suspicions to his friend, taking it from the beginning. He told him everything.
When he came to the part about Michelle bending down to kiss him, and the stink of her breath and her reaction to the Holy Cross, Sam almost lost control. He paused for a short time, getting his emotions under control.
Wade didn't know what to believe or how to react. Coming from another man, the editor would have openly laughed. But this was Sam, one of the most level-headed men he'd ever known. He ran a shaky hand across his face. 'Good God, Sam!'
'Yes,' the minister said, his voice firming. 'I think God is about all we have to count on in Whitfield.'
'We'll call the authorities,' Wade reached for the phone.
'No, we won't!' Sam said. 'It's too late for that.'
Puzzled eyes lifted to touch the minister's hard gaze. Wade pulled his hand from the phone. 'What do you mean, Sam—too late?'
'I—I believe there is just a handful of Christians left in Whitfield, in this part of Fork, and we're growing smaller in number with each passing hour. I think right now, Wade, we'd better go see Father Dubois. Perhaps he can shed some light on what's happening around here.'
Wade's usual demeanor had returned; the reporter's attitude on nearly everthing: cynical, doubting. 'Sam? You really believe all you've told me, don't you? All this body snatching that's been going on—where are they? Do they prowl the streets at night? Come on, Sam, you're a grown man who is under a terrible strain at home. Now all things can be explained. Surely you don't believe—?'
'I don't know what I believe, Wade. And that's the truth. I need some answers; you need some answers. So let's go find them.'
Wade stood up, his ears doubting what he'd heard but willing to go along with his minister—for a time. 'Next thing you'll be telling me is that Frankenstein is lurking outside Whitfield.'
'Frankenstein is not mentioned in the Bible, Wade. The devil is.'
Father Dubois opened the rear door of the rectory. He did not seem surprised to see either Sam or Wade. The old priest smiled. 'Come in, gentlemen.' He looked at Sam. 'I've been expecting you.'
The preacher and the editor followed the priest into his small living quarters. Lucas Monroe of the Methodist Church and Father Glen Haskell of the Episcopal Church sat on the couch. They smiled their greetings.
Sam said, 'Is this it? The sum total of Whitfield's faith? Us?'
Father Haskell smiled knowingly. 'You're here, Sam, so you must have put it all together. You know the answer to your question.'
Sam remembered seeing several ministers in that parade of cars the night before. 'I know about Jack Anglin and Bert Justis. But the others?'
Lucas slowly nodded his head. 'Yes, so do we. Roger Owens and Leon Carson have also joined—Them.'
'Them?' Wade sat down without being asked. 'You people seem as calm and as certain about this as—death!' He lost his temper. 'What is going on!? You people act as though you've known about this . . . this . . . whatever the hell it is all along.'
'Calm yourself,' Dubois urged him gently. 'Now is the time for unity, not panic. As to your question, yes—I believe we all sensed something at about the same time. Except for me, of course—I've known it was here for a long while. What I didn't know was when it would surface.'
Wade fumbled in his shirt pocket for a cigarette, lighting it with fingers that trembled despite himself. 'This is all a bad dream. Pretty soon I'm going to wake up and return to reality.'
Dubois smiled. 'Not likely, son. This is reality. I assure you of that.'
'May I use your phone?' Sam asked.
'Certainly.'
He decided not to call Chester—not yet. He didn't want to let the women in on all of this, not for a while. And if they were being watched—as Sam suspected they were—he didn't want to alarm the watchers. He dialed Miles' number at the store.
'Miles? I think you better come on over to the rectory. I want you to sit in on this. Five minutes. See you then.'
'I'll make more coffee,' Dubois said.
'A Jew in a Catholic rectory,' Miles said, taking the cup of coffee offered him by Dubois. Miles smiled. 'My father always said I had a strange sense of humor.'
'Sit down, Miles,' Dubois said, returning the smile. 'I really don't wear a tail and horns. '
'Who does?' the Jew countered.
'Ah,' Dubois said. 'But for a time, just before the Christian era, do you doubt Jews took Satan seriously?'
'Never too deeply rooted,' Miles sat down, sipping his coffee, smiling.
'What are you two talking about?' Wade asked, irritation in his tone.
He was ignored.
'Do you really believe the Book of Job is fiction?' Dubois asked.
Miles shrugged. 'I've drifted away from my faith, Michael,' he said, calling the priest by his first name. 'So I suppose I'm open to real proof.'
'But you're here.'
'Yes. I can't deny that, can I?'
'But you won't admit Satan is real?'
