She blew out her breath and dialed 911. “Linnie, how are the kids?”
“They’re locked in a cell with Mort, the cleaning guy.” There was a pause, and Linnie said, “He’s teaching them how to play poker. They’re distracted and that’s for the best. And yes, they’re in dry clothes and they’re warm. Everything’s okay here, Katie. We got this place lit up like Christmas, and there are four of us here, ready to bust heads if those creeps show up.”
“Thank you so much for coming in, Linnie. Okay, here’s the deal. I want four deputies, Wade in the lead, out at Reverend McCamy’s house.” Linnie, of course, already knew they were on the way. Katie imagined that she’d spoken to every one of the deputies. “Listen, Linnie, this is very important: Tell Wade not to use sirens. I want a silent approach and I want them to stay outside and search for the guys who bombed my house. Tell them to be very careful.” She paused, smiled a bit. “Give the kids a kiss.” She flipped her cell off. “Turn here, Miles.”
Miles was hunched over the steering wheel, trying to see through the rain and the fogged windshield. “He wants Sam beyond reason or else he would have given it up. This has nothing to do with money, this has to do with a madman, and what a madman believes.”
That sounded simple, and exactly right, Katie thought. She said, “He must be well over the edge now, surely what happened tonight proves it. I wonder who he found to do this on such short notice. It’s got to be someone local, maybe someone from his congregation.”
“I wonder if there were two guys or just one. The ability to talk just one member into doing something this crazy, much less two guys, boggles the mind. You said he was charismatic. I guess this proves it.”
“When you put it like that, I guess one guy makes more sense. Still, we’ve got to be really careful.”
Katie rolled down the window and stuck her hand out. “It’s not raining as hard.”
“Your hand okay?”
She didn’t answer, just pointed to the big Victorian house that had just come into view. “We’re not leaving without answers this time, Miles.”
32
T he only sound they heard when they got out of the truck was the rain and the rustling of wet leaves. It was cold and there was no moon, not a single star, just fat bloated clouds, probably gathering energy for another deluge. There were no lights on in the big Victorian house.
They were wet. Katie’s hat was still clamped down on her head, her hair coming out of its French braid, the white bandage on her hand soaked with rain. She could feel her boots squish as she walked.
Katie rang the doorbell, such a mundane thing. There was no answer. She rang it again, then once more. She was smiling, as grim as Jesse Helms if he’d been a judge. Finally, she slammed her fist against the large wooden door.
She kept pounding until, at last, Reverend McCamy’s angry voice shouted, “Who is this? What is going on here? Go away!”
The door jerked open. Reverend McCamy, dressed in pajamas, dressing gown, and bedroom slippers, stood there, his face a study of anger and something else, something that was beyond what they could begin to understand.
“Who is it, Reverend McCamy?”
They heard the light sound of footfalls coming down the stairs. Elsbeth McCamy came to stand beside her husband, staring at them.
She was wearing a pink silk robe that came only to her knees; it was obvious she was wearing absolutely nothing underneath. Her feet were bare. Her hair was tousled around her face and tangled down her back, and for once, she wasn’t wearing her earrings.
Reverend McCamy, his dark eyes fathomless and sharp, raised his hands to his hips, and stared at them. They stared back. Finally, he said slowly, “What is the meaning of this, Sheriff? Do you have any idea at all what time it is?”
Katie actually smiled at Reverend McCamy, showing him lots of teeth, and waved her bandaged hand in a shooing motion. “Do invite us in, Reverend McCamy. And I think a cup of coffee would be nice too. It’s been a hard night.”
“No, I’m not letting either of you in my house until you tell me what’s going on. You both look filthy.”
“Well, that’s true,” Katie said. “Naturally, since I’ve had my house burned down and we’ve been running around in the rain, I guess you’d have to expect that.”
Still, he didn’t move. “Your house caught on fire? I’m sorry about that, Sheriff, but it doesn’t have anything to do with us. I don’t want to give you any coffee. I want you both to leave.”
Katie paused a moment. “Well, there’s something else, Reverend, something you should know.” She waited, letting this soak in, then said, looking straight into those mad prophet’s eyes, “As a result of your hiring incompetent help, Sam is in the hospital with severe injuries.”
Miles didn’t blink.
Reverend McCamy’s mouth worked, but nothing came out.
Elsbeth cried out, “What do you mean Sam is in the hospital? What’s wrong with him?”
Reverend McCamy whispered, “No, this can’t happen. Tell me he will be all right.”
“We don’t know yet.”
“I’m a minister, I will go to him,” said Reverend McCamy and turned on his heel. “I’ll be ready in just a moment.”
Katie called out after him, “You’re not going to the hospital, Reverend McCamy. Sam’s in surgery. There’s nothing you can do. Best to stay here and tell us why you want Sam so much.”
Elsbeth said, “You’re being ridiculous, Sheriff. We had nothing to do with this. What hospital is Sam in?”
Miles said, “Do you honestly believe we’d tell you where he is? My God, you’d probably set the hospital on fire to get to him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Reverend McCamy said, but he was backing up, one step at a time. He was pale, markedly so, and it wasn’t that he was afraid of getting caught. It was because he was afraid Sam would die. His eyes, Katie thought, his eyes were quite fixed, no light in them at all.
And Elsbeth? Did she realize her husband was mad? Maybe she didn’t want to admit it, but she had to know, just as she had to be involved in all the efforts to get hold of Sam.
“My boy isn’t expected to live,” Miles said, his voice filled with rage. “Because of you, you fanatic bastard, my boy is probably going to die. Do you understand that, you moron? A six-year-old boy is going to die because of you! No one else, just you.”
He walked toward Reverend McCamy, one step at a time, staring into those mad eyes of his until he had him backed up against the wall. He put his face right into his, grabbed his robe lapels, and shook him. He screamed in his face, “And you call yourself a man of God?” Miles yanked him close again, shaking him so hard his head lolled on his neck.
Reverend McCamy tried to pull Miles’s hands away, but he couldn’t. He yelled, “You fool, you conceited buffoon! Sam doesn’t belong to you!”
Miles felt the man’s spittle on his cheek. He pressed closer and yelled back, “He sure in hell doesn’t belong to you!”
Reverend McCamy was shaking his head wildly, back and forth. “No! He belongs to God! And God won’t let him die, he won’t! I must go to the hospital, don’t you understand? I must go. I’m the only one who can save him!”
Katie said, “Why won’t God let him die, Reverend McCamy?”
Elsbeth said, “No, Reverend McCamy, don’t let them fluster you.”
Reverend McCamy slipped out of Miles’s grasp and dashed past him. Miles let him go. He watched him stumble over a Victorian umbrella stand, sending it crashing onto its side and splitting it open. Two umbrellas rolled out. Reverend McCamy took off running down the long hallway.
Elsbeth stood there in her sexy pink robe, staring after her husband. Katie and Miles ignored her, and turned to run after Reverend McCamy. He tried to slam the library door in their faces, but Miles shoved it back against him. He retreated back across the room where he did his couples counseling. There were three sofa pillows on the carpet. Why, for heaven’s sake?
> As they closed in, he fetched up against the book-shelved wall, his hands out to ward them off.
Miles stopped in front of the desk, leaned forward and splayed his fingers on the desktop. “We want you to talk to us, Reverend McCamy. We want you to tell us why my son belongs to God.”
“No!” Elsbeth shouted. “Leave him alone, do you hear me? Go away!” She turned on Katie, and smashed her fist into her jaw. Katie, focused on Miles and Reverend McCamy, lurched to the side, nearly falling. She saw stars, but felt more surprise than pain. Katie grabbed Elsbeth’s arm, jerked her close, and pulled both her arms behind her. She pulled her against her, leaned over, and whispered in her ear through all that beautiful tangled blond hair, “Just hold still, Elsbeth. Assaulting a police officer isn’t going to help the Reverend. We’re not going to hurt him.”
“No, you can’t make me-” She moaned as Katie tightened her hold. Her pink silk robe came open.
“Woman, do not show your body to these sinners!”
“We’re not looking at her body,” Miles said, his attention never wavering from Reverend McCamy. “I’m waiting, Reverend McCamy. Why does Sam belong to God?”
Reverend McCamy’s mouth was a thin pale line. Suddenly, he shouted at them, “You’re not worthy, you godless cretin! Why God gave such a son to you is beyond me. But His ways are not always clear to those who worship Him. It is not our right to question Him, for we are nothing compared to Him. The Lord showed me that I must take Samuel, to teach him to understand that he is one of God’s favored ones. You don’t understand, do you? Sam is an ecstatic! He must learn to accept the sublime suffering he once showed as a small child. He will learn to accept it again. He will throw himself into the well of God’s mercy and greet this suffering with great happiness because he was chosen by God.”
Reverend McCamy walked around the desk until he came right up into Miles’s face. “Don’t you understand, you fool? Sam is a victim of love-God’s love. He has shown the stigmata! He will experience sublime suffering for all mankind, and his suffering will be radiant in its ecstasy. His very soul will know the beauty and sacrifice of our Lord!”
Miles felt as though he’d fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole. He plowed his way through all the mad words. He stood back from Reverend McCamy, studying him. “What are you talking about? What nonsense is this? So you think Sam has shown the stigmata? Is that what this is all about? There is no such thing, you fool!”
Suddenly, Elsbeth stiffened and jerked free of Katie. She ran right at Miles, her fists swinging, screaming, “Leave him alone! Reverend McCamy, they don’t understand. They never will. Say no more. Make them leave. They don’t belong here. Make them leave!”
“She’s right, you’ll never understand,” Reverend McCamy said, coming around the desk to his wife, reaching out his hands, for what reason, neither Miles nor Katie knew. Then he slammed both fists onto the desktop. “Sam-it is not his name! His name is Samuel, his biblical name. He can’t die! Save the boy, oh Lord, he is part of You, he is Your beloved victim. You must save him!”
Reverend McCamy was shaking so hard that he appeared to be having a seizure. Tears streamed down his face. “Elsbeth is right. Get out, both of you!”
A man’s voice came from the doorway. “I can’t let you do this to him, Sheriff, I just can’t. Back away from Reverend McCamy.”
Reverend McCamy screamed, “Are you crazy? What are you doing here, Thomas? Get out!”
Katie turned slowly around to see Tom Boone, a local postman for twenty years, standing just inside the library door holding a rifle on her. She smiled. “Well, I think there walks my proof on the hoof. Is there anyone else getting ready to come through that door? Or was it just you, Mr. Boone?”
“It was just me, Sheriff, and I’m enough to deal with you. I’m sorry, Reverend McCamy, but she’s got a gun, you know. It’s right there in her belt holster. I didn’t want her to hurt you. You, Mr. Kettering, you get away from Reverend McCamy!”
Miles stepped away.
Katie remembered seeing Mr. Boone on Sunday, at the Sinful Children of God. She said, “Do you believe in this madman enough to try to kill me and Keely and Mr. Kettering to get to Sam?”
“I didn’t try to kill nobody.”
“Just be quiet, Thomas. Go away from here.”
“No, Reverend, not just yet. I’ve got to tell her how it really was, that I wasn’t there to hurt anyone, then she’ll leave you alone. I did what I had to do, Sheriff, what the Reverend and God commanded me to do.”
“What are you talking about, Mr. Boone? God doesn’t have anything to do with this. It was this madman who gave you your marching orders. It was this madman who ordered you to take Sam. Didn’t you hear what happened to the other two men he sent to get Sam?”
“I heard, Sheriff. You killed both of them. You, a woman, killed two men. You’re an abomination.”
Katie could only stare at him and shake her head. “And just look at what you did. You threw gas bombs into my kitchen and fired at me in my truck. Then you stayed around and tried to kill me again. What were you thinking?”
Mr. Boone, asthmatic all his life, panted hard now because he was scared. The drizzling rain and cold air had gone into his chest, he could feel it, choking off his air. He looked at the man who had helped him before, the saintly man who’d laid his hands on his chest and prayed and had eased his breathing. Thomas had known it was a miracle. He looked over at Reverend McCamy.
“It was God’s orders as well,” Reverend McCamy shouted. “I promised that you would be rewarded, Thomas. I promised that I would heal your asthma forever, but only if you finished what you started.”
Katie asked, “What else did the Reverend here offer you as a reward, Mr. Boone?”
“He promised me that I would be his deacon. I’ve always wanted that and now I’ll have it, and I’ll be able to breathe free and easy for the rest of my life.”
Katie had dealt with teenage gang members, drug dealers, homicides, and rapes in Knoxville, but never had she heard thinking as bizarre as this.
She drew in a deep breath, and held out her hand to Mr. Boone. “Did you think even once about your mother and your grandmother, what this would do to them? Listen to me. This man isn’t holy, he’s insane. Do you have any idea what deep trouble you’re in? Now, put down that damned rifle.”
But Mr. Boone held on to the rifle like it was his lifeline, and perhaps, in his mind, it was. He kept it steady on her chest.
Katie said to Reverend McCamy, “I believe that in Hollywood they would say the jig’s up, sir. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me before I take you to my cozy jail?”
“Damn you, Sheriff, why don’t you believe me?”
“Of course I don’t believe you,” she said, warning signs going off in her head because he was losing it fast. “I’m not mad.”
“You stupid woman!” He lurched away and ran to the bookshelf behind his desk. He jerked books off the shelf, hurling them to the floor, reached in and pulled out what appeared to be a videotape.
“I’ll prove it to you! Look at this tape! This proves what I’m saying! I’m not insane-it’s on this tape!”
“What’s on the tape, Reverend?” Katie asked.
“You’ll see,” Reverend McCamy said, tears still running down his face, his voice feverish, trembling, quite mad. “You’ll see. God, through His infinite grace, through His desire to use me to teach others, has brought me this miracle. I saw the miracle and I clasped it to my soul and swore to God that I would bring Samuel to understand and accept God’s mission for him in this life.”
He shoved the video into the machine slot, turned on the TV and there it was, without his doing anything else. He obviously kept the TV set to video, ready for this tape.
There was a hissing sound from the tape, and then the grainy sound and squiggly lines faded away. The focus wasn’t very good, and there was motion because the camera wasn’t being held steady. Miles realized that it was a home movie, o
f sorts. Of what? The camera came to a stop on Sam, a younger Sam, maybe three years old, lying on his old bed in his child’s bedroom in their first house in Alexandria, wearing only his pajama bottoms. He was thrashing around, moaning, or delirious. He was heaving, arching his back, his arms and legs flailing. The jerking camera moved in closer. Miles thought he heard a person crying, probably the person videotaping his son. Was it Alicia?
Miles knew nothing of this, nothing. He watched Sam’s arms fly over his head, watched the camera zoom in on his fisted hands. Then his small hands opened, slowly.
There was blood on Sam’s palms. And it was running down his wrists.
Miles stopped breathing. Blood? Sam had been bleeding? When? Why hadn’t Alicia told him?
The woman was crying loudly now, and the camera was shaking so badly everything went blurry, then suddenly, it went to black.
Reverend McCamy hit the stop button, but he didn’t look away from the blank TV screen. His breath was coming fast and hard, and his dark eyes were glazed. It was almost as if he was in some sort of ecstasy. Miles watched as his hands slowly unfurled, the palms open, just like Sam’s had, and now he was panting, shivering, as if he were in that film with Sam, as if his body wanted desperately to simulate what had happened to Sam.
Reverend McCamy whispered as he continued to stare at the blank TV screen, “Did you see? The child, like Christ, is God’s victim and God’s sacrifice, here to make the world know His power, and through Samuel’s ecstasy, understand God’s love and His limitless compassion.
“Samuel, in those moments, those precious moments, was as close to God as any of us will ever be in this life.”
33
R everend McCamy stared at the screen, his wild eyes seeing what was no longer there, but was only there in his mind, so deep that he’d made himself mad with it. Or maybe the madness had come first.
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