her head back again and began to babble at the top of her lungs. Saliva flew from her lips, dripped down her chin.
There'd already been a good deal too much shouting, as far as I was concerned, and the woman's sudden, very loud fit of glossolalia wasn't helpful to either my nerves or the situation. 'Sorry, ma'am,' I said as I stepped quickly across the room and clipped her on the chin. The speaking in tongues stopped, and she collapsed to the floor.
I went back into the other room, walked over to the clock radio, which now read 10:50; I reached out with a trembling hand, turned it on.
The radio was tuned to a country radio station, which was playing a Hank Williams tune. I slowly turned the dial, got light classical music, a talk show, a New Year's Eve party, a news report on local weather conditions.
It was almost one in the morning in New York, but the bombs had not exploded-yet; it had to mean that the transmitter was set to Mountain Time. We still had a little more than an hour. I heaved a deep sigh of relief, shut the radio off.
Where the hell was Garth?
But I didn't have time to worry about my brother, and I didn't think it was a good strategy to follow in his footsteps. I had to assume that he was taking care of business. While it was true that the transmitter might be somewhere in the church, and while there was always the possibility that Garth had been captured, I didn't think I should go there until I had explored other possibilities. Eden was a big place.
I was going to have to have a serious talk with Vicky Brown's father.
Suddenly a hot flush spread over my body, and I felt faint. Sweat popped out on my forehead, rolled down my face. My vision blurred. Just what I needed.
There was a small bathroom off the living room. I went into it and splashed cold water over my face. Then I took out the bottle of green pills. I shook one out, started to put it in my mouth, then thought better of it. I was very sick, to be sure, and feverish once again. I was probably hanging by my toenails over the edge of exhaustion- but I remembered the reaction I had suffered earlier, and I didn't want to risk having that happen to me again; if I passed out at any time in the next hour, I could well wake up in a world that had been forever changed, one with a few million fewer people in it and clouds of deadly radiation circling the planet. I tossed the pill in the toilet.
I pulled down the shower curtain and grabbed a towel, intending to use the items to bind the couple and gag the woman before I had my chat with Mr. Brown. I walked into the other room, stopped abruptly when I saw the child, dressed in a white terry-cloth robe like her parents, standing at the bottom of the staircase, which I assumed led to her upstairs bedroom. Considering all the commotion, I supposed it was surprising she hadn't come down before, and I knew I was lucky someone hadn't come to investigate.
The girl, rubbing her knuckles into eyes that were puffy with sleep, was staring at her parents on the floor, perhaps thinking that they were asleep. She was a beautiful child, with the same light, Nordic features as her parents. When she took her hands away from her eyes I could see that they were a pale blue. As I watched her I felt my boundless rage at the dead William Kenecky rekindled. I wondered how much damage, physically and emotionally, he'd done to her, and if it could ever be repaired.
'Vicky?' I said softly.
The child looked at me, then back at her parents-and perhaps saw the blood trickling from the gash I'd put into her father's left temple. She looked at me again, and her cherubic features twisted with anger at the same time as tears welled in her eyes.
'What have you done to my mommy and daddy?!' she screamed, and then came running across the room, tiny fists raised in the air. She reached me, began pounding my chest and face. 'You hurt my mommy and daddy! You're a demon! I won't let you hurt my mommy and daddy anymore! Go away and leave us alone, you demon!'
As the tiny fists flailed at me I felt tears well in my own eyes; I was struck by the incredible courage of this child who would attack a demon with her bare hands in order to protect her mother and father. I decided that she'd survive her trauma at the hands and penis of William Kenecky-and possibly, with some good professional help, the poisonous spiritual growth undoubtedly already growing in her mind from seeds planted by her parents and the other lunatics she'd been living around might be uprooted.
'Vicky, listen to me,' I said in an urgent whisper as I reached through the pounding fists, gently grasped the child, and pulled her to me. 'Shhh. I've come from Santa.'
'You're a demon!' she shouted as she pulled her hands free and began to pound at my head again.
'No. I'm one of Santa's helpers. Look at me. Don't I look like one of Santa's helpers?'
That got her attention; she stopped pounding, carefully looked me up and down. 'You're all dirty,' she announced. 'And you smell terrible.'
'That's because I fell in the mud on my way here. You have to listen to me, Vicky, and don't shout anymore. Santa got your letter asking for a puppy and telling him how Reverend Bill was hurting you and doing other bad things. Santa has a puppy for you, but it was even more important to him to make sure you weren't hurt any more. Santa can't stand it when children are hurt, and so he sent me to make things right for you.'
Vicky Brown's tiny brow wrinkled in a puzzled frown, and there seemed to be a newfound-if tentative-respect in her pale blue eyes. 'You really are one of Santa's helpers?' she said in a small voice. 'It's the truth?'
'Santa's helpers never lie,' I answered, and cast a quick glance over at the girl's parents. They were both beginning to stir, and that didn't bode well; I thought it might be a little difficult to explain to the girl why one of Santa's helpers had been bashing her parents around. 'Can't you see that I'm an elf?'
'What's your name?' she asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.
'Mr. Mongo. I'm one of Santa's helpers who takes care of heavy duty. . uh, Santa sends me out to take care of people who hurt little girls and boys. I'm his toughest helper.'
Mr. Brown moaned, then fell silent again. Mrs. Brown, however, was starting to come around. One leg twitched, and she started to raise her head.
'You sure you're not a demon?'
'Yes, Vicky. Uh, why don't you go into the bathroom and spla-'
'How come you have on pink sneakers?' she asked in an accusatory tone as she pointed a tiny finger at my unusual footgear, which the streams I'd waded through on my way from the swamp had washed clean. I decided that her interrogation techniques were as good as, probably better than, Malachy McCloskey's. 'Elves don't wear pink sneakers. They wear shoes with pointy toes.'
'Only the elves who make toys in Santa's workshop wear shoes with pointy toes,' I said tightly, keeping my eye on the woman, who was now pushing herself up from the floor with her hands, shaking her head. The child's back was to her parents, but in another few seconds I was going to have to make some kind of move, and it looked like it was going to have to be an unpleasant one. 'Tough elves like me who are sent out to help little girls wear pink sneakers.'
'I have to go to the bathroom, Mr. Mongo.'
Ah. 'You go right ahead, Vicky. I'll be right here when you come back. We'll talk about your puppy.'
She'd no sooner stepped into the other room than I was across the floor. I stepped in front of the woman, once again clipped her on the chin-this time more gently, using the heel of my hand. I caught her head, eased it down to the floor, put the towel under it. Then I checked the man's pulse and breathing. I'd apparently hit him harder than I'd intended, but I decided that he'd be all right as soon as he slept a little longer.
Next I checked on the clock radio in the other room. It read 11:05. I returned to the unconscious couple, made a show of covering the woman with an afghan from a sofa set against the wall. The child had become the key, and I couldn't rush.
The child, still looking sleepy, entered the room. Now apparently trusting me completely, she came over to where I knelt beside her mother, wrapped her arms around my neck, and rested her head on my chest.
'What's wrong with Mommy and Daddy, Mr. Mongo?'
'I … I had to make them go to sleep, Vicky.'
'Why?'
'For two reasons, Vicky. First, they might not understand that I have to find something and shut it off before it hurts other little girls and boys like you. Second, because they might want to hurt themselves-and you-if I didn't make them go to sleep.'
'Why would Mommy and Daddy want to hurt me, Mr. Mongo?'
