Devil's Kiss

'Oh, yes. Jimmy called me first, then Father Dubois.'

'Was there anything . . . unusual that you noticed?'

'What do you mean, Sam?'

'An odor, perhaps?'

Tony slowly shook his head. 'Yes, now that you mention it, there was an odor. A very bad odor. Faint, but still present. I—uh—can't describe it; I've never smelled anything quite like it.'

'I was afraid of this. They've begun coming into town.'

'I beg your pardon, Sam?'

'Get your car, Tony—follow us to Chester's. There's something you'd better hear.'

A very stunned and pale young doctor sat on the couch in Chester's den, his coffee cold and forgotten on the table. He lifted his eyes to Sam's. 'You're kidding, of course?' There was a hopeful tone in his voice.

'No, Tony,' Father Dubois said. 'It's all true.'

The priest had been called, as had Father Haskell. Peter Canford stood beside Jimmy Perkins.

'Reverend Monroe is dead!' Jimmy said. 'And you killed him, Sam? My God!'

Peter spoke for the first time, other than the greetings when he entered the house. His voice was dead, almost void of emotion. 'When I got home from John's funeral, there was a note. Pat said she'd had enough of my so-called Christian ways. The note was very profane.' He put his face in his hands and wept.

Dubois walked to his side, putting an arm around his shoulders. He did not try to verbally comfort him, just patted him on the shoulder, letting the young man know he was there, ready to help in any way he could.

'I'll make some coffee,' Faye said.

'And some sandwiches,' Anita said, getting up from her chair. 'I'll help you.'

'Have you had time to read the journals?' Sam asked Wade.

'Yes,' the editor said, 'some of them. Dad suspected all along what is—' he stumbled for a moment, 'happening here now. But he couldn't come up with any concrete proof. None to take to the law. I know the feeling,' he said, biting at his words. 'Dad wrote that he felt the devil was after him, but he wasn't going to get him.'

'That's why he shot himself?' Sam asked.

Chester looked up. 'Your father shot himself?'

Slowly, Wade told the story, filling in the gaps that for years had puzzled many residents of Whitfield, himself included. 'But pieces still don't fit,' he mused aloud. 'There are things that just don't quite jell in my mind. About us, I mean.'

'Yes,' his wife said. 'We were just talking about that in the kitchen. Why us? Why were we—spared?'

Jane Ann put her coffee cup carefully on the table, in the saucer, her face a study in concentration. 'Sam? Did you ever listen to the local radio station?'

'Rarely, but I think I know what you're getting at. I've had the same suspicions of late. Go ahead, though, let me hear your thoughts.'

She looked at each person in the den. 'Did any of you ever listen to the station?'

'No,' Chester said. 'Can't stand country and western music, and I certainly can't tolerate this new rock and roll. Besides, when I did accidently tune in, I got nervous. I mean—I felt strange when I listened.'

They all denied ever listening very much to the local station. But all admitted when they did listen, it made them nervous.

'For years,' Jimmy said, 'it was kind of a blah station. The old people listened to it mostly. Then, after Sorenson bought it, he brought in a whole new crew; changed the programing completely. Hillbilly for the adults, rock and roll for the kids.'

'That's right,' Peter said. 'Something else, too; after Sorenson bought it, he stopped all religious programing. On Sunday's, it was all rock and roll.'

'It wasn't a very powerful station, was it?' Sam asked.

'No,' Wade said. 'Two hundred and fifty watts. And the tower was in a bad location, so I'm told. Twenty miles out of town, you couldn't pick it up.'

'And the nearest town is over forty miles away,' Jane Ann added.

'This new crew Sorenson brought in,' Sam said, 'was there anything—odd about them?'

Most agreed they never saw much of them. They tended to stay by themselves, in a mobile home.

'Yes,' Jimmy said. 'Yes, there was something. I remember now. They all wore medallions about their necks.'

'That's right!' Wade snapped his fingers. 'I always thought it was some kind of station symbol, or something like that.'

'It was,' Sam said. 'Of the worst kind.'

'What does the station have to do with all this, Sam?' Father Haskell asked.

'Mind implantation. The government has proven it. It works.'

'I'm afraid I'm a bit behind times,' Dubois confessed. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'The message would be very short,' Sam said. 'Perhaps one tenth of a second. So short the conscious mind would not realize it had heard anything. But the subconscious would record and remember it. Over a period of months, a person would have heard that message millions of times. It would be a part of them. If the message played on some secret desire, such as—oh—sex, power, money, revenge—whatever—a person could be won over. Like hypnotism, only much more insidious.'

Chester nodded. 'Yes, now I recall. Jack and Ruby would lock themselves in a bedroom, listening to the rock and roll. When it was over, or if one of us would make them turn it off, they'd be surly, restless; they would want to do—wild things. And did do them!'

Jimmy rose to pace the den. 'My girl did the same thing. I used to have to make her turn the radio down or off. She was receiving messages from it.'

'The same with my wife,' Peter noted. 'I bought her an expensive combination radio/Hi-Fi set just so she could listen to that crap!'

'But, Sam?' Doris asked. 'Why didn't it affect all the kids? It didn't seem to bother our two. Or Wade or Anita's.'

'I can't answer that, Doris. I just don't know.'

'Our kids never listened much to the radio,' Anita said. 'We,' she looked at her husband, 'always listened to classical music. So did Miles and Doris's kids. We became friends partly because of our mutual interest in good music.'

'Of late,' Chester said, 'oh, probably within the last six months, our two have begun running with some—well, wild kids. Guess that's where they got hooked. I'd try to talk with them, so did Faye, but it just seemed to bounce right off them.'

It was late afternoon, the shadows moving through the town, thickening around the houses.

'Don't be afraid,' Father Dubois smiled, sensing the fear building in some of the people. 'This is God's day. Satan can make no move against us on this day.'

'What do we do?' Tony asked.

'This is what we do,' Sam took command, leaning forward, speaking softly.

Fourteen

Dark when Sam reached the parsonage. The lights were on in the living room. With a dull feeling in his guts, Sam realized Michelle was home and he would have to face her. He hated her!

A virile man, Sam's sex life had been nil for months, and he was very much aware of his need for a woman. His groin told him so when he had looked at Jane Ann that afternoon. The women he had known before becoming a minister walked naked through his mind. Soft breasts and erect nipples, satin-smooth legs, wet mouths, and . . .

He forced those thoughts from his mind as he got out of the car. 'I don't see how priests do it,' he muttered.

The odor in the house hit him when he opened the door. The smell of stale sweat, unwashed bodies, and the musky smell of sex. Everything that had occurred the past days fell on Sam's mind, overpowering the big man. Wild