Though he had been tempted, Gordon had said nothing to Brad about Marina's experience with Brother Elias the other night. He could hear Brad shuffling uninterestedly behind him, the heels of his cowboy boots scraping against the loose gravel on the asphalt. 'You've heard enough,' Brad said. 'Let's go.'
Gordon ignored him and moved forward.
'Chaos is Satan's goal! He will stop at nothing less! He intends to unravel ALL of God's work, ALL of man's accomplishments and bring about his OWN world! A world of evil, of blackness, of perpetual night!'
He knew that voice. He had heard it only once, and it had been much quieter, much more subdued, but it had been filled with the same demonic intensity and had been delivered in the same rhythmic cadences. He pushed his way through the crowd, shouldering past old men and young women, stepping over small children in strollers. Until he stood before Brother Elias.
The preacher, wearing the same gray business suit he had worn that day in the hospital, his short hair neatly combed and glistening with some type of application, stood on the small bench in front of the bank, holding a Bible in his right hand as he spoke. Behind him, Gordon could see the faces of the tellers and other bank workers pressed against the tinted glass doors of the building. Brother Elias was pacing, walking back and forth along the rectangular seat of the wooden bench like an animal in its cage. Periodically, he would stop pacing and point his Bible melodramatically at someone in the crowd, his voice rising with fervor. Sunlight glinted off his gold crucifix tie clip.
Brother Elias suddenly crouched low, pointing at a young mother standing next to her infant daughter. He straightened up as he saw Gordon. He stopped speaking, and his black eyes bored into Gordon's.
The expression on his face was so fanatic, his look so hard and determined, that Gordon felt the anger which had been building inside him drain away and metamorphose into something like fear.
The crowd was hushed, waiting for the preacher to speak, and Brother Elias' voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. ''Humble yourselves therefore under the mighty hand of God, that in due time he may exalt you. Cast all your anxieties on him, for he cares about you.
Be sober, be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same experience of suffering is required of your brotherhood throughout the world.' First Peter 5:6.'
Gordon looked away, avoiding the burning black eyes, not quite sure why his heart was pounding wildly in his chest. From far off, on the other side of town, he heard the familiar whine of a siren. Someone, he realized, someone in the bank, must have called the sheriff. He looked again at Brother Elias and saw that the preacher was staring fixedly at him. The preacher had not yet said another word, and vague questioning murmurs were beginning to ripple through the assembled crowd. Brother Elias slowly lifted his Bible and pointed it toward Gordon. 'You and your wife are not without sin.
You are sinners in the eyes of the Lord. Yet you have been chosen by the Lord our God.'
The siren grew louder then abruptly shut off as the car pulled into the parking lot. Gordon turned to look, along with the rest of the crowd, but he could see nothing. Too many heads were in the way. There was the sound of a car door being slammed.
'Out of the way. Come on,Flo , move aside. I have to get through here.' Gordon heard the tired, slightly nasal voice of CarlChmura as the deputy pushed his way through the crowd. He pressed between an old man and woman and nodded curtly to Gordon as he passed by. Brother Elias remained unmoving on top of his bench, staring at Gordon.
The glass double doors of the bank opened andDelmer Rand, the small weasel-like bank manager, stepped officiously out, followed by three or four curious tellers. 'This man has been trespassing, creating a public nuisance and obstructing my business,' he told the deputy. 'I want him arrested.'
Chmuralooked at him condescendingly. 'Let us decide if there are going to be any charges filed here, all right Del?' He turned to look at the preacher, still standing on the bench, and his expression grew tense. His hand snaked to the butt of his nightstick. 'All right, mister,' he said. 'What's your name?'
'Brother Elias.'
At the sound of the name,Chmura stiffened. He looked quickly at Gordon then stepped forward. 'I'm afraid you are under arrest, sir.
You are going to have to come with me.' His hand closed around the nightstick, ready to use it.
Brother Elias nodded agreeably, as if the proposition met with his complete approval, but his eyes lost nothing of their black burning intensity. He stepped down from the bench and held his hands out in front of him, offering the deputy his wrists. 'Would you like to handcuff me, officer?'
Chmurashook his head. 'That won't be necessary. Just come with me to the car.'
The crowd parted to let the two through and immediately began to disperse. Some people followed the deputy and Brother Elias, listening to the deputy read the preacher his rights, but most scattered slowly outward, resuming whatever they had been doing before stopping to listen to the preacher. Gordon looked around for Brad and saw that he was already back in the truck. There was an impatient honk as he saw Gordon walking across the parking lot. He rolled down the window. 'Get your ass in gear! We're already behind schedule!'
Gordon desperately wanted to be there when the sheriff questioned Brother Elias. He had some questions he wanted to ask himself. But he knew that he dare not ask Brad for the day off. The deliveries were running behind schedule, and though Brad hadn't said anything, Gordon knew he was mad about the time he had already taken off.
He ran the last few feet to the truck and hopped into the cab. Brad had already started the engine, and he put the truck immediately into gear, peeling out. Gordon was thrown back into the seat.
Brad grabbed his hat from the seat next to him and put it on. He looked at Gordon. 'So what the hell was all that about?'
Gordon thought for a moment. 'Nothing,' he said.
Jim pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff's office and sat in his car for a moment, staring out at the low gray building. The meeting with McFarland had been a waste of time. He had met the state policeman at the cafe for a late breakfast, hoping to get some idea of where the investigation was headed, what leads were being followed up.
But McFarland had been closemouthed, saying only that Wilson believed they should concentrate their efforts in the Valley. Jim had tried to tell him about Brother Elias, who seemed to him to be intimately connected with at least the fires, but McFarland, very patronizing, had said that theweirdos came out of the woodwork for something like this.
Jim had left early, furious, intending to call Wilson and give him a piece of his mind. This was supposed to have been a joint investigation, an equal partnership, and these young punks were treating him as if he were some rube who didn't know his ass from his elbow.
He drove around town for a while, radio off, windows open, trying to calm down. When at last he no longer felt like doing physical violence to that state asshole, he headed back toward the office.
Now he sat in the car, staring out the dusty windshield. He resented wasting half his morning talking to McFarland. It was like talking to a brick wall. He wished he had never called in the state police, publicity or no publicity. He didn't see where thestaters were helping out a whole hell of a lot anyway.
He got out of the car, pulled up his belt and walked across the parking lot to the office. He nodded at Rita as he walked in. 'Where's the posse searching this morning?' he asked.
'They checked in about an hour ago, said they were still in the Aspen Lake-Milk Ranch Point area. There's a lot of ground to cover there.'
Milk Ranch Point.
Jim remembered the dream he had had about Milk Ranch Point, Don Wilson taking him on a tour of the small white gravestones, and he shivered, feeling the coldness seep through him.
'I'll be back in my office,' he told Rita.
She nodded, pressing a button on the switchboard to answer a call.
Jim started down the hallway, toward the back of the building, when he heard Carl's excited voice behind him. 'Sheriff! I've found him!'
Jim turned around to see Carl leading a conservative-looking business-suited man through the front door. The man was moving along voluntarily, not struggling, but there was defrance in his posture, fight in the movement of
