in the limelight.”
“Why not take him out of the picture?”
“He’s not important unless he has his so-called proof. Eliminating that will be the better strategy—exposing him: the emperor with no clothes. Also, eliminating him risks making him a martyr—and that’d be counterproductive.”
“Okay,” Roman said. “So why’s this miracle kid so important?”
“What kid?”
“Zachary Kashian.”
Babcock’s face did not struggle for an expression or pretend ignorance. “What they’re doing is converting him into Satan’s dupe in order to parade him before the world as evidence they’ve found the afterlife. It’s their grand illusion: Science finds God.”
“Does the kid know what he’s doing?”
“No, but they’re conditioning him to channel the devil.”
“But he quoted Jesus from a coma.”
“That wasn’t Jesus. That was Satan. That’s how he works. That’s his modus operandi—to lie,” Babcock whispered, his face all flushed. “That young man has become Satan’s mouthpiece, his channel, and he doesn’t even know it. At least not yet.”
“What do you mean, ‘not yet’?”
“Once he operates on his own, he’ll achieve their mission.”
“What mission?”
“Bringing to earth the Antichrist.”
“You got to be kidding.”
Babcock pushed his face into the jagged hole from Roman’s fist. His face was full, fleshy, and burning. “Do I look as if I’m kidding, Mr. Pace? He’s their secret weapon.”
“How do you know all this?”
“We have our contacts.”
In spite of himself, an electric glow in Roman’s chest had its source in something close to conviction. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but Roman began to settle into a strange solace. “You going to want me to go after him?”
“Not just yet. They may self-destruct before we get to that.”
“How’s that?”
“Only those nearest the project know who’s been eliminated. Either they’ll take the hint and stop, or they’ll continue. Either way they’ll fail. And there won’t be any going back.”
Roman didn’t understand what he meant, so he remained silent.
“But you’ll hear from us in due time.”
“Meanwhile…?”
“Meanwhile do nothing but pray for your soul.”
Roman slipped the weapon back into the shoulder harness and pulled his jacket forward. He nodded at Babcock and left the booth. The church was still empty.
Instead of going outside, he stopped at the end of the nave and stared into the church. The day was partly overcast, so stray sunlight played through the colors of the stained glass, filling the floor with splashes of reds, greens, blues, and gold.
He looked upward from the stone floor and followed the direction that the architecture pulled the eye to—the circle of colored light over the altar and upward to the vaulted ceiling. The people who designed these churches knew what they were doing, Roman thought. The eyes were drawn from stone-cold mortal earth to heaven.
Roman admired the colors and the art, but he didn’t feel the presence of God. Nor was he sure what that would be like. But standing there, he could sense something higher than himself. And that made him feel good. So did the reassurance that he was still on a mission. He knew he didn’t have it in him to become a regular churchgoer. He didn’t like crowds. He didn’t like people. He was divorced with no children and few friends. So he couldn’t imagine sitting in packed pews with someone in the pulpit booming away in Latin. That was not him. His relationship with God was strictly private.
He dipped his fingers into the holy water and crossed himself.
Then he walked outside into the shafts of sunlight with two thoughts humming in the fore of his brain.
One, that the Reverend Warren Gladstone was a bankroller.
Two, that some just plain college kid might be pitting heaven against hell.
64
It was nearly three in the morning, and Zack and Sarah were still sitting in his apartment, the obits in a pile on the kitchen table between them. “There’s another possibility,” he said.
“What?”
“That I crossed over and linked up with something evil on the other side.”
“Evil? Like supernatural?”
He nodded. “Sarah, my mind feels violated, like I’m psychically bonded to a psychopathic killer.”
“But that’s impossible.”
“Is it? You all said I experienced transcendence, right?”
“Yeah, clinically. But—”
“And my blood showed spikes of rage?”
“Well, the adrenaline—”
“And that I merged with another mind?”
“Possibly.”
“What if that other mind is my dead father?”
“What?”
“I know how crazy that sounds,” he said. “But what if I crossed over and released his spirit, and it’s hot with vengeance, and he went after those bastards. And somehow I mind-linked with him. I’ve been feeling his presence since that first day in the lab.”
“You mean his ghost came back and killed them?”
“Got a better explanation?”
“No. And I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Neither did I, and now I’m afraid of them.”
“Zack, even if ghosts exist, I doubt they can overpower a weightlifter or drive a car.”
“If I didn’t do it myself, then what the hell am I picking up?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t believe you killed them.”
“That’s a relief.” She didn’t want anything, but he went over to the refrigerator for another glass of milk.
“I don’t know. I can’t even explain transcendence, and every metric says your mind left your brain. But I can’t tell you how.”
Zack sipped his milk. “I feel like that kid in
She thought for a moment, then looked up at him. “Maybe you really did have a paranormal experience. Really.”
“That works in books and movies, but how do you explain telepathy or astral projection or whatever the hell in rational terms?”
“Something I’ve been wondering since I started. But if you picked up someone else’s sentience, it has to be through one of the four known force fields—nuclear, atomic, gravity, or electromagnetic. The first two don’t count—
