'Jesus Christ! Is the whole damn world going crazy?' Jim ran an exasperated hand through his sweat-soaked hair and replaced his hat. He slumped in his chair. 'All right,' he sighed. 'Send him in.'
Rita nodded and moved out into the hallway. She looked toward the front desk and beckoned. Jim heard the sound of familiar shoes clomping down the hall. He sat up in his seat and tried to make his expression appear interested and concerned, but it was too much effort and he gave it up.
Gordon walked past the receptionist, who was holding open the door, and into the room. The sheriff motioned for him to sit down. 'What's new today, Mr. Lewis?' he asked tiredly. Rita closed the door behind her.
'I was going to ask you the same question.'
The sheriff smiled. 'Not a damn thing,' he said.
'Look, sheriff--'
'No. You look. I have several murder investigations going on at this moment, several missing person cases and hundreds of thousands of dollars in damages from vandalism that I have to explain.
Your kitty cat is not real high on my list of priorities right now.'
'Yeah. It's small stuff. People break into houses and mutilate kittens all the time.' Gordon stood up. 'Look, Sheriff. My wife is terrified, and I'm not sleeping too well myself. Some fuckingwier do is walking around loose out there and you try to make it sound as though a group of kids was playing a harmless prank. I'm getting pretty damn tired of your--'
'You stop right there,' Jim told him. He stood up and pointed a finger in Gordon's face. 'Don't you say another word.' He glared at Gordon, and the younger man looked embarrassedly away. Jim shook his head.
'Look, I apologize, all right? I didn't mean to dismiss your problem or make it seem unimportant. It's just that there's been a lot on my mind lately. There really are someweirdos out there, and I'm doing my best to keep things under control. A lot of strange things have been happening in this town.'
'I know,' Gordon said. 'One of them happened at my house.' He sat back down.
Jim smiled, the tension eased. He walked over to the window and looked outside. Somewhere on the Rim, search parties were trying to find Jack Harrison, Wayne Fisk, and Matt McDowell. Closer in, the mill was working at only partial power. Many of the workers, Tim McDowell included, were out searching. Jim turned toward Gordon. 'You know Tim McDowell?'
Gordon nodded. 'Yeah. We're good friends. He called me as soon as he found out. I was out searching with him yesterday afternoon.' He kicked at a scrap of paper on the floor. 'It's hard to believe.'
Jim snorted. 'You don't know the half of it. I could tell you things ...' He trailed off. 'Hell, I feel like one of those movie sheriffs surveying the wreckage of his town after the big disaster and saying, 'This used to be a nice place to live.'' He laughed shortly. 'Except I
have this horrible feeling that the big disaster hasn't happened yet.'
'Me too,' Gordon said quietly.
'You too?' The sheriff turned to look at him. 'What do you mean, you too? You have no idea what's going on here.'
'Then tell me.'
Jim stared at him for a moment, as if thinking, then shook his head.
'No.' He moved over to the desk and leaned against it, taking off his hat and setting it on a pile of papers. 'Look, why don't you just go home. I'll call you if anything comes up.'
Gordon looked at him suspiciously.
'I will.' Jim smiled, holding up three pressed-together fingers.
'Sheriff's honor.'
'Okay,' Gordon said, standing up. 'I have a lot of work to do anyway.
My wife wants me to put new dead bolts on all the doors and see if I can do something about the windows. Call me if you find anything out or if you have any more questions about what happened.' He yawned.
'Sorry,' he said, smiling apologetically. 'Between this and the dreams I've been having, I haven't been getting much sleep.'
Jim's bland farewell smile faded. He had been about to open the door for Gordon, but his hand remained unmoving on the round brass doorknob.
'Dreams?' he said.
'Yeah. Nightmares.' Gordon looked at himquizically . 'What does that have to do with anything?'
'Are these normal nightmares?'
'I don't know what you mean by normal--'
'Do you have them often?'
Gordon nodded. 'Fairly often.'
'When did you start having them? Did it all start recently? Say, a month or so ago?'
Gordon looked at him. He started to back slowly toward the desk. 'What is all this?' he asked. 'What do you know?'
An hour later, the two men were speeding down Old Mesa Road past the abandoned hulking building that had once been the town's bowling alley.
'I want you to talk to the priest,' Jim said. 'Tell him what you told me. I'll tell him what I know, too. I've kind of hinted around about things, but I haven't come out and told him what I really think.' He turned onto a side street. 'I met Father Andrews a few days ago when his place was vandalized. He's a very intelligent man. He knows a hell of a lot about ESP and parapsychology and all that. I think he can help us out a lot.'
'His place was vandalized, too?'
'Much worse than yours. The whole library was destroyed; books torn up, pages covered with shit.' He looked at Gordon. 'I mean real shit.
Human excrement. The whole thing set on fire--'
'Was this his house or Father Selway's ?' Gordon asked suddenly.
'Selway's.'
'You think maybe they're connected?'
The sheriff nodded grimly. 'I'm sure of it.'
The car pulled up in front of a one-story wood-frame structure set back from the road. An old black Plymouth was parked in the dirt driveway.
The sheriff stopped the car and got out. Gordon got out as well and followed him up the path toward the front door.
They were almost to the door when a clean-shaven man with short blond hair, wearing jeans and an old work shirt, peeked around the corner of the house. 'I thought I heard someone pull up,' he said. He waved at Jim with a dirty trowel. 'I'm back here, trying to put together some sort of garden.'
The two walked around the edge of the house. The priest was standing next to a large rectangular patch of cleared ground that covered almost the entire side yard. The soil here had been recently tilled, and a pile of dried weeds andmanzanita bushes was pushed against the wall of the house. A few tentative rows had been started in the dirt at the far end of the rectangle. The priest dropped his trowel next to a stack of seed packets and wiped his hands on his jeans before offering one to Gordon. 'Father Donald Andrews,' he said. 'First Episcopal Church.'
Gordon shook the priest's hand. 'Gordon Lewis,' he said. 'Pepsi deliveryman.'
The priest laughed. He shook hands with the sheriff. 'What can I do for you gentlemen?'
Jim looked at Gordon, then back at the priest. 'We have to talk.
There are some things I'd like to tell you.'
Father Andrews' face became serious as he listened to the sheriff's tone of voice. 'Is this along the lines of what we were discussing the other day?'
Jim nodded.
'I thought so. I had a feeling you were keeping something back; though I hoped I was wrong.' He picked up his stack of seeds and started walking toward the rear of the house. 'Come on. We can talk inside.'
Jim and Gordon sat on opposite ends of the couch in the living room while Father Andrews washed up and put on a pot of tea. The priest emerged from the kitchen a few moments later and sat down in the large overstuffed chair opposite the couch. He looked at the sheriff. 'So what is all this about?'
