'Are you a Christian?' Penelope asked.
He turned to face her. 'Why? Are you?'
'I suppose so. I mean, I don't go to church, but I believe in God.'
He nodded. 'Yeah,' he said. 'Me too.'
She smiled teasingly at him. 'Scared you, didn't I? When you heard that word 'Christian,' you thought I wanted to know if you were born again.'
'No,' he lied.
'Be honest.'
He laughed. 'All right. Yeah. For a second. I thought maybe you'd been keeping this secret from me, waiting to tell me until you felt you could trust me, and you suddenly decided to spring it on me now.'
'Because I was offended by all this heathenism?' He grinned. 'Something like that.'
She laughed. That's great.' They walked toward the witchcraft booth.
'Oh, and I forgot to tell you--I'm a lesbian.'
'I've heard that one before.'
The woman in the witchcraft booth beamed at them, having obviously overheard them. 'We're all lesbians in my coven,' she said. 'In fact, witchcraft is a celebration of our womanness.'
Dion felt a tug on his arm as Penelope pulled him away from the booth.
'We have literature if you're interested,' the woman said.
Penelope shook her head as they walked away. 'No, thanks.'
They stopped by another booth featuring exotic Third World musical instruments. Dion played with a rain stick, while Penelope used a mallet to hit what looked like a log marimba.
The two of them wandered through the fair, hand in hand.
Penelope looked toward a windowless trailer on which was painted the words: afterlife progression.
She turned toward Dion. 'Do you believe in heaven?' she asked.
He shrugged. 'I guess.'
'Have you ever wondered what it's like? I mean, most people think of heaven as this wonderful place where you're reunited with your loved ones for eternity, but I always wondered, which loved ones? If a woman's husband dies and she marries again, is she reunited with both husbands up there? Is there polygamy in heaven? What about first boyfriends or lovers?'
Dion laughed. 'I never thought about it that way.'
'And what about pets? A lot of people think that they'll meet up again with their dog or cat in heaven. But which dog or cat? Does God make you choose and only allow you to have your favorite, or are you surrounded by all the pets you had throughout your life?'
'That's weird.'
'Well, how do you see heaven?'
'I don't know. I've never given it much thought, really.'
'I always thought that you'd have this huge entourage. You'd be surrounded by parents and brothers and sisters and friends and lovers and husbands and wives and dogs and cats and hamsters and goldfish and anything you ever loved.'
'Sounds crowded.'
'That's not all. It's heaven for them too. So each of those people would have their own entourage. All of your parents' friends and lovers and pets and their friends and lovers and pets and on and on and on.'
'Sounds like hell.'
She nodded thoughtfully. 'It does, doesn't it?'
'Well, what do you think hell's like?'
'I don't know. Do you have any ideas?'
'Oh, a hot place where I'm bent over a gym bench and Mr. Holbrook is shoving razor blades up my ass for eternity.'
She hit him, laughing. 'You're bad!'
'Must be the Kevin influence.'
From off to their right, Dion heard the high-pitched sound of feedback from a P. A. system. He looked in that direction and saw a group of musicians dressed in strange costumes atop a small raised platform. A
crowd of about thirty was standing in front of the stage.
The musicians began playing.
'That's a weird instrument,' Penelope said. -'What do you think it--?'
Dion stiffened. His hand, gripping her arm, tightened.
'Hey!' she said. 'What do you think you're doing?'
And then he was dancing, laughing, running down the hill naked, the women in pursuit. He could smell their ripeness, their hot arousal, mixed with the earthy odor of goat. He knew the women were going to tear him apart, rip up his flesh and drink his hot blood, but that was what he wanted, that was what he craved, and he felt wonderfully ecstatic as he ran from them, wanting to prolong this feeling, wanting to savor every moment of the chase before he felt the glorious pain of their nails and teeth as they killed him again.
He opened his eyes and he was looking up at the sky, a ring of people above him. He realized that he was lying on the ground. He could feel weeds and rocks pressing into his back through the material of his shirt.
'Dion?'
He saw Penelope, staring down at him, worried. She bent down next to him, took his hand in hers. 'Are you all right?'
'What ... ?' he began. He cleared his throat. 'What happened?'
'I don't know. All of a sudden you just collapsed. Like you fainted or something.'
'Should I call an ambulance?' one man asked.
'No,' Dion said, sitting up. 'It's okay.'
'Maybe you should have a doctor look at you,' Penelope suggested.
'I'm fine.' He stood, and though he felt a little dizzy, he tried not to let it show. He looked at the faces of the gathered crowd and forced himself to smile 'That's it. Show's over. Leave money in the hat.'
A few people chuckled, and the crowd began to disperse.
Dion felt a hand on his shoulder. 'You sure you're okay?' It was the man who'd asked about the ambulance.
'I'm fine,' he said. 'I just tripped on a rock. Knocked the wind out of me.'
The man nodded and moved off.
'You didn't trip,' Penelope said.
No, he hadn't. But he didn't know what had happened. He did know that he did not want to be taken to a doctor, although he was not sure if it was because he was afraid the doctor might find something or because he already knew that there was nothing to find.
Maybe he had a brain tumor. Or some type of cancer. Maybe he'd had a mild stroke or a heart attack or something.
No. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew it. This wasn't a medical thing. This was triggered by the sound of the pipes. And it was related somehow to his dreams and to ... His head hurt, and he closed his eyes against the pain.
'I think we'd better go,' Penelope told him. 'I'll drive.'
He nodded and let her lead him out through the front gates of the fair and across the field to the car.
'I really think you should go to the doctor,' she said. 'What if this is something serious--'
'It's not.'
'First, you swerve off the road, then--'
'It's an acid flashback,' he said.
'What?' She stopped walking, letting go of his hand. Her face was white, shocked.
'A friend of my mom's put it in my milk when I was a baby,' he lied. 'I
get these every so often.'
'My God.'
He took her hand again, and they continued walking toward the car. He made up a story about how his mom
