Before him, Garrett’s face twisted, elongated. Scales slithered across his cheeks and down his chest. He opened his mouth, revealing sharp fang-like teeth, and spoke in a voice as deep and as coarse as burlap. “Go. Now. Do not return or I will unleash the power of Lucifer on your soul.” His head rocked back and a deep guttural laugh emerged, carrying with it billows of black, putrid clouds.
The unseen noose that encircled his neck gave way, allowing him to suck air into his chest with heavy, raspy breaths. The colors disappeared. Garrett’s face returned to normal. Billy backed away, collided with the wall, slid along it, and yanked open the door. He hurried past Thelma, into the street.
*
Sam entered Walter Limpke’s cubicle in the ICU at Mercer Community Hospital. He looked up and smiled weakly.
“Walter. Feel up to a couple of questions?”
He nodded.
“You said you didn’t remember much about your dreams except that they were in vivid colors.”
“That’s right.”
“And you saw a red light or a beacon of some sort.”
“Yes.”
“Why’d you go to the Hargroves’ house? On that particular night?”
“I told you before. I don’t know.”
“Besides the colors, did you feel anything or sense anything unusual?”
He stared at her and sighed.
“It’s OK, Walter. Tell me about it.”
“You’ll think I’ve really flipped.” His shoulders slumped further.
“Walter, I’ve heard some bizarre stuff in the past couple of days so I doubt whatever you say will seem over the top.”
“I felt like the red light was drawing me to it. I tried to turn away, but I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“It was like a magnet. The closer I got, the stronger it pulled.”
“Was it the same at Roberto’s?”
“Yes.”
“What was the light? Where exactly did it come from?”
He lifted his eyes as if trying to conjure a vision from the myriad tiny holes in the acoustic tile ceiling. His brow furrowed. “I can’t...” He stopped. “The light was the house. And Roberto’s trailer.”
“You mean like a reflection?”
“No. They were the light. The house, the trailer were the source of the light. They glowed bright red.”
“Did you sense or see anything else?” she asked.
“At Roberto’s, it seemed as though something was pushing me. From behind. You know how opposite poles of a magnet attract each other, but like poles push each other away?”
“Yeah.”
“While the light pulled me, something behind me pushed me. Both seemed to direct me toward the light. Toward Roberto’s trailer.”
Sam walked out of the hospital and flopped behind the wheel of her Jeep, hammered into submission by the day’s revelations. A murderer and an apparent would-be murderer were compelled by some push-pull force toward a red beacon. A beacon that glowed from their victim’s homes. The homes of three members of Garrett’s jury. Nothing rational explained this. Hell, nothing irrational explained this.
She flashed on her dreams, the children’s dreams. The dreams of Penelope and Walter. She and Penelope had sensed Garrett and the kids had seen Snakeman. Last night, a Snakeman/Garrett creature had visited her dream? Or was it Satan? Or Garrett/Beelzebub? Or some other fallen angel?
Could Garrett be behind all this? How? Maybe he was Nita Stillwater's iron fingered beast. Maybe he was Satan or Beelzebub or some super-natural being. But if he was, why not just walk out of jail and disappear? What could he gain from these murders? His conviction was a done deal. Unless it was a revenge thing.
But, Garrett alluded to the fact that he had had similar dreams. That he had been compelled to act. He couldn’t be the puppeteer and the puppet.
And what of all his talk of Satan and God at war? And of his need for her to open the gates of Hell for him? Was he crazy? Insane? Or merely amusing himself with outlandish tales? Was he one of those nuts that truly believed the end of the world was near? Why didn't he just drink some poison and ride away on a comet like those Heaven's Gate clowns? Sam knew she couldn't be that lucky.
Her mind was trapped in a Mobius loop. Around and around but always returning to the same place. Which was nowhere. Frustrated, she cranked the Jeep to life.
The city council held its monthly meetings in the old Elk’s Building a block down Main Street from the Sheriff’s Department. The sturdy stone and wood structure had not housed an Elk’s meeting in over fifteen years since the local chapter disbanded due to lack of attendance. A faded, weathered B.P.O.E. sign remained above the entry.
By the time Sam and Charlie arrived, Lanny Mills and the four other members of the council were seated behind the long folding table that served as a rostrum. They faced forty folding chairs, which typically would be used by members of the community who wished to attend the regular council meetings. Today only eight of the chairs were occupied. Lisa McFarland, Mark Levy, Paul Blankenship, Lupe Rodriguez, Marjorie Bleekman, Reverend Billy, Carl Angelo, and Father Tom O’Malley looked up when they walked in.
“What’re Billy and Father Tom doing here?” Sam asked Charlie under her breath.
“I suspect we’ll find out,” he offered.
Sam glanced at Father Tom and raised a quizzical eyebrow. He shrugged, communicating his own bewilderment. Sam studied the other faces. Marjorie appeared frightened, while Paul Blankenship glared at them, his jaw fixed, anger oozing from every pore. Lupe smiled sympathetically, Carl sat stone-faced, and Reverend Billy wore a mask of smug satisfaction.
This isn’t a meeting, Sam thought. It’s an ambush.
“Charlie. Sam. Have a seat and we can get started,” Lanny said. “Charlie, why don’t you bring us up to date on your investigation.”
“Lanny, you know I don’t discuss ongoing cases. Never have.”
“But, these murders are a little unusual, you must admit. There are a whole lot of very nervous people in this town who want some answers.”
Charlie scanned the room. “You don’t look nervous. Father Tom doesn’t look nervous. So, just who are we talking about here?”
“Come on, Charlie. Just give us an overview,” Lanny said.
“OK. Garrett killed the three children. Walter Limpke confessed to killing the Hargroves and Roberto Sanchez. Last night Betty McCumber was murdered, but since that case is only twelve hours old, we don’t know who is responsible yet. So, what’s the question?”
Sam could barely suppress a smile. Vintage Charlie. He always managed to boil conversation down to the bone and gristle, tossing the fat aside.
“Charlie, don’t get testy,” Lanny said.
“I’m not. If I was, you’d know it. Now, I don’t like being hauled in here under some official pretext and finding Reverend Billy here. Right away I start thinking that something ain’t right. That there’s some other agenda here. So, why don’t we just cut to the chase? What’s this all about?”
“We’re scared,” Marjorie blurted out. “Four members of the jury have been killed and I might be next. What are you doing about that?”
Charlie tilted his Stetson back. “We’re going to find out who did it and arrest them.”
“When?” Her lips trembled as she spoke.
“Soon, Marjorie.” Charlie sighed heavily. “I know you’re scared. But, trust us to do our job.”
“Like Betty did?” She sniffed back tears. “Like Roberto and Margo did?”
Paul Blankenship jumped to his feet. “Will my son have to find another body before you put an end to this?” His hands curled into tight fists. “He’ll never get over what he saw this morning.”
“I know,” Charlie said. “None of us will.”
“But, it’s your job to see things like that.” Paul’s eyes flared with anger. “My son is only a boy.”
“I’m sorry, Paul.”
“You Goddamn well better be.”
Lanny interrupted. “Let’s all calm down.” He turned to Reverend Billy. “Reverend, would you care to say anything?”
Here we go, Sam thought as Billy pulled himself from his chair and turned to face them.
“I understand that both of you are good cops," Billy began. "Everyone says so and I see no reason to doubt that.”
Well hallelujah Sam wanted to shout. We have the big man’s approval.
“But,” Billy continued, “this situation is beyond your means. This is not a police matter, but a matter for the Lord.”
“The Lord?” Charlie said. “Are you kidding?”
“Let him finish, Charlie,” Lanny said.
Billy expanded his already over-inflated body and began to pace as he spoke. The wooden floor creaked and popped like arthritic joints beneath his mass. “You have a series of killings here that you can’t explain. I have been told that Walter Limpke was a kind and good and religious man. Why then did he brutally murder three people? Was that not out of character for him? Did that not shock everyone who knew him? And now, you have another member of your community that has met a similarly horrible fate.”
The pace of his prancing picked up and Sam half expected a Bible to materialize in his hand.
“Doesn’t it strike you as odd that four members of Mister Garrett’s jury have died? Three at the hands of murderers and one in a terrible freeway accident. These occurrences are beyond coincidence. They are the work of Satan. He is here, protecting and avenging his disciple Richard Earl Garrett, who is himself possessed with Satan.”
“Come on, Reverend,” Charlie said.
“It is true. I know. I have seen it in his eyes.” He cleared his throat. “You can neither see nor comprehend this fact from your secular point of view. You are not attuned to the works of Satan.”
“Look, Reverend,” Charlie said, “I admit that if anyone has the devil in him, it’s Garrett. That’s why he was convicted. That’s why he’ll probably go to San Quentin’s Death Row. That’s why someday, hopefully, he’ll be executed. So, what else can be done to him? He’ll pay for his sins.”
Billy fixed him with his blue eyes. “You do not see the truth before you,” he said, condescension dripping from every word. “This will never end so long as Garrett and that group of followers that hang out down the street have Lucifer in their blood. Satan must be cast out, forced from them. And it must be done soon, or these killings will continue.”
Lupe Rodriguez crossed her chest and mumbled a quick “Hail Mary.”
Sam saw a look of shock spread across Father Tom’s face. He stood.
“You aren’t proposing some type of exorcism are you?” Father Tom asked. “The archdiocese would never allow it.”
Billy arranged his face into a look somewhere between patronization and contempt. “Father O’Malley, not meaning to insult you, but I didn’t request your presence at this meeting. That was Mister Mills’ idea. If the council agrees to turn Garrett over to me, I will perform the exorcism service. I have a great deal of experience in such matters and I am sure that you do not.”
Sam ran past miffed, hurtled perturbed, crashed through angry, and landed square in the middle of furious. Even though she no longer attended mass or services at Our Lady of the Desert, the bond she had formed with Father Tom during her mother’s illness and death remained strong. She was not about to stand by and let this pompous whale and this confederacy of dunces insult and intimidate him.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she stormed, glaring at each of the councilmen in turn. “An exorcism? Of Garrett? Of those innocent mixed-up kids? Have you all gone over the edge?”
“Deputy Cody...” Billy began.
She whirled on him, eyes flashing. The insulation on her nerves melted away, leaving behind raw, sparking wires. “You shut up! I’ve had about enough of your crap.” Turning back to the council, she continued her harangue. “I can’t believe you let this charlatan windbag come in here and blind you with his bullshit. I can’t believe you think we would ever hand over a prisoner, any prisoner, for this obese piece of dirt to burn at the stake. This isn’t Salem. This is our home, for Christ sakes!”
“Sam,” Lanny said. “Calm down.”
“Like hell I will. You can’t fire me. The county pays me. But it wouldn’t matter anyway. There is no way this puffed up ass is going to get his hands on Garrett or those kids.” She turned toward Paul. “And Paul, I’m sorry Ted found Betty. I wish he hadn’t. But, that’s the way life is. Deal with it, talk with him, rather than joining Billy’s little self-promotion crusade. Now, if all of you would go home and let Charlie and I get back to work, we might get to the bottom of this.
“You haven’t done such a bang up job so far,” Reverend Billy said.
She consumed the distance between them with angry strides. He towered over her, which only infuriated her further. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve got more bodies around here than Omaha Beach on D-Day and I don’t see a solution in sight.”
“Really? We convicted Garrett, Walter confessed, and Betty McCumber’s body isn’t even cold yet. Give us more than twelve hours and we’ll figure out who killed her, too.” She fixed her jaw and glared up at him. “By the way, where were you last night?”
Billy’s face puffed purple with rage. He stammered, but for once was speechless.
“That’s right,” Sam said, “I forgot. You and Blue Eyes were having a prayer meeting.”
Billy’s eyes bulged as did the veins in his fleshy neck. He hissed and wheezed as he spoke. “Where I go and what I do and with whom I converse is none of your business.”
“Sorry Billy, you’re wrong. This is my town and that makes it my business. Maybe I’ll have a chat with one of my friends at the FBI and see what they think.”
“OK. Let’s calm down.” Lanny slammed his gavel on the table. “We will take this under advisement and make a decision.”
“There’s no decision to make,” Sam said. “You don’t have the authority. And you.” She turned to Billy. “Why don’t you crawl back to your swamp before things get really nasty around here.” She looked at Marjorie and Lupe. “You two should be ashamed of yourselves. Coming in here and siding with this snake oil salesman. He can’t help you. He doesn’t give a shit about you. He’s only using you.”
Sam stormed out of the building, Charlie, Lisa, and Mark in her wake.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Charlie. “I didn’t mean to blow up like that.”