The Revelation

by Bentley Little

  The boy looked up at him. "Monsters," he said. "It was too dark to see what they looked like, but they were monsters." He looked at Jim, to make sure he wouldn't laugh.

  But Jim did not feel like laughing.

  "There were a whole bunch of them," the boy continued, again staring at the ground. "They broke into The Selways’ house and took them off to the dump." His legs were doing nervous figure eights on the carpet.

  "They .. . they killed the little baby first. They tore her apart and ate her. Then they tore the other kids apart, ripping open their skin.

  There were hundreds of them. Then they .. . they .. . ripped off Mrs.

  Selway'shead while she stood there and made Father Selway watch." He looked up at Jim, his eyes shiny with remembered terror. "Her body just sort of crumpled to the ground, like in slow motion, and I could see all the veins and muscles and things popping out of her neck and squirming around. Blood was everywhere. It was squirting up like a fountain."

  "Which dump was this at?"

  "The one off the control road. By Geronimo Wells."

  Jim nodded. "Go on."

  The boy's eyes focused on a point far away, in his mind. "They . the monsters .. . played with Mrs.Selway's head for a while, throwing it around and kicking it. Her eyes opened and closed as it flew through the air. There were a lot of them around, but I still couldn't see them. They were in the shadows. But I could see Mrs.Selway's head real good. And I could see Father Selway perfectly. He was just standing there, staring. Then one of them reached over and turned Father Selway toward the fire."

  "What fire?" Jim asked.

  "The one where they burn all the wood and paper."

  "It was night?"

  "Yeah. They made him look at the fire and said ..." Don looked down, his hands now trembling badly. He clamped his hands between his legs to hold them still. His face, framed by the long greasy hair, was taut and serious, the muscles pulled tight. "They said, "Worship your new God' or "Bow down before your new God' or something like that. And then .. . something .. . started to come out of the fire. It was huge.

  It was big and black and looked like it had two horns." He looked at Jim. "It looked like the devil."

  Jim reached over and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Was that all?" he asked.

  "No." Don shook his head. "All of a sudden, the fire went out and Father Selway and the devil were gone and the other monsters shoved Mrs.Selway's body into a big hole. Then they threw her head in a little hole and threw the kids in another hole and covered them all up."

  "Where? What part of the dump?"

  "Under the garbage, by the big tree next to the cliff. Right next to a tractor."

  Jim jumped up. "Carl!" he called. The deputy pushed the door immediately open. "Get the posse together. We're going to search for The Selways’ bodies."

  "But I thought--"

  "Never mind what you thought. Get everyone together. Tell them we'll meet out at the Geronimo Wells landfill. Now!"

  Carl ran down the hall toward the switchboard out front, his boots clicking loudly on the tile.

  Jim turned back toward the boy. He looked even smaller and paler than he had before. His hands, between his legs, were clasped together, and sweat was running in twin lines down both sides of his face from beneath his hair. Jim looked at the boy and tried to smile reassuringly. He didn't know why he believed the kid, but he did.

  Jesus, he thought. His mind really was going. Not just scared of his own dreams, but believing others' as well. "Why did you wait 'til now to tell us?" he asked Don.

  "I thought it was just a nightmare. I didn't know it was real. I didn't know anything had happened." His lower lip started to tremble.

  His hand intercepted a tear sneaking down his cheek. "I just found out that the Selways were missing this morning. I didn't know."

  Jim patted the boy's shoulder. "It's okay, son." The boy wiped away another tear. "But how come you wouldn't tell anyone except me?"

  "You were in the dream. I knew you'd understand. I knew you'd know I

  didn't do it. I knew you'd know I wasn't really there, I didn't really see anything."

  A bolt of fear--wild, irrational--shot through Jim's body, causing his heart to trip-hammer crazily. A wave of cold washed over him. He stared at the boy. He had never seen this kid before in his life; he did not look even vaguely familiar.

  But he had automatically believed his story.

  And, he realized, something about the boy's dream seemednaggingly , disturbingly true. It had seemed right. As if this were knowledge he'd already had but just could not bring to consciousness. As if the boy had simply put known facts together in a new way; a way he understood intuitively, on a gut level, but could not reason out.

  The boy was right, he knew. He had been in that dream somehow, although he could remember none of it. He turned back to Don. His voice was not as assured as he would have liked, but he forced himself to speak anyway. "What was I doing in your dream?"

  "You were just standing there watching. Like me." The boy licked his lips. "Like everyone else."

  The cold intensified. "Who else?"

  "I don't know. You were the only one I recognized. But I'd know them if I saw them."

  Carl poked his head in the door. "Car's ready, Sheriff. I called the posse and they're going to meet us there."

  Jim put on his hat and grabbed his holster. "Okay." He strapped on the belt and looked at Don. "You coming?"

  "Do I have to?"

  Jim shook his head.

  "Then no, I'd rather not."

  "Okay." He looked into the boy's face and saw underneath the childish features a maturity; maturity that had been forced upon him and for which he was not exactly ready but which he was able to cope with. The kid had handled himself well, he thought. Better than a lot of adults would have under similar circumstances. He wished this could be the end of it, the boy could just go home and forget about everything, letting the sheriff's office handle the situation, his civic duty done.

  But there was a lot more to come. It would be tough on the kid. "We have some more talking to do," he said. "Leave your name and address with Rita out at the front desk. I'll get in touch with you later."

  Don stood up, wiping sweaty palms on his faded jeans. "Do you have to tell my parents about it?"

  Jim thought for a moment. Tell his parents what? That they'd decided to look for bodies at the dump because of their son's nightmares? That Don had had some type of psychic experience?

  "No," he said. "I don't have to tell your parents if you don't want me to."

  The boy looked relieved.

  Jim lightly punched Don's arm. "I'll see you later," he said. "I have to go." He strode quickly down the hall and out the front doors, waving without looking back. Carl was waiting in a patrol car, the engine running. Jim got into the car, flipped on the roof lights and told his deputy to take off.

  The car pulled onto the highway, tires squealing. "What happened?"

  Carl asked. "What'd the kid tell you?"

  "He told me where the bodies are buried." Carl whistled. "Did he actually see anything?" Jim stared out the windshield as they sped north through town. "Yes," he said. "Yes he did."

  The sky was covered with blackened monsoon clouds by the time they turned off on the control road, twenty minutes later. The dark thunderheads were backlit periodically by the strobe flashes of lightning, although there was no rain yet. "Goddamn it," the sheriff said. "Does it have to rain every fucking day? We're going to be out there digging in a downpour."

  They had to go a little slower here than they had on the highway. The control road was narrow, barely one lane, and the campers, hikers, hunters, and fishermen who drove their pickups down the dirt road usually assumed no one would be coming toward them. They invariably sped around the hairpin turns as though they were the only ones on the road. Usually they would be. The control road, winding as it did through the forest along the base of the Rim, was so rough and rutted that it was
absolute hell for anyone without a four-wheel-drive vehicle.

  The convoy encountered no other traffic on their trip to Geronimo Wells, however, and they pulled into the landfill just as the rain started. Jim got out of the car and walked back to tell the other members of the posse that they could either wait in their cars and trucks for the rain to stop--which might take several hours-or they could start digging now. "Me and Carl are going to dig," he said. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get out of here."

  He looked around the landfill as Carl took the shovels out of the trunk. The dump did not look as familiar to him as it should have. He had been out here before, of course, and he knew that scrap metal was dropped off near the large pile just to the north of the cars, that wood went on the pile of combustibles to the left of that, and that regular garbage was dumped over the small dirt cliff just beyond the woodpile and buried. But it looked like only a dump to him; it did not look like the scene of ritualistic killings. He had no intuitive flashes about the landfill, no psychic revelations. He did not even feel any bad vibrations. The dump seemed to him the same as it always had. He had nothing to go on but the kid's testimony.

  The other members of the posse got out of their vehicles and took their own picks and shovels from their trunks and the beds of their trucks.

  They stood in a huddled group in the drizzling rain, looking toward the sheriff.

  Jim jumped onto the hood of the brown sheriff's car and held up his hands. "All right!" he said. "Listen up! We're going to split into two groups. Six of us are going to dig through the garbage by that big tree over there." He pointed toward a tall pine tree by the sandy cliff. A tractor was parked next to the tree, just as Don had said it would be. "Three of you will dig through the woodpile there."

  "The boys 'n' I'll take the woodpile," Scott Hamilton said, gesturing toward his two sons. All three of them were still wearing around their necks the protective goggles required for all mill workers.

  "You know what you're supposed to be looking for?" Jim asked.

  The three nodded grimly.

  "AH right then. Let's get to work. Everyone else, come with me." He jumped down from the car and led the rest of the posse past the woodpile to the garbage area. He let his shovel fall into the rain-softened ground. "Start digging anywhere," he said. "We don't know the exact spot where we're supposed to be looking. Just make sure you all stay near the tractor."

  The six men spread out along the garbage pile. Jim and Carl moved to the edge of the cliff. It was starting to drizzle harder now, and the ground was soft and spongy beneath their feet. Jim's clothes were already soaked clear through, and he took off his hat and dumped the water from the brim. He put the hat back on and started digging.

  It was Kyle Heathrow who, almost half an hour later, called out:

  "Sheriff!C'mere ! I think I've found something!"

  Jim stepped through the wet pile of garbage, his feet sinking almost to the ankles, toward the spot where Kyle was digging. It was pouring, the rain coming down in torrents, and all of the diggers looked like drowned dogs. He stopped and stood next to Kyle, staring down into the newly dug hole. A woman's face looked up at him, eyes open, a bloodless gash across the cheek where Kyle's shovel had made contact.

  Mrs.Selway .

  Jim looked away, forcing himself to look at a plastic garbage sack. He licked his lips, suddenly dry despite the rain. "Okay!" he yelled.

  "Over here! We're going to dig around this area!"

  The others slogged their way through the wet garbage and stared into the hole. Rain had already washed some of the mud from Mrs.Selway's face, making it look strangely alive. Drops of moisture caught on the long eyelashes, and a puddle had formed within the open mouth. None of the men said a word as they turned away.

  Carl went to the car to get a body bag.

  Jim stared upward, into the falling rain. The water that had collected on the brim of his hat went cascading down the back of his neck but he hardly noticed. He realized suddenly that he did not know Mrs.

  Selway'sfirst name.

  He looked again at the ground, at the wet and muddy garbage, and picked up his shovel. He started digging.

  Gordon spent the evening making phone calls. As Marina lay on the overstuffed couch in the living room trying to watch a snow and static-tingedGoldfinger on the only TV station they could get--an ABC affiliate out of Flagstaff--Gordon dialed St. Luke's Hospital in Phoenix and made Marina an appointment with the resident obstetrician, Dr. Kaplan, for one o'clock Monday afternoon. Marina had refused to make the call herself, and Gordon had agreed to do it for her. He understood how she felt.

  After hanging up, he called Brad and told him that he needed to take Monday off. Monday was their busiest day because most of the local stores ran out of Pepsi over the weekend; and since they still had some of the outlying areas to do he assumed he'd have to fight Brad tooth and nail for the day off. But Brad was uncharacteristically understanding, and he told Gordon that he'd get Clan to take his place for the day. Gordon promised to be in extra early on Tuesday.

  Next was a call to Dr. Waterston. Gordon told the doctor his fears and outlined his plans. Dr. Waterston agreed wholeheartedly with his decision to take Marina to Phoenix. "Best thing you could do," he said.

  After some initial, abstract conversation on the subject of babies and births, they got down to specifics.

  "I really have no facts to go on," Dr. Waterston said. "This is all conjecture. But as I explained to your wife, there are similarities between Julie Campbell, Joni Cooper, and Susan Stratford that I find are just too close for comfort." He paused. "Similarities your wife shares with them."

  "That's what Marina told me."

  "Like I said, I have no proof. But I have sent a sample of water taken from the Geronimo Wells pump station to a lab in Phoenix for analysis."

  "The water!" Gordon said. "That's exactly what I thought."

  "I'm not saying that's what it is. I could be way off base, here. But you know there's a county landfill just a half a mile or so east of the pump station, off the control road, and some of that might be seeping into the groundwater system. There's been no toxic waste buried there so far as I know, but something could be leaking down. From where I

  sit, it sure as hell looks like it."

  "Have you told anyone?"

  Dr. Waterston laughed shortly. "Have I told anyone? I've told the mayor, the town council, the county board of supervisors, the state water control board, even the local chapter of the AM A."

  "Nothing happened?"

  "Zippityshit; pardon my French. They all promised to look into it, of course, but I never heard from any of them. That was a good three months ago. I call each of the organizations at least once a week, just to bug them into getting off their dead asses, but I just get shunted around from secretary to secretary." He laughed again, and his voice became absurdly, mockingly officious; the voice of a petty bureaucrat. "With the exception of the mayor's office and the town council, of course. They're looking into it, examining all possibilities, but they are conducting a secret investigation and can't tell me about it yet." He snorted. "What a crock."

  "When are you supposed to hear back from the lab?"

  "Any day now, I'll let you know when I do."

  Gordon nodded into the telephone, though he knew the doctor couldn't see him. "Thanks," he said. "I'll let you know what happens Monday."

  "Damn right you will. Just because Marina's going to have her tests and analysis done in Phoenix doesn't mean I'm not still her doctor. She has an appointment for next week and she's going to keep it."

  Gordon smiled. "All right. Call you Monday, Doc."

  "I'll be waiting."

  He hung up the receiver and went out to the living room to check on Marina. The room was dark save for the blue light of the TV, and it took him a moment to find her, stretched out on the couch. "Hey," he said. "You all right?"

  She waved him away. "Shhh. This is an important part." On the scre
en, James Bond came barreling through a chain link fence in his car while an old lady shot at him with a machine gun. The old lady grimaced as the gun kicked back. Marina laughed. "I love that part.

  That old woman cracks me up."

  "Your appointment's for Monday at one," Gordon said.

  Marina did not answer. She appeared to be raptly watching the movie, but Gordon knew that she had heard him. She just didn't want to talk about it.

  He retreated back into the den and leafed through the phone book until he found the number he wanted. He dialed Keith Beck at the newspaper.

  He wasn't sure the editor would be there this late on a Saturday night, but Beck had an unlisted home phone and he had no other choice. The phone was answered on the first ring.

  "Hello?"

  Gordon felt a little uncertain talking to the editor about their problem. He did not know a whole hell of a lot, and he could substantiate even less, but he told Beck what he could about the infants and the editor promised to look into it. He said it might take a few weeks, though, what with the rodeo coming up and the desecrated churches and .. .

  "Churches Gordon interrupted. "Plural?"

  "You haven't heard?"

  "No." Gordon thought of the bloody letters he'd seen on Father Selway'sdefiled church and he felt a subtle chill caress his spine.

  It seemed suddenly darker in the room, and he flipped on a desk lamp.

  "What happened?"

  The editor laughed, the laugh turning into aphlegmy smoker's cough.

  "Read the paper next Wednesday."

  "Come on."

  "Okay. What have you heard so far? What do you know?"

  "I saw the Episcopal church, and Char Clifton told us Father Selway was missing."

  "Well the same thing happened to the rest of the churches. All of them. Windows broken, obscene graffiti, the whole bit. That's why I'm still here, in fact. Jim Weldon gave me a buzz about an hour ago and gave me all the details. Thought I'd like to know. Right now, I'm just trying to figure out how to write about the obscenities. Should I use those cartoon punctuation symbols for the words? Should I use the first letter of each word, followed by an appropriate number of blank spaces? Or should I just refer to them as 'profanities' or 'obscenities?""