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  “So, someone tell me why,” Raul said. “Why is an adventure which leads to purity so grand? Come on, we’ve been over this in our sleep.”

  Tyler raised his hand.

  The overseer motioned to the brown-headed Indian boy, the youngest in the class.

  “The Creator is pure. Therefore, a life that leads us to purity leads us to the Creator. And no man could possibly find an adventure grander than one that leads to the Creator.”

  A soft chorus of agreement rippled through the room.

  “Yes,” Darcy whispered as the approval died down. But her mind was on Billy. Had he also said yes, just to be proper?

  “Someone else? Yes, Paul?”

  Darcy wondered what was running through his head after their talk with Billy at breakfast.

  “A path leading to purity will cross enough challenges to make the human head spin.” The class chuckled. “It’s not only arriving at the conclusion of purity which is so thrilling, but it’s the journey to that conclusion. Overcoming the challenges. Each obstacle passed, each challenge met and won. This presents a new level of satisfaction.”

  Brilliant. Judging by their response, the rest of the class agreed with her assessment. Brilliant indeed, but old hat, brother. Give me something new.

  The moment she thought it, Darcy knew Billy had gotten to her. Not that she had any intention of actually doing what Billy suggested. Heavens, no. But she wasn’t thinking the same, and she wondered why. A little tick had burrowed into her skull, and every time she heard one of the old truths, the insect began to chew on her brain.

  She looked at Billy again. He was staring at her, and this time she stared back. He was awfully cute with his auburn hair and green eyes. He was certainly one of the brightest students. Maybe second to Samuel.

  Raul was speaking again, but she didn’t hear him. Something in Billy’s eyes pulled at her. Something that said, You and I are the same. And she liked that. It felt good.

  Maybe Billy was on to something.

  She had a responsibility to look after him, didn’t she? At the very least she should check up on him. The poor soul was heading for a cliff without the slightest clue.

  How did one get to the subterranean levels anyway?

  CHAPTER TEN

  PARADISE

  Thursday night

  AS FAR as Johnny could tell, nothing in Paradise changed that afternoon. Other than the wind, which was blowing harder, and the sky, which was growing darker. He spent the hours in his room, waiting for his mother to return.

  Roland hung out for an hour but wanted to go home because, as he put it, his own mother and father were behaving a bit strange, and Johnny was making him nervous with all his talk about Black.

  Johnny thumbed the toggle and blasted his way through one of his older PlayStation games, Red Alert IV. He paused the game every fifteen or twenty minutes to check the front window. The streets were empty. Paradise was too far off the beaten track to become a hotbed for tourism, but that didn’t keep the odd traveler from braving the mountains to find this fruit-farming community. Maybe the storm discouraged visitors; it was raining hard along the Highway 50 corridor.

  Johnny resumed his game and killed a few more bad guys without thinking through the steps. He tried to call his mother on the cell phone but couldn’t find her signal. It happened up here, enough to make his mother swear on occasion.

  Back to the game.

  The front door slammed at six o’clock.

  “Mom?”

  Johnny ran out to the living room to greet his mother, who held several bulging bags. She was wearing new black jeans with a red and white blouse. Her blonde hair was windblown but she beamed, clearly not bothered by the weather.

  “Finally,” Johnny exclaimed. “What took you so long? I’ve been . . .”

  He stopped short. Something about his mother’s brown eyes scared him more than the horror movie he and Roland rented last weekend. They were . . . distracted. Dull. Not unlike the eyes of the rest in the bar.

  “Hello, Johnny. Am I?”

  “Are you what?”

  “Late?”

  “It’s . . . it’s six o’clock.”

  “Well, I’ve been home for an hour. I just stopped in to update the others.” She walked past him. “Boy, is it raining down the mountain. Highway 50’s a river! I half-expected to find the town washed away.” She dropped her bags and faced him. “I tried calling on the cell, but the service is out. The storm’s knocked everything out. I’m surprised we still have power.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “I told you, I stayed in Grand Junction to shop.”

  “But you’ve been talking to the others?”

  Her smile faded. “Well, of course, honey. What’s wrong? You look like a ghost.”

  Johnny swallowed.“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just that nothing’s right around here. The wind, the clouds, the preacher—”

  “Of course nothing’s normal. We’re in the middle of a storm.” She walked up to him and ruffled his hair, a habit of hers that he was losing interest in.

  “I guess I owe you an apology. They told me about the eyes. I’m sorry for doubting you saw what you thought you saw. I just couldn’t imagine anybody actually doing what you claimed the preacher did. I was right about that, but I had no right to dismiss you.”

  “It’s okay.” Johnny turned away and sat on the sofa. They’d stolen his thunder. “What did they tell you?”

  “You mean Katie? The service, her dreams, the meeting this morning—pretty much everything, I suppose.” She opened the refrigerator and studied the contents. “Why? You know something else?”

  “So you believe him?”

  Sally withdrew a bottle of cranberry juice and flipped open the cupboard for a glass. “Makes sense to me. Sure it’s all a bit strange, but this world is half-full of strange people.”

  They were welcome words. If his mother thought Black was legit, then he probably was legit.

  “If I’d gone to Junction and the medical examiner told me that Cecil died of trauma to the head or eyes, I would think differently. Actually, it’s all a bit exciting, don’t you think?”

  “Unless he turns out to be a liar,” Johnny said.

  She poured her drink. “He was a liar. Yesterday, right? Katie said you were in the saloon. You heard him yourself. He did it to make a point.”

  “And what about this thing that’s coming to Paradise? Katie tell you about that?”

  “What thing?”

  “Black said he’s doing all this to help prepare us for something that’s coming.”

  “He said that?” For the first time since she’d entered, a shadow of concern crossed his mother’s face. “Hmm. Now that’s weird. You hungry?”

  His mother had a way of letting the steam out of his concerns. At least she was keeping an open mind.

  “Sure. I’m starved.”

  They made small talk while Sally cooked up some spaghetti and prepared a green salad with tomatoes, Johnny’s favorite. For an hour they were the normal small-family unit that Johnny had grown accustomed to since his grandfather’s death. His mother was a bit distracted, but he wrote it off to a good shopping day. Funny how buying clothes and shoes could make someone so happy.

  As the eight o’clock spying mission approached, his concern made a comeback. He thought about calling Roland and telling him he couldn’t go out, but the fact of the matter was, he wanted to find out what Black was up to as much as Roland did. Maybe more.

  Sally pushed her plate away. “Boy, that was delicious if I don’t say so myself.”

  She picked up the bottle of oily Italian dressing and eyed it.“The preacher’s stuff looks a bit like this. Don’t you think?”

  The comment caught Johnny off guard. She’d seen the bottle? “What do you mean?”

  “Katie had a bottle—”

  “You didn’t taste it, did you?”

  Sally looked up at Johnny, held his eyes. “It was harmless, Johnny.” S
he set the bottle down. “She said it was aloe vera and some kind of mild sedative.”

  “Mild? It’s got half the town seeing things!”

  “Well, I haven’t seen anything. Besides, I wouldn’t mind knowing what all the hoopla’s about.” Sally stood and took her plate into the kitchen. “It’ll be fine, Johnny. Paradise could use a little excitement now and then.”

  A question ballooned in his mind. Why were the rest so eager to taste Black’s concoction while he had no interest? At least not enough interest to give in. They’d supposedly all been exposed to the water. Had he drunk any water in the last couple days? Yes, he had. So then why were they different from him? Maybe they really weren’t.

  His mother didn’t think it was a big deal. So then it probably wasn’t.

  He looked at the clock—two minutes to eight. He had to meet Roland.

  Maybe they were all just questioning things because that’s exactly what the preacher wanted them to do. He was thinking pretty hard about things he’d hardly ever thought about, right? Maybe Black was an angel who’d come to save Paradise.

  Then who was coming to kill them all?

  JOHNNY LOOKED around the old theater and studied the street. He could just see the outline of the Bowerses’ house. Like a ghost across the street, barely glowing in the night, shifting behind a thin curtain of blowing dust. The blinds were open.

  He pulled his head back.

  “Anything?” Roland asked.

  “No. Were your parents around this afternoon?”

  Roland hesitated.“My mom was. She forgot to make dinner.”

  “But you didn’t see your dad?”

  Another hesitation.“He was probably busy. Are we going to do this? I’m getting a headache.”

  Johnny took a deep breath. “Okay, we see if the preacher’s over there. If he is, we watch him and see what he does. If we don’t see him, we knock on the door and ask for Peter. That’s the plan.”

  “Sounds good.” Roland headed around the corner. He didn’t seem bothered by the darkness, so Johnny followed, dismissing the inner voices that suggested caution.

  A scrub-oak hedge surrounded the house. The barrier gave them perfect cover up to a height of three feet. They wedged themselves between the hedge and house, and Roland peered into the first dark window. After a moment, he shrugged and motioned them on.

  Johnny began to settle. Seemed simple enough.

  They crawled three quarters of the way around the house without seeing a single soul. The Bowerses had either left the house or occupied one of three remaining rooms—Claude Bowers’s study, the master bedroom, or the main-floor bathroom.

  Roland reached the study window and waited for Johnny to squat next to him. “Okay, you go up first this time,” Roland whispered.

  “Me?” Roland had led thus far.

  “Sure. Just go up slow and peek in.”

  Johnny looked up. Seemed harmless enough, despite the fact that the window glowed faintly.

  “You think he’s going to poke your eyes out?” Roland asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

  Johnny ignored the jab and slowly lifted his head to the window sill. He peered into the study, saw Claude sitting at his desk, and immediately jerked his head down.

  “What?” Roland whispered. “They in there?”

  “Claude.” First contact. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. They hadn’t exactly snuck into Fort Knox or anything, but his heart didn’t seem to know the difference.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “I don’t know.”

  This time Roland eased up to the sill, held his nose there for a moment and then retreated. “He’s . . . he’s watching television.”

  This time both Roland and Johnny eased up to the window.

  The room began to flash with blinding white strobes that ignited scenes on a monitor that sat on Claude’s desk. Johnny couldn’t see the images, but they seemed to mesmerize Claude. His mouth hung open dumbly.

  The white strobes yielded to red and blues that lit his face. Johnny could hear music now, the bass thudding low. A music video. An intense music video that had turned Claude into a useless lump of a man.

  A bottle of booze slipped from Claude’s fingers and fell on the floor with a thump. He didn’t seem to notice.

  Claude blinked. He swallowed and began to chuckle. But he still hadn’t moved.

  Johnny craned for a better view. He caught a fleeting image of Black’s head on the set, flapping back and forth as if on a spring. Then a red image that Johnny couldn’t make out.

  Claude lunged forward, twisted a knob, and sat back. The music pounded louder. Metal, head-banging music. Claude bent for the fallen bottle on the carpet and chuckled again.

  The images popped relentlessly without breaking cadence. Claude took a swig from the bottle, half of which dripped off his chin onto his stomach, and began to giggle.

  Johnny felt a tug on his sleeve. “He’s not in there. Come on.”

  He dropped down. “You see that?”

  “Lost his marbles. Black’s not in there. Come on.”

  Johnny followed Roland to the next window. Master bedroom.

  “Go,” Roland whispered.

  Johnny pulled himself up and looked through blinds that were closed but not properly, leaving slits he could see through if he pushed his eye flat against the glass.

  A figure moved by the mirror above the double dresser. Katie was there, leaning into the mirror.

  Johnny shifted for a better view.

  “Anything?” Roland whispered.

  She was dressed in a red skirt, too short and too tight, unless she was headed for a party. He could see Katie’s face in the mirror, chin tilted up as she carefully applied a fresh coat of lipstick. She rubbed her lips together and turned her head for a side view. Maybe she and Claude were going to Delta. To a dance or something.

  Roland’s face came up next to his. Their breath fogged the glass, and Roland wiped the moisture off with his palm.

  Johnny watched Katie fix something at the corner of her mouth. Satisfied, she tilted her head down and smiled into the mirror. She traced her freshly painted lips with a slow tongue.

  Katie tried another look, this one with one finger on her cheek and her hip cocked as if to say, Hey there, stranger. She shifted into another look, this one tracing her open mouth with her tongue and a single finger along her neckline.

  Roland dropped down and Johnny followed.

  “You see that?” Roland whispered through his cockeyed smile.

  “Well, it is Katie.” Johnny glanced back at the office window, still glowing from the lighted computer screen inside. “Pretty weird, though. Both Claude and Katie. I wonder where Black is.”

  “Basement? We haven’t tried the window wells.”

  “And where’s Peter? Maybe we should just knock on the door and ask for Peter.”

  “Try the next window,” Roland said.

  Roland edged his way around the corner toward the bathroom window, waited for Johnny to catch up, then rose slowly. Wind howled through the eaves. Light seeped past the blinds, illuminating the hazy dust that filled the air. Johnny shielded his eyes and followed Roland to the windowsill.

  The low blind provided only a three-inch gap at the bottom. Something blocked their view—a towel or something that made the window dark. Maybe a closet or . . .

  The darkness shifted. He squinted. And then the darkness walked away from the window.

  Johnny flinched. He stood there staring at Marsuvees Black’s polyester trousers, less than three feet away.

  The preacher had been leaning against the window. Right in front of Johnny’s face, a pane of glass separating them. Now Black stood at the mirror.

  A black, coverless DVD case rested on the white sink. Maybe for the DVD that Claude was watching this very moment in his office.

  Johnny couldn’t see what Black was doing, because the bottom of the blinds cut the man off at the shoulders. He would have to crouch a little to see Bla
ck’s face and that meant moving. If he moved, Black might see him.

  Roland breathed heavily. The window started to fog. Not good.

  Johnny pulled back a fraction to allow circulation between his lips and the glass. Then down a little so that his eyes cleared the blinds.

  Black was picking his teeth.

  The man’s fingernails were long, but well shaped, as if he recently had a manicure. The preacher valued cleanliness. He retracted his lips and studied his large white teeth.

  He began rubbing a section of his lower teeth with his tongue. Unsuccessful with a mere tongue, the man’s lips attacked his teeth. They moved furiously around his lower jaw. If lips could be double-jointed, the preacher owned a pair.

  Still aggravated by something in his teeth, Black went after them with his fingernail. Johnny could see his clean-shaven jaw jutting out toward the mirror as he angled for whatever it was.

  Roland had moved down for a better view and was breathing harder. Seeing the man go to work on his teeth was a mesmerizing sight. Not exactly the kind of evidence that revealed anything good or bad about him, but fascinating, nonetheless. The man really was getting worked up about whatever was stuck in his—

  Black howled with rage.

  The man lost his cool so suddenly that both Johnny and Roland yelped. If not for Black’s own howl, he would’ve heard them for sure.

  The preacher grabbed his lower lip with his right hand and yanked it down hard. It peeled cleanly off his jaw as if it were a mask. Long white teeth buried in three inches of pink flesh jutted into a gaping mouth. His lower lip slipped a good four or five inches below his chin.

  With his other hand, Black wrenched a single tooth from his jaw and spit angrily into the mirror. A small chunk of white meat stuck to the glass.

  The stranger shoved his tooth down into place. He released his lower lip. It snapped up over his teeth, and he rubbed his jaw like a man who’d just been slapped, but no worse for the wear.

  Johnny’s eyes dried in the wind. And then Black straightened his coat and turned toward the door.

  Now, Johnny. Move now, while his back’s turned. He dropped to his knees. The jar must have started his stalled heart, because he could hear the blood rushing through his ears now. He was hyperventilating.