'Nothing happened?'
'Zippityshit; pardon my French. They all promised to look into it, of course, but I never heard from any of them. That was a good three months ago. I call each of the organizations at least once a week, just to bug them into getting off their dead asses, but I just get shunted around from secretary to secretary.' He laughed again, and his voice became absurdly, mockingly officious; the voice of a petty bureaucrat. 'With the exception of the mayor's office and the town council, of course. They're looking into it, examining all possibilities, but they are conducting a secret investigation and can't tell me about it yet.' He snorted. 'What a crock.'
'When are you supposed to hear back from the lab?'
'Any day now, I'll let you know when I do.'
Gordon nodded into the telephone, though he knew the doctor couldn't see him. 'Thanks,' he said. 'I'll let you know what happens Monday.'
'Damn right you will. Just because Marina's going to have her tests and analysis done in Phoenix doesn't mean I'm not still her doctor. She has an appointment for next week and she's going to keep it.'
Gordon smiled. 'All right. Call you Monday, Doc.'
'I'll be waiting.'
He hung up the receiver and went out to the living room to check on Marina. The room was dark save for the blue light of the TV, and it took him a moment to find her, stretched out on the couch. 'Hey,' he said. 'You all right?'
She waved him away. 'Shhh. This is an important part.' On the screen, James Bond came barreling through a chain link fence in his car while an old lady shot at him with a machine gun. The old lady grimaced as the gun kicked back. Marina laughed. 'I love that part.
That old woman cracks me up.'
'Your appointment's for Monday at one,' Gordon said.
Marina did not answer. She appeared to be raptly watching the movie, but Gordon knew that she had heard him. She just didn't want to talk about it.
He retreated back into the den and leafed through the phone book until he found the number he wanted. He dialed Keith Beck at the newspaper.
He wasn't sure the editor would be there this late on a Saturday night, but Beck had an unlisted home phone and he had no other choice. The phone was answered on the first ring.
'Hello?'
Gordon felt a little uncertain talking to the editor about their problem. He did not know a whole hell of a lot, and he could substantiate even less, but he told Beck what he could about the infants and the editor promised to look into it. He said it might take a few weeks, though, what with the rodeo coming up and the desecrated churches and .. .
'Churches Gordon interrupted. 'Plural?'
'You haven't heard?'
'No.' Gordon thought of the bloody letters he'd seen on Father Selway'sdefiled church and he felt a subtle chill caress his spine.
It seemed suddenly darker in the room, and he flipped on a desk lamp.
'What happened?'
The editor laughed, the laugh turning into aphlegmy smoker's cough.
'Read the paper next Wednesday.'
'Come on.'
'Okay. What have you heard so far? What do you know?'
'I saw the Episcopal church, and Char Clifton told us Father Selway was missing.'
'Well the same thing happened to the rest of the churches. All of them. Windows broken, obscene graffiti, the whole bit. That's why I'm still here, in fact. Jim Weldon gave me a buzz about an hour ago and gave me all the details. Thought I'd like to know. Right now, I'm just trying to figure out how to write about the obscenities. Should I use those cartoon punctuation symbols for the words? Should I use the first letter of each word, followed by an appropriate number of blank spaces? Or should I just refer to them as 'profanities' or 'obscenities?''
Gordon ignored the editor's tunnel-visionedaccount of the situation.
'What about the other clergymen? Have they disappeared?'
'No. But that's really all I can tell you,' Beck admitted. 'The sheriff is supposed to call me back. The way it's going now, it looks like I'll be here 'til dawn.'
'I'll let you go, then. Thanks.'
'No problem. And I'll look into that baby situation as soon as I can.
I'll get back to you if I find anything out.'
Gordon made his final call of the evening to his parents in California.
After he'd told them of Marina's pregnancy they wanted to talk to Marina herself, and he yelled for her to pick up the other phone. The four-way long distance conversation was very sober and very tearful, and it continued on until well past midnight. Finally his parents hung up, promising to call again Monday night. On his father's request, he dialed the operator and had the charges reversed.
Outside, the rain had long since stopped and the world was completely quiet. Looking out the window, Gordon could see the short line of stars that formed the handle of the Big Dipper standing out sharply against a background of galaxies and nebulas in the now clear night sky. Closer in, the pine trees stood tall and straight, completely unmoving in the breeze less air. He closed the drapes and walked down the hall to the bedroom, slipping naked into bed, where Marina joined him a few minutes later. Although it was late and they were tired, they made love, more for the closeness and intimacy it afforded than the pleasure, and it was nearly two o'clock before both of them finally fell asleep, curled next to each other under the thin sheet.
Neither of them heard the soft scuttling noises that whispered through the house soon after.
And neither of them noticed in the morning that the furniture in the living room had been subtly, slightly moved.
Jim Weldon turned on the fluorescent office lights and shuffled across the carpet to his desk, sitting tiredly down. He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes tightly and pressing against the lids with the palms of his hands. It had been one hellacious day. They had found the rest of Mrs.Selway's body and the bodies of the children in various stages of dismemberment by nightfall, and all of the corpses had been loaded onto Scott Hamilton's truck for the trip back to town.
Jim had ridden with Scott and a few other men to the mortuary and had called the county coroner, while Carl had remained at the dump with the rest of the posse, trying to find the body of Father Selway . Jim had stopped briefly at the newspaper to let Keith Beck know what was happening, then had hurried back out to the dump. Father Selway's body had not been recovered. They had continued searching for another hour and a half with no luck and had finally given it up for the night.
Jim did not think they would ever find the body.
He took his hands from his eyes and let his chair fall forward.
'Supervisor Jones called.'
He stared at the three-word note sitting on top of his desk and swore to himself. Jesus fuck. Leslie Jones. The last thing he needed today was to talk to that bitch. She'd probably found out from the coroner that The Selways’ bodies had been recovered and wanted to chew him out for not finding them sooner, or for not giving them adequate protection while they were alive, or for ... something. She always had some bug up her ass. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it on the floor, shaking his head. Luckily, it was a weekend and her office was closed.
He didn't have her home phone number, so he couldn't return her call until Monday.
He picked up the other messages that had been left on his desk and glanced through them. Beck had called from the newspaper and wanted him to call back as soon as possible. Reverend Paulson from the Presbyterian church had stopped by, but he'd come back tomorrow when things weren't so busy. Annette had called to say that she'd heard what had happened and would hold dinner for him.
Don Wilson had called.
Jim tossed the remaining messages aside and dialed the number written on the small square of pink memo paper. It was late, he knew, but he couldn't afford to take any chances. A woman's voice answered.
