when he'd seen that black paint being slopped on, he'd expected an outcry.
He was surprised that it was Father Martinez, though, who was standing before him. The Catholic priest was one of the more liberal and tolerant clergymen in town, and he would have thought that the Baptist or Pentecostal preachers would be the ones to object most strongly and be first with their vocal opposition.
Father Martinez looked into his eyes. 'This is the work of the devil.'
Robert shifted uncomfortably. 'Come on, Father. I know this isn't your cup of tea. It's not mine either, for that matter. But Wheeler's got a right to his own beliefs.'
'It's not just his beliefs,' the priest said. His gaze was unwavering.
'I saw him talking to one of the minions of Satan.'
'Now, Father .. .'
'I'm not just speaking figuratively or metaphorically. I saw him addressing a demon. Literally. Standing there speaking to one of Satan's brethren.' His voice dropped. 'And calling it the name of the Lord.'
The hair on Robert's arms and the back of his neck bristled, propelled by a rash of goose bumps that were not caused by the chill morning air.
'That black church is a blasphemy,' the priest said. 'I won't deny it.
But I recognize its right to exist. I also understand that Mr. Wheeler has been claiming to have spoken with Jesus Christ; some members of my congregation have even gone over to his church because of this claim.
It offends me and angers me, but, again, that is his right. I will not be the one to pass judgment on his deeds.
'But a tolerance of the beliefs of others, no matter how warped or obscene they may be, does not mean that I can sit passively by while the will of Satan is carried out in front of me. It is my duty as a priest, as a Catholic, and as a human being to combat evil.'
'What do you think you saw?'
'It is not what I think I saw, it is what I know I saw. I was walking to St. Mary's this morning, before dawn, as I always do, and when I passed by the black church I heard voices. Two of them; Mr. Wheeler's and a strange, whiny voice. The whiny voice said something I couldn't make out, then Mr. Wheeler said, 'You are the way and the light.'
'I couldn't ignore that. I was near the point where the new part of the church comes close to the sidewalk, and I saw a crack of green light escaping from between two sections of wall. I walked over and peeked in.
'The demon was the source of the light. It was bathed in a greenish glow, and Wheeler was kneeling before it, praying to it. He was addressing the demon as 'Jesus,' and there was rapture on his face, but the demon was not even looking at him. It was staring at me, through the crack in the wall, from across the room.' Father Martinez shuddered. 'And it smiled at me.' 'What did it look like?'
'It was greasy. It was short, dwarfish, and horribly deformed. It looked .. . It reminded me of something I used to dream about as a child, a monster from a movie.' He shook his head. 'I ran all the way to the churchmmy church, St. Mary's---and locked myself in. I prayed for strength and guidance. I prayed for three straight hours. Then I came here to see you.'
Robert nodded understandingly, though he had no idea what he was supposed to be thinking or feeling. He did not believe Father Martinez was lying, but the priest's story did not seem real to him. He felt disassociated from what he had been told, as though he had been listening to someone recount the. plot of a book or a movie, and he had to force himself to pretend to take the priest seriously 'Look,' he said, 'I'm going over to talk to Wheeler this morning. You're welcome to come along and ask him about this.' demon.'
'Oh, no. I couldn't go back there.' '
'Well, what do you want me to do then?'
'Kill him.'
Robert blinked. 'What?
'Kill Mr. Wheeler. Waste the fucker. Then cut off his head.'
Robert stared at Father Martinez, completely at a loss for words. He would have thought he'd imagined what he just heard were it not for the unwavering eyes and the earnest and deadly serious look on the priest's face.
'You can bring his head to me on a plate.'
Robert stiffened. 'If this is a joke--' 'The minions of Satan are no joke.' He didn't know what to say, how to reply.
'You can shoot him if you have to. But the most important thing is to cut off his head. You have to cut off his head.' o
Robert stared at the priest. 'Father, I'm afraid this conversation is over. I don't know whether or not you're serious about this, but if you are, you need help. And not the kind of help the police can give you.'
'You're with him' the priest yelled, and his voice was a shocked accusation. 'You're part of it! You're consorting with the devil!'
Robert had started to turn toward the station, but he suddenly whirled around. 'If you don't leave now, I will be forced to place you under arrest. Do you understand me? I am going to talk to Pastor Wheeler this morning. I will ask about your demon if you want. But if no laws have been broken, there will be no action taken. And there will certainly be no killing.' He glared at Father
Martinez until the priest turned away, then turned and continued across the dirt to the station door.. The Medusa Syndrome.
He would have to call Jacobson, see if the psychiatrist had discovered what Mike Vigil had seen.
And he would have to re-ask Woods's question about the vampire.
Two hours later, Robert pulled up in front of Wheeler's church.
He got out of the car and, hitching up his belt, sauntered over to where permits for the renovation were displayed on a bracketed black post. He scanned the carbon sheets of official paper, shaking his head. Everything appeared to be in order, but he could not figure out how approval from the county planning commission had been granted so quickly. Hell, he'd had a request in for an expansion of the old jail building for two months, and even though the police department was a government agency and its requests were supposedly expedited, the matter had still not come up before the commission. 'God's will.'
Robert jerked his head up to see the Pastor Wheeler staring down at him from the church steps. The words, so closely paralleling an answer to his thoughts, made it almost seem as if the preacher were reading his mind. Wheeler smiled.
That smile made Robert uncomfortable. He had always found the preacher smugly self-satisfied and annoyingly condescending, but there was something else in that smile now. A cruel hardness, a hint of willful malevolence. It was as if Wheeler felt he no longer had to worry about the laws and mores of the material world, as if he was not only convinced that he possessed The Truth but had received concrete assurance that God was acting as his personal bodyguard.
Robert wondered if the preacher really thought he'd spoken to Jesus Christ.
Yes, he thought, looking into Wheeler's face, he did.
Robert glanced down the sidewalk, trying to see where the new addition came closest to the edge of the property line--the spot where Martinez claimed to have peeked inside the church and seen the demon.
'May I help you, Chief Carter?'
Robert turned again to face the preacher. Once more, he shifted his belt, reassured by its weight, by the presence of the holster. He nodded a greeting as he walked across the dirty sidewalk to the steps. 'As a matter of fact, you can. I've had a few complaints lately from some of your neighbors. As I'm sure you know, some of them don't take kindly to construction going on all hours of the day and night.'
Wheeler's smile did not falter. 'Go on.'
'Well, I just thought you could stop the pounding and sawing after six or seven in the evening as sort of a good will gesture. There are some hardworking Christians around here who need their sleep.'
'Good Christians? If they were good Christians, they would understand the importance of the Church of the
Living Christ. If they were good Christians, they would be volunteering to help with the construction of this glory to God's greatness instead of trying to place obstacles in its path.'
That tack had backfired, but Robert kept his voice calm and friendly, maintaining his easy smile. 'That may be true, Reverend, but I think it's a fair request--'
