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  Mark Anthony spoke. “As I see it, there is no way to stop him.”

  No one argued this time, not even David.

  “I have a plan.”

  They all looked at Samuel.

  “We have to get to Billy, or you’re right, he won’t stop. The key to Paradise is Billy. Are we agreed to that?”

  “Go on,” David said.

  “The key to Paradise is Billy, but the key to Billy is Paradise. Or more precisely, the key to Billy is defeating him in Paradise. The only way to change Billy may be from within the story itself. That’s why I sent Thomas, but Thomas failed because his power was limited to skills given to him by me. You’re right, for every character that I write into Paradise, Billy can just write another character with the power to outwit or overpower my character.”

  They watched him.

  “But what if I could write another kind of character who has more power than any character Billy can ever write?”

  “What do you mean?” Raul said. “You already tried that with Thomas.”

  Samuel placed his hands on the back of a chair. “Thomas was fictional. A fictional character is once removed. I doubt he can act or feel on his own. But I think I can write a character who has the power to love and to affect love.”

  “What kind of character?” his father asked.

  “Me,” Samuel said. “I can write myself into Paradise, and I can give myself a power that not even Billy can overcome.”

  They stared at him.

  David stood. “You?”

  Samuel exchanged a long look with his father.“A character based completely on me. A character that is a perfect representation of me in every way.”

  “I still don’t see how that is so different from Thomas,” Andrew said.

  “Samuel will be a character that will do exactly what I would do, equipped with my feelings because I know myself and am myself,” Samuel said.“But he will also be more than me, because I’ll give him a special power to blow Black back into the hole he came from.”He paused. “A superhero.”

  “Do we know what happens if such a character is hurt?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Could it backfire?”Andrew clarified. “If Marsuvees Black were killed in Paradise, would the real Marsuvees die here?”

  Samuel hadn’t thought about that. It didn’t matter. He looked at his father, who was now staring at him with round eyes.

  “We must trust the books, Father. You said it yourself. This story will lead to the discovery of love. If I can’t affect Paradise this way . . . I’m not sure there is another way.”

  “You realize you’re the last student with the power to write love,” Raul said. “It is critical that nothing happen to you.”

  Nausea stirred Samuel’s stomach.

  “Nothing will.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  PARADISE

  Monday

  JOHNNY REVIEWED the simple plan he and Samuel hatched before he left the monastery. Johnny would go to Paradise, take complete stock of the situation, and wait for the Samuel that Samuel would write behind the old theater.

  Showdown at noon.

  That was it. Johnny wanted more, but Samuel couldn’t or didn’t want to give him more. Johnny also wanted to wait for Samuel so they could go down together, but as Samuel pointed out, someone needed to make sure that Sally’s life wasn’t in danger.

  Johnny would be the eyes on the ground. Again.

  He reached the overlook and pulled up, panting. The sky was dark, very dark. Black was definitely back.

  He looked down into Paradise. The first thing he saw was the smoke, boiling to the sky. Not at an angle, whipped by wind, but straight up. That meant no wind. But this wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It was more likely a condition that Billy needed to move his story forward.

  His eyes followed the smoke down to a huge ring of fire on the ground, twice as wide as Main Street. It took Johnny a second to make out people through the cloud of smoke, but they were present, maybe half the town, standing around in no particular pattern, watching the fire.

  Johnny dropped to one knee to give his right leg a rest. He didn’t know what they were doing but one thing was clear—Billy’s story was changing. Today was a day of firsts. First time for no wind while Black was in town, assuming Black still was in town. First time any of them had gathered outside around a ring of fire. First time they’d killed a man.

  Johnny looked past the smoke toward the church. He could see the oak behind. No body. They’d taken the cop down.

  A figure ran toward the fire. Too hard to see who. Johnny watched him cross the line of flame, take something from . . .

  He saw the black-clad man in the middle of the ring for the first time. Marsuvees Black.

  He handed a blazing torch to the runner, who then sprinted to the south. Toward the old theater. Smoke rose from the building twenty seconds later. They were torching the town?

  Johnny stood to his feet. Was Samuel catching this?

  The old Starlight Theater began to burn quickly. Flames licked at the roof and spread down the east wall. Johnny watched in wonder as the wood blazed with orange flames that rose three times the height of the building.

  This was it. They were reducing Paradise to ashes. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t just go down there and throw water on the fire.

  Something on the theater’s roof caught his eyes. It was something wrapped up, strapped to the top. Something the size of a body. Something like Thomas.

  This was their funeral pyre!

  Marsuvees Black was burning the cop’s body and doing it with enough overkill to permanently impress the town. Mess with me and I’ll burn you bad. Real bad. Real, real bad.

  In that case, they probably wouldn’t burn the rest of the town. Indiscriminate burning would be too simpleminded for Billy. Then again, in his doped-up state, simpleminded might be just his ticket.

  Johnny thought about turning around and running back up the mountain, but the only way he could really help Samuel was to stay here and take stock, as planned. It would be awhile before he could meet Samuel at the theater.

  Johnny sat down, pulled his knees to his chest, and watched the Starlight burn.

  Black was the first to leave, about twenty minutes later. He walked straight to the church, flung open the door, and entered. The people began to disperse then, in small groups, headed back to their homes or to various buildings to do only God knew what.

  In the end only one small group remained. Had to be Claude and company. They hauled a car into the middle of Black’s ring of fire, which had now smoldered to the east of the still-blazing theater. One of them threw something—a homemade bomb?—at the car. It burst into flames to the delight of several smaller figures in the group. Fred, Peter, Roland, and another kid.

  Ten minutes later, they all left.

  Johnny finally stood. He couldn’t tell the time by the black sky, but if he figured things right—an hour up at daybreak, an hour at the monastery, a half hour to this point, another hour here—it was about midmorning. Samuel would come in two hours. Johnny gave himself a full sixty minutes to reach the town—no need to rush.

  He could hear the dying flames crackling when he was still a good fifty yards this side of the meadow behind the old theater.

  Then he was there, at the tree line, staring at the charred and burning remains of what used to be the old theater. No sign of anyone.

  He hurried around the south edge of town, toward the alley that led to his house. Still no one. And still no wind. The trees were stripped bare of leaves, and the sand was still piled against the buildings. But something felt different.

  Johnny stopped fifty feet from the convenience store. It was the sky. The sky wasn’t as dark as it had been when he left the overlook.

  Samuel?

  Johnny felt a burst of courage and headed up the alley, watching left and right like a hawk.

  Still not a soul.

  He was suppos
ed to be taking stock. There was nothing to take stock of. At least no people. Thank God.

  Someone yelled somewhere, and Johnny dove behind someone’s house. But it was distant, he quickly realized. Coming from inside a house where an argument had broken out. Maybe from the saloon. He hurried on.

  Johnny entered his house from the back, listened for a moment, and sighed with relief. Not that he was safe here, but the familiar hall with its familiar silence was at least a good sign.

  He checked his mother’s room and found it empty. He donned the socks he’d left behind and found his shoes. Put them on.

  Now what? The church? Not a chance. Black was in there.

  Johnny stood in the hall for a full five minutes, trying to think things through, but he really didn’t know what he could do short of running out into the street and yelling for Black to come and get him.

  His vision blurred. The wall moved.

  Billy.

  Johnny pressed his palms against his temples and focused on an image of Samuel. The wall became still. Someone, maybe Billy himself, was sitting in that damp dungeon below the monastery, trying to break into his mind. He didn’t know how it worked, but he knew enough for it to terrify him.

  At least he knew how to fight the images that . . .

  The house moved under his feet. That was it, he had to get out. Johnny ran down the hall. The walls bent in, the door buckled. He plunged ahead anyway, slammed through the door and out into the alley.

  The ground was shaking out here. Not a slight tremor, but a violent vibration that blurred his feet. He cried out in terror, turned south and sprinted.

  Whether by Samuel’s doing or his own he didn’t know, but the world returned to normal after he’d taken three or four steps. Either way, he had to get out of Paradise. He’d seen all he could afford to see.

  Johnny reached the tree line south of town and pulled up behind a large aspen, out of the town’s sight. He lifted his hands to his face and leaned against the trunk. The ground might not be shaking anymore, but his fingers were.

  Johnny eased his seat to the base of the tree. He would wait for Samuel here.

  CHAPTER THIRTY - FIVE

  PARADISE

  Monday afternoon

  “JOHNNY.”

  Samuel’s voice cut through the still air, and Johnny jerked upright.

  “Samuel?”

  “Here.” The boy walked from the trees. He was dressed in the same cotton shorts and white button-down shirt he’d worn both times Johnny had seen him. The only difference was his shoes, which were now brown walking boots. He seemed a bit frail, but in every way Johnny could imagine he looked exactly like Samuel.

  Johnny scrambled to his feet. “Thank God! Thank God you came.”

  “Of course I came.” Samuel flashed a mischievous grin. “Did you have any doubts?”

  He even talked like Samuel. As far as Johnny was concerned, this was Samuel.

  Johnny glanced back in the direction of the town. “Did you see?”

  “I saw.”

  “You saw. And you’re not worried?”

  Samuel winked. “I have a plan, remember? It was your idea.”

  “Not really. What now?”

  “Now we do some damage. To Black, that is.”

  “Exactly. But how?”

  “Do you doubt me?”

  Johnny wasn’t sure what he doubted or didn’t doubt. A week ago he spent most of his time trying to figure out how to spend another lazy summer day. Now he spent every minute trying to figure out how to survive the chaos. He trusted Samuel, sure. But he’d trusted him with Thomas too.

  “They burned Thomas,” Johnny said.

  “I saw that.”

  Johnny looked at the boy’s arms and hands. “So, what did you do?”

  Samuel held out his hands, palms up, and studied them.“You mean what powers do I have in these hands?”

  “Did it work?”

  “I guess we’ll find out.”

  “So, what are they?”

  “Well, it’s pretty powerful stuff, I guarantee you that. Would you like to see me throw a few fireballs?”

  The idea that fire could actually come out of those white hands was incredible. He reached out and touched Samuel’s palms. “You can do that? Sure.”

  “Actually no, I can’t.” Samuel lowered his arms. “It’ll take a lot more than a few fireballs to deal with Black. Trust me, Johnny, the power I’ve written into these hands will terrify even Black. Now”—Samuel walked past him—“shall we go give it a try?”

  “Hold on.”

  Samuel walked toward the town as if he hadn’t heard Johnny. He was actually going in to confront Black now? It was all moving too fast. They should take a few hours, maybe the night, to plot a careful plan of attack.

  “You’re just going to walk in there? Hold up!”

  Samuel turned back. “Repeat after me, Johnny. I believe. Say that with me. I believe.”

  “I do believe. And I believed with Thomas, but—”

  “No, Johnny, you believed in a lawman named Thomas. Now I’m asking you to believe in me.”

  Was there a difference?

  “There’s a difference,” Samuel said.

  “Okay then. I believe.”

  Samuel smiled. “Shout it.”

  “Now? They’ll hear! We can’t just waltz in there like this!”

  “That’s the point. I want them to know you’re with me. Scream it out, Johnny. The louder the better.”

  Johnny glanced past Samuel at the buildings just visible on the other side of the trees. The sound might not carry too far out here in the woods.

  “I have a better idea,” Samuel said. He turned and walked toward the town again. “Come on, this way.”

  Johnny hurried to catch him. “What idea?”

  “Stay close, Johnny. This way.” Samuel picked up his pace. He walked right out into the open and crossed the clearing, headed for Main Street.

  Johnny followed quickly, thinking that Samuel had a point about staying close. At least nobody was in the streets. He scanned the buildings. Saloon was clear, convenience store looked deserted, the church . . .

  Johnny stopped. Marsuvees Black stood outside the church, leaning against the back corner, watching them.

  “Samuel?”

  “Keep walking, Johnny.”

  “He’s right—”

  “I see him. Keep walking. You’re with me. Remember that. You’re with me.”

  Johnny kept walking. The next time he looked up, he saw that Black was smiling.

  They walked out into the middle of Main Street, to the center of the smoldering ring of fire, up next to the car that was still sending up black smoke from its tires.

  Samuel stopped.“Here, Johnny. Shout it out for the whole town to hear. I believe. ”

  He was committed now. Surprisingly, Johnny wanted to shout it out. Not in defiance, but in self-defense. He prayed that whatever power Samuel had written into himself was more than what Black could throw at them. This was their last hope.

  He had no choice but to align himself with that hope.

  He gripped his hands into fists. “I believe!” he yelled. “I believe!”

  Fire crackled behind them. Samuel stared at Marsuvees Black, who now stood with his feet planted wide, hands on hips.

  Billy’s character began to chuckle. He grinned wickedly and walked to his left, keeping his eyes on them. The black-clad monk mounted the church steps. Stretched his neck back and around at unnatural angles as if loosening up. Then disappeared through the doors.

  “Come on,” Samuel said. “This way.” He headed for the church.

  Watching Samuel strut straight for the gates of hell, Johnny wasn’t sure how much he wanted to believe anymore.

  “Samuel—”

  “Stay close, Johnny.”

  Then again, he wasn’t in a position not to believe. He followed, heart in his throat once again.

  THE CHURCH had been nearly gutted by fire. Johnny s
tared over Samuel’s shoulder, through the open inner doors, past the pews, to the stage.

  To Marsuvees Black, with his hands flat on the charred pulpit, grinning back at them.

  Two nights ago Johnny stood on that very stage, confronting Black in front of the whole town. But that was before. Before the church had been burned. Before they’d torched the theater. Before Thomas had been cut open and hung from the tree.

  Before Johnny really understood what Billy could do.

  Black tilted his head down and stared up from under the rim of his hat. “Welcome to my home, Samuel,” he said.

  Samuel walked in and stopped just behind the last pew. Johnny kept the boy between him and Black.

  “Do you like what I’ve done to the place?” Black asked.

  “If you ask me, it lacks imagination,” Samuel said. “I’m more interested in you. First time I’ve actually seen someone who’s stepped out of a book.”

  “Then pay close attention,my little friend. Your last creation was a bit of a disappointment. But he bled, I’ll give you that. Thomas did bleed.”

  “I’ll be sure not to disappoint you again.”

  “Do you bleed, Samuel?” Black asked, grin still fixed.

  Samuel hesitated. Not good.

  “Why don’t you find out?” he finally said.

  “I intend to. But we really should give this town a little show, don’t you think?”

  “What’s wrong with now?”

  “They’ve waited so long that we have to draw it out. Bring the climax to a slow boil. It’s what they want, you know. They want blood.”

  “Now, Marsuvees. Take my blood now.”

  “I would love to, but—”

  “Now!”

  Johnny started. He fought a terrible urge to run for his life.

  “Say it again, Samuel. Say it to me.”

  “You’re reluctant to show me your power, then?”

  Black spread his arms wide and faced the ceiling. “Oh, how I love the sound of begging. Show me your power,Marsuvees. Please show me.”

  Samuel clasped his hands behind his back. “That’s what I thought. You’re thinking that I’m trying to goad you, and you know that the man who gives into goading is the weaker one. But you’re wrong. I just want to see if you’re half as frightening as my friend Johnny here says you are. All I see now is the copy of a failed monk who’s found some fancy black clothes.”