Anna reluctantly got into the car. Corrie slammed her door, walked around, and got in on the driver's side. She found and put in the Beach Boys' 'Endless Summer,' Anna's favorite tape, while Anna buckled her shoulder harness belt, but it made no difference in her daughter's attitude.
Corrie only half listened to the music as she pulled of the driveway onto the street. She found herself thinking about Rich. He had seemed strange last night. Nervous. He had not said why he'd asked Anna to sleep with them, and she wondered if he'd heard the voice of Christ.
She had heard the voice. She'd heard it clearly.
And it had told her to bring her daughter to the church.
The morning was clear, but there were clouds in the west, a light band of gray that stretched across the horizon, dividing the sky. She felt good as she drove, content to the core of her being, happy and grateful that she had been chosen to do the Lord's bidding. Her contentment grew the closer she drove to the church, Jesus' home. He lives here now.
Corrie pulled to a stop in front of the interconnected black buildings, unbuckling her shoulder harness. Anna did not do the same, as she usually did, but instead remained tightly buckled in place. She was tense, her little neck stiff, her eyes wide as she stared at the church. 'I want to go to school,' Anna said.
'You're not going to school today,' Corrie said. 'I want to go home.'
'You're going to church.'
'Daddy doesn't want me to go to church.' Anna was clearly frightened.
'I don't care what Daddy wants. Mommy wants you to go to church.'
Anna reached instinctively for the thin bracelet around her mist, holding it tightly, her fingers pressing against the small piece of jade.
'And you don't need that,' Corrie said, reaching over and ripping the bracelet off her daughter's wrist. She threw the bracelet out the car window. It landed in the gutter on a bed of dead leaves.
'Nol' Anna cried.
'Shut up,' Corrie said, and there was enough seriousness in her tone of voice that Anna was cowed into silence. 'It's time to meet Jesus'
Corrie said.
Anna burst into tears. There was none of the usual sniffling and blinking, the attention-grabbing preliminaries that gradually grew into a full-fledged cry, there was only this sudden onslaught of full blown emotion, and Corrie was momentarily taken aback, unprepared for this response. Anna had not behaved like this for over two years, since her Terrible Temper Tantrum days, and Corrie was brought back to herself by the ferocity of her daughter's reaction. Anna was frightened. No, not just frightened. Terrified. And it was her responsibility as a mother to comfort and reassure her daughter.
She reached instinctively for Anna, ready-to give her a warm hug and tell her everything was okay, when a more reasonable, less emotional voice within her said that Jesus would not like this. This was not what He wanted.
Instead of hugging Anna, she slapped the girl across the face. Hard.
'Shut up,' she said. 'The Lord Jesus Christ is waiting for us.'
Anna did not shut up. Her crying grew louder, wilder, and when Corrie unbuckled her shoulder harness and tried to drag her across the car seat toward her, Anna put up a right, kicking and lashing out with her small fists.
'I'll help you.'
Corrie looked through her window to see Pastor Wheeler smiling in at her. Her heart gave a quick involuntary leap in her chest, then she was opening the door and climbing out. 'I'll get her,' she said.
'She's my daughter.' Corrie walked around the front of the car and opened the passenger door, grabbing Anna by the arm and yanking. There was a muffled crack, the sound of a twig snapping under a blanket, and then Anna was not crying but screaming, a single long sustained note that sounded louder than an air raid siren in the morning stillness.
Corrie knew that she had broken her daughter's arm, but the feeling that rushed through her now was anger, not sympathy, and she did not let go, pulling harder until Anna was all the way out of the car.
Wheeler took the girl's other arm, put a hand over her mouth, and between the two of them, they dragged the girl into the church.
The church.
It had changed, even since Tuesday, the last time she'd been here. The empty shells of the Savior's sacrifices were arranged around the perimeter of the chapel in staged scenes from the scriptures, and they were beautiful: the resurrection of Lazarus, the death of John the Baptist, the confrontation between David and Goliath. The bodies were positioned in amazingly lifelike poses, their forms sculpted into Art by the hand of Jesus..
She let go of Anna, leaving her in the pastor's hands and walking slowly around the openings in the floor, following the walls of the chapel. She stared, mesmerized, at the sculptures, awed and overwhelmed by the divine inspiration that had created wonderment from such un inspired material. Tears of joy rolled down her face as she recognized the mortal coils of several of the people who had volunteered their lives for the glory of Christ, and she thought that this would indeed be a glorious way to slough off the burden of life.
She reached the front of the chapel and stood there for a moment, staring upward. On the raised pulpit was an oversize throne made from the bones of men and the heads of jackals.
The Throne of God.
A thrill of fear and excitement, exquisitely mingled, ran through her as she eyed the magnificent chair.
'Jesus is waiting,' the preacher reminded her.
The sound of his voice broke the spell, and she turned to face him. He was on the other side of the first hole, both arms locked around Anna.
She nodded and started around the hole toward him. It should have smelled horribly here, she thought, surrounded by the castoff vessels of those who had ascended to heaven, but Jesus had somehow metamorphosed the odor of the dead bodies into a scent more lovely than that of the most fragrant and beautiful bouquet, and she breathed deeply as she walked, inhaling the perfumed air. She reached the other side and held her arms out for her daughter, but Wheeler pulled away.
'He is come,' he said.
There was coldness in the air, the coldness of the grave. It lasted only for a fraction of a second, but it was enough to cast doubt on everything she'd experienced here, everything she saw before her. She suddenly thought that she should take Anna to the Emergency Room and get her arm set.
And then those thoughts fled.
Jesus arose from the opening n the earth on a beam of light, His radiance illuminating the interior of the chapel, brightening even the dark corners of the pulpit. Corrie fell to her knees, her heart hammering crazily, the accelerated pulse thumping in her head and chest and stomach, echoing between her legs in a sensuous thing.
'I have brought them,' the preacher said.
'Yes.' The Savior's voice was like golden chimes in clear spring air..
I love you, Corrie wanted to say, but her lips would not move, no words would come.
Jesus smiled upon her. 'I know. 'He touched her head gently, tilted it.
Bit into her neck.
Corrie died screaming, thrashing in agony, the substance of her form withering, shrinking as the liquid drained out of it and into the hungry open mouth of Jesus
Christ.
Five feet away, trembling with terror, Wheeler watched.
At one time, he would have looked away, would not have been able to stomach the final minute, but now his gaze was riveted, and he licked his lips with a dry tongue, a thirst growing within him.
Bloodthirst.
Jesus turned, still holding Corrie's shrunken head, and fixed him with eyes of deep solid crimson. The Savior's gaze moved to Anna. He nodded.
With trembling fingers, Wheeler pushed the girl forward. She was whimpering, a quiet, almost inaudible sound released reluctantly from between tightly closed lips. She was not moving, obviously in shock, her eyes fLxed and glassy, and she did not react as Jesus touched her shoulder and drew her to Him.
