Falconer grinned. He clapped his hands together like a second gunshot, and shouted, 'Glory be to God, 'cause there's power in the blood!' He lifted his head upward like a dog baying toward the moon. 'Praise be the Light! Praise be the Redemption of the Sinnnnner!' Then he was right at the edge of the platform, falling down on his knees with his hands tightly clasped. He whispered, 'And do you know how to find that Light, neighbors? Do you know how to renounce your sins and get out of that dark place? You've got to confess those sins!' He leaped up, bounding across the platform. His face streamed with sweat. 'Confess! Give it all up to Jeeeesus! You've got to lay that darrrrk place out for the Lord to see!'
Confess? Billy thought, his heart hammering. Is that what I have to do to get it out of me? Around him people were crying and moaning; his daddy's head was bowed in prayer, his momma was staring straight at the evangelist with a glazed look in her eyes. Confess? Billy asked himself, feeling a shiver of terror; if he didn't confess, how would he ever escape the dark place?
'Confess! Confess! Confess!' Falconer was shouting, pointing his finger at random into the congregation. A heavy-hipped woman in a print dress stood up and began shaking, strange gurglings coming out of her mouth as her eyes rolled back in her head. She lifted her fleshy arms, crying out, 'Praise God!' through the gibberish. Then a crewcut man in overalls rose to his feet and began jumping as if buck dancing, his boots stirring up clouds of sawdust. 'CONFESS! CONFESS!' the evangelist roared. 'Get out of that dark, dark place in your soul! Lay it out for the Lord!' He paced the platform, raising people from their seats with broad sweeps of his arms, as if they were attached to him on strings. John stood up and pulled Billy with him. 'Glory be to God!' John shouted.
Falconer clutched at the microphone. 'Is the Spirit with us tonight, neighbors?'
'YES!'
'Are we gonna lay it all out for the Lord tonight?'
'YES!'
Organ chords crashed through the speakers. The choir began to sing 'Love Lifted Me,' and Falconer returned the microphone to its cradle, then clapped in rhythm to the music until everyone in the tent was clapping and singing. The golden light was full of sawdust, the air heavy and sweat-drenched. As the collection plate passed Billy, he saw it was filled with dollar bills.
When the offering was over and the plates had been taken up, Falconer shed his yellow coat and turned his blazing smile on full wattage. His shirt stuck to his back and ample belly. 'Folks,' he said, 'maybe you didn't come here tonight just to hear me preach. Maybe you have other needs that have to be met. Right now I want to introduce somebody who's real close to my heart. You might've heard about this young man. Folks, here's my son— Little Wayne Falconer!'
There were loud whoops and hollers, and a small figure in a bright yellow suit ran up the steps to the platform, throwing himself into his father's arms. The evangelist caught him, and grinning, held him high. Billy craned his neck to get a good look. The little boy in Falconer's arms had a mass of curly red hair, and his smile was even more incandescent than his father's. Staring at him as the people in the audience shouted and applauded, Billy felt a strange stirring in the pit of his stomach. The boy's gaze swept the crowd and seemingly lingered on him for a few seconds. Billy had the sudden urge to race forward to that stage and touch that boy.
'Wayne?' the evangelist asked. 'Do you feel the Presence in this tent tonight?'
A silence fell. 'Yes, Daddy,' the little boy said into the microphone.
'Do you hear the Presence callin' on you to do miracles?'
'Yes, Daddy.'
'Miracles!' Falconer shouted to the congregation. 'You heard me right! The Lord has seen fit to work through my son! This boy has a power in him that'll shake you to your shoes, neighbors!' He lifted the boy as high as he could, and Wayne beamed. Again, Billy felt drawn toward that boy. 'Are there those here tonight in need of healing?'
'Yes!' many in the audience cried out. Ramona saw that the young woman with the dying child—purplish black cocoon writhing, pulsating, sending out oily tendrils—had raised both arms, tears rolling down her face. The child clung around her neck, while the father whispered to him and smoothed his hair.
'Wayne, is the Presence gonna work through you tonight?'
The little boy's eyes glowed with inner fire. He nodded.
Falconer set his son down, then handed the microphone to Wayne. Then he lifted his arms and shouted to the audience, 'DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?'
The tent was filled with clamorous shouts and cries, and already people were rising from their seats to approach the platform. Electricity sparked in the air. Beside Billy, John was dazed and weak with excitement.
Wayne Falconer took a stance like a fighting rooster at the platform's edge. His jaw was set and determined, though his eyes flickered nervously back and forth across the tent. 'Who needs a miracle here tonight?' he called out, in a voice that carried almost as much power as his father's.
People started pushing forward, many of them weeping. Ramona watched the couple with the dying child stand up and get in the line that was forming along the aisle. 'Come on!' Wayne shouted. 'Don't be afraid!' He glanced back at his father for reassurance, then stretched out his hand for the first person in line, an elderly man in a red checked shirt. 'Let the Lord work His miracles!'
The man gripped Wayne's hand. 'What's your sickness, brother?' Wayne asked, and put the microphone to the man's lips.
'My stomach's got pains . . . my joints, oh Lord God they're always achin', and I can't sleep at night . . . I'm sick . . .'
Wayne placed his hand on the man's brown, creased forehead and closed his eyes tightly. 'Satan's causin' this sufferin'!' he cried out. 'Satan's in you, 'cause people with God in their souls don't get sick!' He'clamped his small hand to the man's head. 'Come out, Satan of pain and sickness! I command you to come
The line kept moving forward, full of people whose knees were aching, whose hearing was deteriorating, who were short of breath. Wayne healed them all, commanding the Satan of bad knees, bad hearing, and shortness of breath to leave their bodies. Behind him, Falconer smiled proudly and urged people to come up.
Ramona saw the couple with the child reach the platform. Wayne thrust the microphone to the woman's lips.
'Donnie's so weak,' she said in an emotion-laden voice. 'Something's wrong with his blood, the doctors say.' She sobbed brokenly. 'Oh God sweet Jesus we're poor sinners, and we had to give up one baby 'cause there weren't no food. God's punishin' me 'cause I went and sold our little baby to a man in Fayette. . . .'
Wayne gripped the boy's head. The child began crying weakly. 'Satan's in this boy's blood! I command you, Satan—come out!' The child jerked and wailed. 'He won't need a doctor again!' Wayne said. 'He's healed!'
Ramona reached for Billy's hand. She clenched it tightly, her insides trembling. The black aura around that child had gotten deeper and stronger. Now the parents were grinning and sobbing, hugging the little boy between them. The black aura swelled. She stared at Wayne Falconer, her eyes widening. 'No,' she whispered. 'No, it's not true. ...'
And to her horror, she saw an aged woman leaning on a cane stagger forward. The black aura clung to this woman too. The woman spoke into the microphone about her heart pains, and she said she was taking medicine but needed a miracle.
'Throw away that medicine, sister!' Wayne crowed as she was helped away by an usher. 'You're healed, you
