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  “No, I didn’t expect this. But I knew it was a possibility, even from the beginning.”

  “And yet you went through with it?”

  “I didn’t truly believe it could happen at first—”

  “And when did you suspect?” Raul demanded, frustrated at David’s dismissive tone.

  The director put his hand on the book and stared at its cover. “I suspected several months ago, when Marsuvees Black found this book. I was nearly sure of it when Samuel insisted that he should go to Paradise.”

  “That was only yesterday,” Andrew said. “Then why didn’t you stop him from going?”

  David struck the desk with an open palm. “Because it was the only way!”

  He glared at Raul. “The project was failing! This reckless notion of mine to unleash the power of the books for good had gone amuck. You so eloquently pointed that out on a dozen occasions.”

  “Then why—”

  “Do you have any idea what kind of monster we may have unleashed here?”

  The man was confessing, Raul thought. He had insisted that only love would result, because no history could be written in the books unless it led ultimately to love. Now he would admit his mistake.

  David took a calming breath. Beads of sweat rose on his forehead. “As you know, I had Samuel write a new rule into the books seven years ago limiting the book’s power to only those in the monastery and reaffirming the requirement that they lead to the discovery of love.”

  “We know this,” Andrew said.

  “Assuming these rules you’ve written actually work,” Raul said.

  “I think the fact that this monastery exists, created by the books themselves, proves the books’ power,” David said. “I assume you don’t dispute that much.”

  Raul couldn’t. “No, not that much.”

  “Good. Then assume with me please, for my sake, that the rules do work. Assume that this will lead to the discovery of love. For me.”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. Then we believe that love will eventually win the day. But when? The fact of the matter is I saw no way to curb the amount of destruction the books would allow before love finally won the day.”

  “The rule you had Samuel write made the outcome certain, but not the path to that outcome,” Andrew said.

  “Exactly. I could foresee inadvertently unleashing terrible horrors on the world that might only turn to good far down the road. I couldn’t risk that.”

  “Yet you did,” Raul said.

  David took a deep breath.

  “You didn’t? Then what . . .”

  CHAPTER FORTY - SEVEN

  PARADISE

  Tuesday afternoon

  THE AFTERNOON was dark. Darker than any Steve could remember. Then again, that could be his mind.

  He walked out into the street and headed for the church. Black had said six hours. He didn’t know if six hours had come and gone, but best he could figure, it was something like that.

  He’d spent the hours making twelve new stakes. One for Katie, one for Yordon, one for Claude, and one for Paula maybe. Then the rest for some of the others, yet unnamed. He could hardly remember their names.

  For Johnny he would use the same stake he’d used for the kid.

  Maybe he could use all of these more than once.

  He would need one for himself. Eventually it would come to that, wouldn’t it? Sure, why not. Kill ’em all—that meant him too. Or maybe he could kill Black.

  Not with a stake, he couldn’t. Black ate stakes for breakfast.

  Steve stopped beside the still-smoldering car in the middle of town. Speaking of his maker, where was Black? No sign of him anywhere he could see.

  He’d pulled the boy’s body off the church doors and hauled it outside of town limits, about a hundred yards west of the old theater. Dumped it in the dry creek bed there. He started to pile rocks on it, but gave up after a few minutes because his time would be better spent making those stakes.

  Steve looked at the bloodstained stake in his hand. The red had dried to black. He looked around. Where was Black?

  CHAPTER FORTY - EIGHT

  THE MONASTERY

  Tuesday afternoon

  “I HAD Samuel write a second entry into the books,” David said.

  “Two entries? You made no mention—”

  “You weren’t ready for it. Now you are.”

  David turned the book on his desk and slid it toward them.

  Raul and Andrew leaned forward. Samuel’s familiar handwriting stared up at them. Raul scanned the entry at the top of the page. This was the one David had revealed earlier in the week, limiting the book’s power to the children.

  “I am as skeptical as both of you. I had to have my insurance.”

  There was a paragraph break, Raul saw. Then another sentence.

  If a writer unleashes death on the path to love, the evil may be reversed by the display of a commensurate love fitting with the nature of these books. At that time, the writer who has unleashed death will no longer be able to write in these books. This rule is irrevocable.

  Raul’s head buzzed with the new revelation.

  “Samuel knew this?”

  “He was in my office, reading from this book just before announcing his intention to go to Paradise,” David said. “He knew.”

  “You’re saying that his death was . . .” Andrew sat back.

  “There is no greater love than to lay down your life for a friend,” David said. “It wasn’t what I had in mind when I asked him to write it, but I now realize that what has happened is precisely within the nature of these books. Billy unleashed death, and Samuel gave his life willingly, my friends.”

  To think that Samuel had entered the town in full knowledge that his death might be the only way to turn the tide . . .

  “Then the tide has been turned?” he asked, shifting forward in his chair. “And Billy’s now powerless?”

  “Billy should be.” Tears moistened David’s eyes now. He looked like he would burst out in tears all over again. But he fought back the emotion. “Has anything happened since Samuel’s death?”

  “Not that we know.”

  David frowned. “The story is over. Samuel ended it. I have nothing left but to trust the books given to us by God.”

  For the first time, Raul began to see through David’s eyes. He’d sacrificed his own son for the sake of the town. For the children here. But there was something strange about David’s demeanor. Regardless of any victory, David should be torn in two over his son’s death.

  With the thought came a question that lodged itself in Raul’s mind and refused to go. How could any father this side of heaven give up his son, regardless of what good it might bring? What kind of man would do that?

  “Forgive me, David, but you knew Samuel could die. How—”

  “How could I send my son down to those butchers?” David’s eyes flashed. He took a breath. “Because I am Samuel’s only hope. His life rests in my hands.”

  “How can you say that? You didn’t save him.”

  “The books could still bring him back.”

  “How? There’s no one left to write in them. The books can no longer work for any of the children below, you said so yourself. The rule is irrevocable. The books are limited.”

  “To those in the monastery with the faith of a child,” David said. “That doesn’t mean only the children. If you or I were to have this kind of faith, then we could write in the books. Preventing Samuel from going would have completely undermined my own faith. I had to let him go to prove my own faith.”

  Raul stood abruptly. “It’s why you had to let them kill him!” He saw the reasoning clearly. “It was the only way you could save both him and the other students!”

  The hours of torment leading up to Samuel’s death had new meaning now. David had known! He was in essence proving his faith in God by trusting the Word of the book. David had become Abraham, whose faith was tested by offering up his son, Isaac!
r />   Only in this case, the son really had been killed.

  Unless by proving his faith, David now had a power the children no longer had. The power to write in the books with power!

  “Have you tried?” Raul demanded.

  “No.”

  “What are you waiting for? Write!”He was forgetting his manners.“Forgive me, but you must write.”

  “I am waiting for the right moment. My whole world comes down to this moment, Raul. It can’t be wasted in haste. Either I have been right, or I have been wrong. I’m not sure I want to face the moment of truth.”

  Raul pushed the history book toward David with a trembling hand.“The moment has arrived.”

  David stared at Andrew, then at Raul for a long moment. He winked. “So it has.”

  He hesitated a full ten seconds, then withdrew a quill from its receptacle and touched the tip to his tongue. “I believe, Raul, I really do. God help my unbelief.”

  He dipped the quill in a jar of ink and brought it to the page. For a while the pen hovered.

  Then David withdrew it. What was he doing?

  He sighed, and a tear fell from his cheek onto the page. “What if—”

  “The books peer into the heart, David,” Raul said. “You have given your heart in its entirety to this matter. It will work. If I had demonstrated even half the virtue that you have in these last days, I would rip the pen from your fingers and write it myself. Write!”

  David nodded and gathered himself. He dipped the pen again for good measure, then lowered it to the page.

  He wrote quickly. Several long sentences.

  The scratching nearly drove Raul mad with anticipation. He couldn’t see what David was writing and leaning closer for a look didn’t seem appropriate, so he sat back down, lowered his head, and waited.

  The sound stopped.

  Raul looked up. David glanced at him, then blew on the page. He replaced the quill.

  Closed the book.

  David sat back, folded his hands, and stared at the book.

  Raul wanted to ask him what he wrote, but this too seemed inappropriate.

  But after watching David in silence for a full minute, he couldn’t help himself.

  “What did you write?”

  David refused to remove his eyes from the book. His fingers trembled. “I wrote Samuel, my son, whom I love more than life itself, back to life.”

  Raul swallowed and exchanged a glance with Andrew. “What else?”

  “I wrote the healing of Paradise and the full physical recovery of all our students.”

  Good. This was good. But there was more, he could see it in David’s eyes. “And?”

  “And then I wrote that all of the Books of History would vanish, never again to be found by any living soul. For any reason.”

  Raul’s eyes fell to the book on the desk. There was no way to know if Samuel was walking around Paradise at this very moment. There was no way to know immediately if that the town would be healed of her wounds, or if the children would be restored.

  But the books vanishing into hiding—such a vanishing would include this one.

  It sat on the desk, a black lump of leather and paper, defiant.

  Vanish! Be gone! Say to this mountain be thou removed and it shall be removed. Yet this small mountain either hadn’t heard the teaching or wasn’t listening. The book would not bow to David’s will.

  The plan had failed?

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  PARADISE

  Tuesday afternoon

  THE SOUND of the man’s boots crunching on the gravel from behind him was the first sign that Black had arrived.

  Steve stifled a shiver of pleasure and fear and let Black come. He wanted to wait and not turn because he thought that showed some backbone, but his determination failed him. He turned.

  Black strode with confidence, trench coat swirling around his polyester pants, hat pulled down low over his eyes. He wasn’t looking at Steve, but at the far edge of town, in the direction of the dry creek where he’d dumped the kid.

  Then he turned his head and glared at Steve with bloodshot eyes. “I told you to get rid of his body. Did I tell you to dump him on the edge of town for the first tourist to find? Did I tell you to roll a stone or two against him and call it good?”

  Black stopped three feet from him, rolled his head so that his neck cracked, and then swung an open hand at Steve’s face. His palm struck Steve’s cheek with a loud smack that sent him reeling onto his rump. His head throbbed with pain.

  “I . . . I . . .”

  Black kicked his boot into Steve’s gut. His whole body jerked off the ground, flew several feet, and landed hard.

  He still had his stake in his right hand though.

  “Stand up.”

  Steve struggled to his feet.

  Black hit him again, this time with a fist to his left shoulder. It popped loudly and dangled at an odd angle, dislocated. Pain flared down Steve’s arm. Why was Black doing this? Wasn’t he his right-hand man?

  “Do you think you’ll still be able to kill without eyes, Steve?”

  “My eyes?”

  “I have a thing for eyes,” Black said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  THE MONASTERY

  Tuesday afternoon

  THE SECONDS passed, one by agonizing one. And with each tick, Raul felt his heart sink. Deeper and deeper. He could hardly imagine the despondency ravaging David’s heart now.

  Andrew looked on in silence.

  David suddenly slammed both fists on the desk, one on either side of the book. It bounced slightly, then rested still. Lifeless.

  David’s jaw was fixed and his eyes glassy. He stood and strode toward the window, face flushed. He wore his failure on his entire body.

  He stifled a sob, then brought his fist to his mouth to control any outburst.

  Raul rose and approached David. For the second time in this day he wondered if he wouldn’t prefer death to the pain of such great sorrow.

  “You have to be patient—”

  “I am finished being patient!” David cried, spinning. “I have nothing left to give. I would rather die now than live without my son!”

  “You would fall on your sword rather than lead us—”

  David’s eyes went wide. “What did you do with it?”

  “Your sword. A figure of speech—”

  “Not the sword, the book!” He was staring over Raul’s shoulder.

  Raul whirled.

  The book was gone!

  He glanced at the floor, thinking it might have fallen. “I . . . I didn’t touch it,” he stammered.

  “It’s gone!” Andrew cried.

  They stood like three schoolchildren, transfixed by the sight of the empty desk.

  “It’s gone,” David said.

  Raul ran to the desk. Placed his hand on the spot where the book had laid.

  “It’s gone. The book is—”

  The door swung open to Raul’s left. There in the door frame stood a boy.

  It was Billy.

  He was covered in blood and sores, and the rotting gel of worms covered what was left of his flesh. He looked utterly lost.

  The boy’s arms hung limp, and in his right hand he held a pen.

  Raul looked at the boy’s face. Only then did he see that Billy was crying. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  His shoulders began to shake with sobs. The pen slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  PARADISE

  Tuesday afternoon

  MARSUVEES BLACK cocked two fingers like a rattler’s fangs and gripped Steve’s dislocated shoulder with his other hand, ready to take his eyes.

  Oddly enough, Steve didn’t wince. He felt the pain in his shoulder all right. He thought he might pass out from it. He heard the crunching of his bones. But he saw the bright lights in Black’s eyes and knew the man was finding fascination and pleasure in this violence, and for some reason that made it all okay.

>   “I don’t need you, Steve, any more than I needed the monk. I can use Claude or Chris. I can use Paula.”

  Nausea again. This time it didn’t pass. It welled up through his chest and stung his eyes. He was going to throw up.

  But he didn’t. The feeling was worse than the pain in his shoulder. Tears filled his eyes. For the first time since Black had come into town, Steve wanted to die.

  “I’ll kill them all,” Steve said. “I swear, I’ll . . .”

  His ears began to ring. Black jerked his head up and looked at the sky. Steve followed his stare.

  At first he couldn’t see that anything had happened. Then he squinted and he saw it. The sun was out. And the black clouds were moving.

  Boiling, rolling, flying up and back and away, as if a huge vacuum cleaner was sucking them into deep space. Behind it all was blue sky.

  And a brilliant afternoon sun.

  Black still had his hand on Steve’s shoulder. He twisted his head toward the entrance to town. Nothing there. What was happening?

  It was hot. Hazy hot. Midafternoon-on-a-hot-summer-day hot. And so bright.

  But nothing else.

  Black’s face beaded with sweat. Steve followed his gaze again. Nothing but shimmering heat above the flattened buildings. What was happening?

  And then Steve saw a distortion in the haze. Something was moving toward them, walking down the middle of Main Street in the distance. A small figure obscured by the heat.

  The boy?

  Black’s hand began to tremble on his shoulder. His arm twitched. Two fingers still raised to strike.

  As for Steve, the nausea had passed. Beyond that he didn’t know what to feel.

  The boy walked toward the edge of town, arms loose at his sides, small and frail, hardly more than an apparition distorted by heat waves. He didn’t have a shirt on, and his skin was covered in dried blood, but he was definitely alive. And looking right at them.

  Then the child entered Paradise, and the buildings began to rise from the dust.

  JOHNNY JUMPED to his feet and stared at the clearing sky. Something was happening! He’d watched Black walk up to Steve and slap him around, but now both of them were still.