The Visitation Part 37

"I'LL BET you never imagined you were so enlightened."

I'd no sooner come in the door than the phone rang. It was Brandon Nichols alias Herb Johnson alias Justin Cantwell. I half-expected this call. "h.e.l.lo, Justin."

He betrayed no reaction to my use of his third name. "Did you talk with Pastor Dale?"

I sat on the couch, smiling at his question. "Pastor Dale was unavailable."

"Oh really?"

"I talked to Miles Newberry."

He laughed. "Ah, good old Miles. A man you can talk to for hours and never really meet."

I had to laugh. "That was the feeling I got." I quickly added, "But he says you were trouble, Justin."

"I was. They all came within a fraction of an inch of being embarra.s.sed. As the saying goes, I wish I'd had a camera. But did you notice, Travis? There's something different about you. You've grown. The old game hasn't changed, but you have."

I suppressed a little chuckle. He was right. "I used to buy everything that guy said."

"And you did what he told you to do."

"Oh yes."

"And you felt guilty whenever he said so."

"Oh yeah."

"And any misgivings were your fault, every time."

"Yep."

"And this time he tried to scare you . . . but you didn't scare.

Why is that?"

"I've been trying to figure out why."

"You weren't born yesterday, that's why. Time's gone by, water's flowed under the bridge. Their game only works on certain people and you don't fit the profile anymore."

"I think that's a good thing."

"Oh, it's good, Travis."

"Sometimes it can feel pretty miserable."

"I'm not worried. Day by day I can see you coming around. The more you try to find out about me, the more you discover about yourself. It's just like I've always told you, we're very much the same. Of course, you didn't find out much, did you-about me, that is?"

"Miles gave me another name for you. That's number three now."

"But you don't know if that's the right one, either. How much time are you willing to waste tracking it down?"

"I don't know. I think it would help greatly if you'd stop the charade and just tell me who you are."

"Stop the charade?" He laughed a spiteful laugh. "And be the first man of G.o.d on the face of the earth to do so?"

"Hey, c'mon now, you know that's not fair."

"No malice intended, Travis. That's just the way it is. Ministers are supposed to have their lives together and be an example. They're supposed to have all the answers. Well, they don't, so they pretend because they have to."

"Some of them get sick of pretending."

"And I commend you." His voice turned bitter. "But some of them love pretending. It gives them a rush to think of all the people they're fooling." Suddenly he mimicked the tone of a fiery, southern preacher. "You are a sinnuh, saved by grice! Come to Geee-sus and you shall be clean-then follow me, 'cause I make the rules!"

"Salvation by grace. Christianity by performance."

"You have been there! Travis. Move on. Let it go. You've grown since the Cathedral. You can keep growing. I still have a place for you."

"Hm. Get out of one charade so I can join the biggest charade of all? I'll have to think about that one."

"I'm not worried."

"And I'm sure you have nothing more to say to me about yourself."

"Not today."

"Good-bye, then."

NANCY BARRONS sat at her desk in the back of the Antioch Harvester and Office Supply, listening to hold music on her telephone.

It was usually this way whenever she called the county Health Department.

Finally, "This is Pete Jameson."

"Hi, Pete. This is Nancy Barrons."

"Oh, hi, Nancy. What's up?"

"I've got some questions about that water project up at the Macon ranch. You inspected that, didn't you?"

"Uh, yeah. Let's see, that was an upgrade, wasn't it? A new storage tank and three pressure tanks."

"What about the water source?"

"Uh, that was a private well."

"And?"

"What do you mean, and?"

"I was talking to Mrs. Macon the other day and she told me they had to develop a spring two miles behind the house."

"Not for me, they didn't."

"You didn't require an alternative water source?"

He laughed at the silliness of it. "No. Cephus Macon upgraded that well for commercial use just before he died. I required a new well head and some weatherizing of the well house, but that was it." "You didn't require them to develop that spring?"

"No. I didn't require or inspect development of any spring."

"Okay. Thanks."

"Let's have dinner sometime."

"Check your calendar and call me."

"You got it!"

Nancy hung up and turned to Kim. "I was right."

21.

WHILE JUSTIN CANTWELL was working his magic at the Macon ranch, Brett Henchle was doing his best not to think about it. It was Deputy Rod Stanton's shift, his turn to serve and protect the town, so tonight Brett sat at home with his wife, Lori, and their two boys, Dan and Howie, enjoying a rented movie on video. They were watching, of all things, a cop movie. The obligatory car chase was just starting.

"Okay, watch now," said Brett, taking popcorn from the big bowl he was sharing with Lori. "They're gonna turn into that alley and hit some garbage cans."

The bad guys' big Lincoln screeched and fish-tailed into a narrow alley, bashing aside some garbage cans, sending them flying.

"Now they're gonna splash through some water."

The bad guys' car, followed by the cops' car, hit a big puddle in the alley, sending up sheets of spray while the long telephoto shot made the cars appear right on top of each other.

"Dad," Howie whined, "you're ruining it."

"Next they're gonna crash through some construction barriers."

"Dad!"

The bad guys were cornered. They screeched through a tight turn and into a construction site, splintering several construction barriers.

"There's gotta be a flip coming up somewhere . . ." Brett mused.

The bad guys roared up a street, swerved to avoid an oncoming truck, hit the back end of a parked truck- And sailed into the air, twisting upside down. Their car came down in slow motion on top of some other cars, then flipped again, landing in the street.

"Cool!" said Dan.

"So much for those guys," said Lori.

"They'll live," said Brett.

The bad guys climbed out of the inverted car and ran, shooting at the good guys.

"Have you seen this before?" Lori asked.

"Didn't have to," Brett replied. "It's the same every-" He winced, grabbing his leg.

"What is it?"

HISSSSS. The television screen went snowy.

"Hey!" said the boys. "Right at the good part!"

Brett rubbed his leg. "It's that shrapnel wound. It's really poking me."

"But-" Lori looked at the little jar on the mantel. The shrapnel that had fallen out at Brandon Nichols's touch was still there. "The shrapnel isn't in there anymore."

Brett recovered a little. "Eh, it hurts anyway. I don't know why."

"Why'd this thing stop?" Dan fussed, reaching above the television to tinker with the VCR.

"GET BACK!" Brett shouted, leaping to his feet, almost spilling the popcorn.

Dan leaped back, his hands quivering, startled and scared.

Howie sat on the floor wide-eyed and frozen.

"Brett . . ."

"Now just take it easy," Brett said to . . . whom? He was looking toward the corner of the room near the television. "Lori, take the boys into the kitchen."

"Why?"

"Do it now!"

"Come on, boys. Howie! Come on, get up!"

"What are you looking at?" Dan asked.

"Go with your mother."

Lori looked in the same direction as Brett and saw nothing.