Shh …”
Luke moved them forward. The buzz continued a moment or two then started to fade. He stopped. He backed up a step and it increased. Angling the chair slightly, he continued forward. The buzz continued. He stopped again.
“Luke?”
“Quiet.”
He kneeled and the buzz grew still louder. Just as he expected. It was coming from the ground. “There’s some sort of current or something running under here.”
“Are you certain?”
He rose and slowly pushed them forward. The buzz continued a bit longer before it started to fade again. He continued, adjusting their angle slightly, and the buzz returned. He kept going, slowly, carefully. Whenever the buzz faded he veered to the left or the right until it returned.
“Nubee, do you see anything on the ground? Any marks or anything?”
“I see nothing.”
“I can’t believe you don’t hear that.”
“Maybe your impaired sight has helped your hearing.”
“Up ahead. If we keep going straight, do you see anything?”
“Just trees.”
“What do they look like?”
“The trees?”
“Yes.”
“They look like … trees.”
“Are they all the same?”
“Luke, I fail to see—”
“If we go in a straight line, the first tree we hit, is it like all the others?”
“Yes. We are nearly there now.”
“What about its top?”
He could see Nubee’s head tilting back, looking up. “It is similar to many of the others. Its branches are broken off from the wind and it …” He stopped.
“What? ‘And it,’ what?”
“That is odd.”
“What, Nubee?”
“Closer please.”
Luke continued pushing. They were starting to hit some undergrowth. “Nubee?”
“The top. It appears to have long panels.”
The undergrowth grew thicker, making the chair harder to push. Luke could see a tall shadow looming just ahead. “Is that the tree in front of us?”
“Yes. You may stop anytime, please.”
He kept pushing.
“Luke, you may—”
Klunk. They came to a jarring stop. Moving around the chair, holding on to Nubee for support, Luke reached out until he touched the tree. He pressed with his fingertips, dug in with his nails. Just as he thought. It was like the other. It was also fake.
you should be ashamed of yourself.” Rachel nailed Albert with a glare. “She’s just a girl!”
“It wasn’t my idea.” Albert turned to the rest of the group. “It was hers. It’s what she wanted.”
“You’re the adult … or hadn’t you noticed?”
“It’s not my fault.” Albert swore again, and again the air rippled. “Oww!” He gripped his mouth but continued shouting through the pain. “I’m trying! Why do you think I was out there? I was trying to get away, to control it. But the harder I try, the worse it gets. You can’t blame me; it’s the way I’m wired.” He motioned to the others around the fireplace. “Just like you can’t blame the preacher here for his issues—”
Preacher Man straightened, trying his best to appear sober … with minimal success.
“—or David with all his junk, or Savannah … or anybody else in this room.” Turning back to Rachel, he added, “Including you.”
She glanced down, very much aware of her own baggage.
“We’re not puppets,” David muttered. He eased himself down on the sofa beside her. His violet light thicker, boiling more intensely. “We have free will.”
“Precisely,” Reverend Wyatt agreed from the opposite chair. His hood was so dense that Rachel could no longer see his face. “And it is that free will, along with God’s Word, that can liberate us all from—”
“No,” Preacher Man interrupted.
Wyatt stopped and looked at him.
“There’s more.” The old man’s voice was clogged and exhausted, but he pressed on. “There’s more than God’s Word … and our will.”
Rachel watched, waiting with the others.
“And prayer,” Nubee reminded him.
“There’s more than prayer.”
With strained patience Reverend Wyatt replied, “And you still say this, even in your condition?”
Preacher Man looked up, holding him with red, watery eyes. “I say it, ‘cause you keep leavin’ out the other ingredient.”
“Which is?” David asked.
Preacher Man turned to him, licking his dry, parched lips. “His love …” He swallowed and continued. “His love for us … and our love for Him. It’s not just the doing. It’s the abiding.”
A moment passed before Savannah spoke from within her bloated light. “Doesn’t look like it’s helping you much, old-timer.”
Preacher Man turned to her, wanting to give an answer, then looked down, obviously having none.
“What about Starr?” Rachel asked, adjusting her cardigan sweater and bringing them back on topic. “Has anyone seen her?”
“She can’t be far,” Albert said. “Not with the electronic leash.”
“You have it all mapped out?” Reverend Wyatt asked.
“All three sides.”
“And the fourth?”
“The bluff. A sheer drop, eight hundred feet to the valley below. No way she could climb down that. But there’s something else.” He looked at David. “Don’t know if it’ll help, but your boy here, he may have found something.”
All eyes turned to Luke, who slouched further.
“Go ahead,” Albert encouraged. “Tell them.”
“Tell us what, boy?” Tension swept the room as they turned to see Orbolitz making his entrance down the stairway, accompanied by his two bodyguards. “So how’s everybody doin’ this afternoon?”
No one responded.
“I gotta tell you”—he tapped his goggles which could barely be seen underneath his dark shell—“every hour you folks keep lookin’ more and more interestin’.”
Rachel felt movement on the sofa and glanced over to David as he shifted his weight. It was obvious he was struggling to contain his rage, but his glow’s churning made it equally obvious he was failing.
“Just a little over a day, folks. Thirty more hours and we’ll be at maximum power.”
David shifted again. She reached down to his hand, a gesture of caution.
“Thirty more hours and God Almighty, or at least his recorded Presence, will be at 100 percent. Then, provided any of you survive the ordeal, you’ll be—”
A roaring whoosh filled the room. Rachel turned to see David’s glow break loose from his body and race toward the stairs. Orbolitz saw it too and tried to duck, raising his arms with a cry, but it did no good. The impact sent him staggering backwards into the steps. David’s light continued its attack, tearing into the man’s dark shell, ripping through it, trying to reach the body inside.
“Get it off me!” Orbolitz shouted. “Get it off!”
His bodyguards traded confused looks. Without goggles they apparently saw nothing.
“Get it off!”
Reluctantly, they moved into action—reaching in vain to where they guessed David’s light might be.
Orbolitz wrestled and squirmed, pointing at David, “It’s him! Stop him!”
They leaped up and lumbered across the room toward David as he rose from the sofa. He tried to run but only managed a couple steps before they tackled him to the ground and began their assault.
Rachel dropped to her knees, trying to pull them off. “Stop it! Leave him alone!” They flung her aside, but she leaped back in. “David, stop it! Stop attacking!”
But of course he did not stop. She doubted he could.
“Dad!” Luke joined the mix, pounding on the back of the crew cut bodyguard. The big man barely noticed.
“Get him off!” Orbolitz cried, continuing his struggle at the stairs. “Get him off!”
Others joined in, yelling, shouting.
The man in the crew cut turned and struck Luke in the face, so hard the boy flew backwards onto the floor.
David saw it. “Luke!”
“Get him off! Get him—”
“David, stop it! You must try to—”
And then, through the bedlam … a voice began to sing:
“O Lord my God, when I in awesome wonder …”
Rachel turned to see Preacher Man. He struggled to rise to his feet. With his big, gravelly voice, his consonants softened by the alcohol, he continued singing:
“Consider all the works Thy hands have made …”
Others turned, surprised.
“I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder,
Thy power throughout the universe displayed.”
At first Rachel thought it was her imagination. But, as he sang, Preacher Man’s core light, that tiny pocket of burning whiteness at his center, began growing brighter.
From across the room, Nubee joined in.
“Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee:
how great Thou art, how great Thou art!”
The group exchanged looks, obviously as perplexed as Rachel.
Without missing a beat, Preacher Man began the second verse. Nubee followed. As they sang, both of their center cores grew brighter. And, as their cores intensified, so did the orange-red glows around those cores. But not just theirs—all the cores that were illuminated grew brighter. And, as the cores grew brighter, the orange-red glows followed. Even David’s.
Rachel stared as the glows continued to increase until they actually began pushing back and dissolving the darker, outer shells. Not through any struggle or conflict, but simply by being brighter. Even David’s attacking darkness on the stairs grew less.
But his diminishing shadow did little to comfort Orbolitz. Suddenly the old man grabbed his goggles and screamed. “What is happening? What are you doing?”
Preacher Man and Nubee continued singing. Their voices growing stronger, more confident.
“But when I think that God, His Son not sparing …”
Then, all at once, both of their orange-red glows exploded, bursting from their bodies, and reaching across the room to others. Not just to those with the blazing cores, but to all the orange-red glows, feeding them, joining with them, filling the entire room with their beautiful brightness.
Rachel turned to Reverend Wyatt in astonishment. He looked as baffled as she did. But he also saw the singing’s power. And, apparently knowing the words, he joined in. Tentatively at first, but with growing conviction:
“Sent Him to die, I scarce can take it in …”
But there was more. Besides the growing glows, Rachel heard other voices. Other singers. She searched the room. Only the three men sang, but there were others. A dozen. No, more. Their number increasing.
“That on the Cross my burden gladly bearing …”
Then there were her voices:
Stop them!
The burning!
And with the voices came the sudden cramps and nausea—so quickly, she doubled over as if she’d been hit.
We must go!
No!
The searing!
No!
And still the singing continued:
“He bled and died to take away my sin.”
Now Orbolitz was screaming. “Get away! Get them away from me!”
The room filled with brightness as all the glows joined into one. More voices sang—lifting, soaring. And … was that incense? Rachel couldn’t be sure. She was sure of nothing but the cramps and the nausea—so intense she could no longer stand but dropped to her knees.
We must leave. Now!
No, I forbid—
Now!
Where?
She looked up, nearly blinded by the room’s brightness. Everyone stood in awe. Everyone but Orbolitz, who remained by the steps, swatting madly at the air. “Get away! I need more filters! Helgeland, increase the filters!”
“Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee …”
Rachel clenched her eyes against the pain, her face cold with sweat.
The young girl …
I like girls.
I order you to stay!
Now, we must leave, now!
No, I order you to—
We must leave!
Where?
Outside. The girl is outside!
Suddenly she understood. Filled with horror, Rachel protested, but was rewarded with gut-wrenching convulsions—
“How great Thou art, how great Thou art.”
—so powerful she could not catch her breath. She began to vomit. Not food. She hadn’t eaten all day. Dry heaves. Empty, but not empty. For with each gagging contraction, she felt something leave, something exit through her mouth. Not visible, at least not in this light, but she knew what they were. More terrifying, she knew where they were going.
“No,” she gasped, “no!”
“Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee …”
The gagging stopped as quickly as it began. That’s when she heard the rattling. Windowpanes shaking.
“Earthquake!” Albert shouted.
She struggled to her feet, barely able to stand. Weakened, dizzy, soaked in sweat, she started for the door. She had to stop them.
The rattling grew to a roar, like a train.
But Rachel barely heard. She reached the door and stumbled outside. “Not the girl!” She cried. “No! Not the girl!”