are you hearing anything now?”
“No, Dad.”
David nodded as they continued down the hill toward the small flat area and the bluff beyond. “It gets pretty steep here, lots of moss, so be careful not to—”
“I can see that, Dad. It’s not like I’m totally blind.” He threw in another sigh just to make sure his father got the point.
David let it pass. He knew it had been hard for Luke to suggest the two of them work together. And now, having to hang on to his father’s arm, being led around the forest like a child, well, few things could be tougher … unless, of course, it was being the father to the son it was being so tough on.
Still, David was grateful for the opportunity. Once they’d gotten Rachel to bed and she’d fallen into a fitful sleep, Nubee had assured him he could look after her. Now the two of them were outside with the hopes of finding some way of escape … and if they were lucky, not killing each other in the process.
“How ’bout now?”
“No, Dad.”
“Are you sure. ’Cause we’re—”
“I don’t hear a thing.”
“But we’re reaching the bottom of the hill. The cliff is only a few dozen—”
“Wait a minute, you’re right. I do hear something.”
“Yeah? What? What does it sound like? What does—”
“It sounds like someone who can’t keep quiet long enough to let me listen.”
David closed his mouth. Fine. He wouldn’t say another word. He’d answer only when spoken to. And if Luke chose not to speak (and those chances were pretty high), then so be it. Of course, it hadn’t always been like that. In his younger days, Luke was an incessant chatterbox—ADHD on caffeine. It came in handy when they had to hold their own against Emily and her mother—two women who always left them in the dust with their verbal skills, not to mention their loopy female logic. But gradually, as they ran out of women, Luke ran out of words.
He stole another glance at his son. In the past hour, Luke’s blotches of darkness had all but disappeared. His center core had continued to brighten, and his surrounding orange-red glow had begun to solidify. It was still taking shape and definition, but from what David could see, the glow of the gangly man/boy was being replaced by a full-grown man. His chest had become wide and muscular, his glowing legs thick and solid. It was hard to see for certain, but he appeared to be wearing some sort of jersey and running shorts. And on his head, he wore a hat or crown. No, not a crown, a wreath.
“There,” Luke half whispered.
“What?”
“Shhh …” He turned to the right, toward the bluff.
David searched the ground, looking for any markings, any clues. He could stand for a lot more information, but this was Luke’s show, he was in charge. The thought made him uneasy, particularly in matters so serious, but there was nothing he could do. He hated the lack of control, the feeling of dependence. Yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew it was just the beginning of reversing roles. Someday this would be the norm. He hated that thought even more.
“Hold it.” They slowed to a stop amidst the outlying debris of the rock slide.
David glanced around. “Which way—left, right? Maybe we should keep—”
“Shhh …”
David nodded, silently rebuking himself.
“It’s everywhere now.”
“What?”
Luke started forward. David followed, this time more successful in remaining quiet. They picked their way around the rocks and boulders until they came to a stop directly before the slide. Luke turned, scowling. He took a tentative step to the left, then to the right. “Don’t you hear that?” he asked. “I can’t believe you don’t hear that.”
David strained but heard nothing. “Too much Led Zeppelin in my younger days.”
Luke’s scowl deepened as he slowly zeroed in, this way then that, until he was facing the slide again. “Here.”
“It’s under the rock slide?”
“It’s the strongest here.”
“Are you sure, because—”
“It’s the strongest here.”
David nodded, squinting into the setting sun. At its highest, the slide rose ten, twelve feet above their heads— mostly dirt and boulders along with fallen trees, uprooted ferns, and underbrush. Everything smelled of dust and damp earth. Off to their left, thirty or forty feet, it melded into the hillside. To their right it continued several more yards before fanning out and coming to an end a dozen feet from the bluff’s edge.
“Do you see anything?” Luke asked.
David shook his head. “Everything is just like we left it. Nothing of any—” A glint of metal caught his eyes. It came from within the slide, at the base of two large boulders.
“What?”
“Hang on.” He started up the pile of rock and debris. The first couple steps were loose and he slid as much as climbed.
“Dad …” There was that exasperation again.
“I think I saw something.” He finally got his footing and scampered up to a large rock.
But the reflection was gone, lost in shadow. He continued forward, keeping his eye locked on where he’d last seen it. All around him stones clattered and dirt sifted, but he made certain each step was safe before taking it … until the dirt wedged between two fallen trees gave way. He cried out as he fell between them, managing to catch himself by his armpits with a painful grunt.
“Dad!”
He hung there, feet kicking, until he found a foothold.
“Are you all right? Dad!”
“Yeah,” he gasped. “I’m okay.” With effort, he dragged himself up until he was straddling one of the logs.
“Be careful!”
“I’m all right.”
“You’ve got to be more careful!”
He was surprised at the emotion in his son’s voice.
“Maybe we should go back. Maybe we should get someone else to—”
“Luke, I’m okay.” He turned but couldn’t see his son through the branches.
“Just be careful.”
“Right.” He rose to his feet, took a step or two, then jumped to the first boulder safely … until it started to shift.
“Dad!”
He fought to keep his balance as it continued to move. He did not see the smaller tree swing around behind him until it caught him in the knees, knocking his legs out from under him. He fell hard, grasping at the slippery rock, as he slid down between the boulders.
“DAD!”
He hit the ground, trying to break the fall with his arms. A good idea except for the pain that shot through his left wrist. But he had little time to worry about it as his head flew back, slamming hard into the boulder directly behind him.
preacher Man mused sadly as they sat together in his room—one broken-down black evangelist, one old, stuffed-shirt white guy. Two servants of God from opposite worlds, both lost in defeat.
“There were times He seemed so real,” Reverend Wyatt was saying, “when I accomplished so much. Like becoming district supervisor, or teaching at the seminary. I even managed to author a book or two that—” He caught himself, then sadly shook his head. “I’m merely proving my point, aren’t I?”
Preacher Man smiled. “Nothin’ wrong with bein’ smart.”
“I’m not so sure.”
Preacher Man gave him a look.
“While you Peter types are throwing your legs over the side of the boat and walking on water, we Thomases are in the back searching the Scriptures for less risky forms of ecumenical transportation.”
Preacher Man smiled sadly. “We Peters may be the first to walk on water”—he glanced over to the bottles on the dresser—“but we’re also the first to do the sinking.”
Barely hearing, Reverend Wyatt quietly quoted, “‘Love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul and with all thy mind.’” He took a breath, then quietly added, “Sometimes I’m afraid I’ve only given Him my mind. As if I’m educated beyond my faith, beyond what He can use.”
“Hogwash.”
The Reverend looked up.
“I’d give anything to have your brains and education. And as far as what He can use … Know who my favorite role model is in the Bible?”
“Nope.”
“David?”
“Wrong again. Balaam’s jackass.”
Reverend Wyatt smiled.
“I’m serious. If God can use a jackass to accomplish His purposes, I know I qualify. And, no offense, brother, so do you.”
The Reverend chuckled politely. “I’m not so sure of that.”
“Course you do. Go ahead, name me another.”
“Another?”
“You talked ’bout teachin’ kids and overseein’ stuff. Name me another time He used you.”
“I really don’t think now is the—”
“Bible says we’re saved by the blood of the Lamb and the testimony of our lips.”
“Well, yes, but—”
“So go ahead, testify. Give me some testimony.”
Reverend Wyatt eyed him a moment as if checking his sincerity.
Preacher Man nodded. “Go ahead now. Testify.”
“Well, let’s see … last year, despite the worst year of giving for our diocese, we somehow managed to keep the inner-city lunch program going.”
“That’s good. Feeding the hungry. What else you got?”
“What else?”
“Go ahead now.”
“I suppose … there was that unwed mother’s home we started, despite some rather impossible zoning restrictions—”
“‘Whatever you do for the least of these you do for me.’ That’s what I’m talkin’ about. And God was right there, wasn’t He? Workin’ alongside you … doin’ most of the heavy liftin’, I imagine.”
The Reverend slowly nodded, beginning to see the picture. He looked back at Preacher Man. “What about you?”
“How has He used you?”
“Nothing big like you’re talkin’ bout. Most of mine’s just on the streets, preachin’ to folks who don’t listen and don’t care.”
“But you’ve met with some success.”
“Sure. Some strung-out druggie, some kid dying of AIDS, but—”
“‘What you do for the least …’”
It was Preacher Man’s turn to smile. “You got me there. Your turn. How else you seen God use you … in spite of you.”
“In spite of me? Well, now, that should be easy. Let’s see …”
And so it continued … two old warriors remembering their battles, some nearly forgotten, recounting the victories God had given.
“It’s like them altars that folks built in the Old Testament,” Preacher Man said. “How they reminded them of God’s faithfulness.”
“I am afraid I don’t understand.”
“We’re just buildin’ ourselves some verbal altars, that’s all.”
And it was true. The more they recalled God’s faithfulness, the more real it became—the more real He became. So real that Preacher Man actually found himself thinking less and less about drink. So real that during one of their lulls, he had started humming again. Softly at first, but eventually breaking into words:
“Holy, holy, holy. Lord God Almighty.
Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee.”
Reverend Wyatt looked at him a moment, then quietly joined in—a bit hesitant, a bit self-conscious. His voice was thin and reedy, his sense of pitch no better than Preacher Man’s. But it didn’t seem to matter …
As they sang, Preacher Man noticed both of their center cores growing brighter until they flooded into their orange-red glows—which also grew, bursting through the remains of their violet shells and slowly stretching toward one another.
“Holy, holy, holy! all the saints adore Thee,
Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
Cherubim and seraphim falling down before Thee,
Which were and art and evermore shalt be.”
Soon, their glows merged, filling the entire room with brightness until Preacher Man could no longer see where his ended and the Reverend’s began.
“Holy, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!
All Thy works shall praise Thy name in earth and sky and sea;
Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and mighty!
God in three Persons, blessed Trinity!”
At last the song came to an end. But neither man moved. Instead, they sat quietly in the silence, basking in the light … abiding in the Presence. It wasn’t until Preacher Man opened his eyes that he saw the Reverend’s violet shell had completely vanished. So had his. Their orange-red glows had also changed. They had come together forming an even brighter light—an image—the single and distinct form of a man—a giant, blazing with brilliance. He stood between them, nine maybe ten feet tall, looking much like a Greek or Roman warrior, with helmet, sword, and shield. The sword that had once been the Reverend’s, and the shield that had once belonged to Preacher Man.
dad …” Luke’s voice floated into his consciousness—along with the throbbing pain of his left arm and one doozy of a headache.
“Dad … can you hear me?”
He sounded concerned, maybe in trouble—enough to force David to open his eyes. It was darker now and he was covered in dirt. The two boulders loomed above him. On top of one, he saw the silhouette of his son, lying on his stomach, calling down to him.
“Dad …”
“I’m—” He coughed the dust from his throat and tried again. “I’m okay.” It was a lie, but necessary, considering the anxiety in Luke’s voice. Then he heard something else. Behind him. A hissing sound. He sat up, put too much weight on his hand, and swallowed back a yell. The hissing continued. He turned to his left and saw the source. Dirt was sifting away, slipping into a hole two to three feet in diameter, its edges outlined by … metal. Jagged, galvanized metal. Not far away, he spotted the remains of what looked like the top of an air vent, sheered off and crushed.
“Dad …”
He motioned for silence. As quietly as possible, he pulled himself from the dirt and crawled toward the hole. A blue-greenness glowed from within it.
“What is it?” Luke whispered.
He arrived but still had no answer. Careful of the torn metal, he eased his head into the opening. Directly beside his face, along what looked like a ceiling, ran several pipes and cables. They continued through a long shaft. He looked down to the floor, guessed it to be about seven feet below, though it was hard to tell from the growing mound of dirt and debris filling it. He removed his head and swiveled his feet around to the opening, this time taking more care with his arm.
“You’re not going in there!” Luke whispered.
He looked up. “Yeah.”
“You don’t know what’s there!”
“That’s the whole point.” He carefully placed his feet into the opening, down until it touched the mound of dirt.
“Dad!” The desperation in his son’s voice stopped him. “You can’t go in there. You could get hurt.”
“It’s a tunnel. I’ll be okay, I’ll—”
“No! You’re all that’s left. You can’t leave!”
David slowed to a stop.
“Don’t …” The boy’s voice clogged with emotion.
David pulled his legs from the hole and with some difficulty lumbered to his feet. “Son … are you all right?”
The boy wiped his face but did not answer.
“Luke?”
He sniffed, wiping his face again.
It was the most emotion David had seen since Emily’s death, and it made his own throat tighten. “Listen, you and I … we both know there’s something down there, a passageway or something. It’s what you heard and maybe it’s the way out of here.”
“Yeah, but—”
“If I go down there, we might be able to get out.”
“It doesn’t have to be you, it can”—Luke’s voice cracked— “it can be somebody else.”
“I’m already here, we don’t have time to—”
“You’re all I got!”
David stopped. Understanding suddenly flooded in … and his heart broke. How could he have been so stupid? He tried to answer but could not.
“You’re all …” Tears swallowed the boy’s voice.
David stood a moment looking up at his child. This was the old Luke, the Luke who had loved him so fiercely. That still loved him fiercely. It had never left. The silence, the walls, the sarcasm … they were merely defenses, just ways to protect that love. You’re all I got. The distancing, the attitude—simply protection. David lowered his head, touching his own eyes. When he trusted his voice, he looked back up. “Luke …”
The boy sniffed.
“Son …”
“I know.” He sniffed again. “I know, I know …”
“Are you sure? Because I won’t go, if—”
“No, you gotta go.”
“Not if you don’t want me to. If you don’t want me to I’ll—”
“I said go, didn’t I?”
“But—”
“Go. Go. How many times do I have to say it. Hurry and go.”
David watched another moment as the boy continued to struggle. Then, when he was certain Luke had control, he turned back toward the hole. He spotted a broken branch and grabbed it. It would serve nicely as a staff … or club. “I won’t be long, I promise.”
“Whatever.”
David stepped into the opening and onto the mound of dirt. “I’ll be back.”
“Go. Go.”
He nodded. Slowly he slid down with the dirt. Then, just before his head disappeared inside, he heard, “Dad?”
He stopped himself. “Yeah?”
“Be careful, all right?”
“I will, son. You have my word.”
The boy nodded.
David held his look, returned the nod, then lowered his head and dropped into the blue-green darkness.
Orbolitz’s visit with Dirk Helgeland in the control center had taken less than ten minutes. In that time the head of operations had adjusted the goggles to a higher filtering factor, as Orbolitz watched Albert’s image on the surveillance monitors. The computer whiz kid had finally managed to seduce the ex-model—or she him, it was hard to tell with those two. And though the gruntings and rut-tings of animal lust always fascinated Orbolitz, he had been more concerned about getting back to the lodge. After all, this was the crucial time, when the Presence was approaching peak power, when the subjects would choose their final passions—the ones that would follow them into eternity. For some, like those he’d seen in the fiery lake, it would be an earthly passion that they would forever desire, forever embrace. For others, it would be their passion for the Almighty, forever desiring Him, forever embracing Him.
Of all the current manifestations, it was Rachel McPher-son’s that most intrigued him. Unfortunately, there was nothing he had been able to see on the monitors. Like the others, her images would simply not register. So, as soon as Dirk had adjusted his goggles, he headed back up to the lodge, making sure her room was the first he visited. He didn’t bother to knock but simply donned the goggles and opened the door to see what he would see.
He was not disappointed.
She lay on the bed, feverishly tossing her head. And for good reason. Nearly a dozen creatures stood scattered on her chest, her arms, belly, and thighs. Each clawed and tore into her orange-red glow, ravenously feasting and gulping down what little of her light remained. He’d seen these things before, hundreds of times in the VR chamber and from past observations of other subjects. Subjects unable to live with their guilt and mistakes, subjects whose souls were literally eaten alive. Just as David Kauffman was being consumed by his churning shadow of hate and unforgiveness, so Rachel McPherson was being consumed by her own self-hatred and unforgiveness.
Beside her, in the wheelchair, sat the crippled kid. He glowed so brightly that it was impossible to see where the white inner core stopped and his orange-red glow began. To further confuse the issue, the orange-red glow had taken on a distinct definition, sitting tall and erect, so strong and muscular that the wheelchair appeared unnecessary. As Orbolitz entered the room, the kid was speaking to her with confidence and authority.
“David is right. God does wish to forgive you. Jesus Christ does wish to—”
The sound of the name sent Rachel’s creatures howling, gnashing, and tearing into her more desperately. She jerked her head from side to side, gasping, crying out through gritted teeth, “You don’t know what I’ve done. What awful things I’ve—”
“That is why it must be God’s death. Only God’s suffering is enough to pay for our sins.”
“But I … I …”
“It is not about you, Rachel McPherson. It is about Him. It is about His love.”
“I … can’t—”
“That is correct. You cannot bear it. Only He can. And He has. Jesus Christ has—”
Rachel screamed, shrieking in pain.
Undaunted, Nubee spoke louder. “He has done it all, Rachel! All you need do is give Him permission!”
She panted, gasping.
“Allow Him. You cannot bear it. It must be Him. Allow Him.”
She continued tossing her head but had quit arguing. Orbolitz took a step closer to watch.
Her lips began to move. Quickly. Silently.
Nubee cocked his head to the side, listening. He turned to Orbolitz. “Do you hear that?”
“What she’s saying?”
“No …” He looked around the room. “That … singing.”
Orbolitz strained to listen but heard nothing. The goggles were only good for sight, not sound. But, at the moment, sight was more than enough. For as he watched, he began to see a fog filling the room. Effervescent, swirling. At first he thought it was a trick of the goggles. But Nubee saw it too. As it thickened, it grew brighter, taking on a pink, rosy hue. And the brighter it grew, the more alarmed the creatures atop Rachel became. They tore into her more frantically, obviously trying to make her stop. She grimaced, she gasped, she writhed … but her lips continued to move.
Nubee smiled. He leaned toward her, speaking softly. “That is correct, Rachel McPherson. Ask. Simply ask and He will do the rest. Simply give Him permission.”
Orbolitz continued watching, listening, having no idea what to expect …