The Revelation

by Bentley Little

  Wasn't that reason enough?

  No. She forced herself to watch the snowy television. Besides, Gordon would be home soon.

  There was a knock at the door. Marina jumped from her chair and ran to the front. She peeked through the curtains of the living room window and saw a strange man in a gray business suit standing on her doorstep.

  She gave a short, sharp cry and the man's sharp eyes veered instantly to her window. She let the curtain fall, backing into the room. She banged against a chair and reached behind her, grabbing it for support.

  There was another knock at the door. This one firmer, less hesitant, more insistent. The man wanted in!

  "Go away!" Marina yelled.

  "I have come to speak with you and your husband," the man called through the closed door. His voice was loud, carrying with it the controlled authority of a public speaker.

  "My husband's not home! Come back later!"

  "I will talk with you, then."

  Marina licked her lips, but her tongue was dry as well. She could feel her arms trembling with fear. Slowly, she crept forward until she was again at the window. She thought for a moment, then moved to another vantage point--the window on the other side of the door. She pulled the curtain slowly back and peeked out. The man's gaze was still fixed on the other window. "I would like to speak with you," he said.

  "I can hear you fine!" Marina yelled. "Tell me what you want to tell me, then leave! Or I'm going to call the sheriff!"

  His gaze swung immediately to her, and she blanched at the intensity of his expression. She noticed for the first time that he carried with him a Bible, tucked under his right arm.

  "Who are you?" she demanded.

  "I am Brother Elias. I have come to save you from your peril and to deliver you from the brink of the pit upon which you stand."

  "Go away!"

  Brother Elias took out his Bible and opened it to a previously marked page. '"Children, it is thethe last hour; and as you have heard that antichrist is coming, so now many antichrists have come; therefore we know that it is the last hour. They went out from us, but they were not of us; for if they had been of us, they would have continued with us; but they went out, that it might be plain that they all are not of us."" He closed the Bible and looked at her, his eyes holding hers.

  Is this how these people keep their followers? Is this how Jim Jones got his disciples? She could not look away. It was as if he had her hypnotized.

  "So it is written in The First Letter of John, chapter two, verses eighteen and nineteen. The antichrist is not coming, the antichrists are here!" His voice took on the rolling oratorical delivery of a fundamentalist minister. "We must fight this evil where it dwells! We must bring it out into the open sunshine of the Lord's divine light where it can be dissipated according to the Holy Word of God!" He opened up the Bible again, looking away, and Marina quickly let the curtain drop, retreating back into the room.

  She could hear his voice, above the television, as she made her way to the telephone.

  ""And the great dragon was thrown down, that ancient serpent, who is called the devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world--he was thrown down to the earth, and his angels were thrown down with him.""

  Marina, her fingers fumbling, found the number of the sheriff written on the emergency pad next to the phone. She quickly dialed. The line was busy, and she dialed again.

  '"And when the dragon saw that he had been thrown down to the earth, he pursued the woman who had borne the male child--'"

  "Shut up!" Marina yelled. "Shut up!" She was gratified to hear the loud voice stop for a moment. She picked up the phone again. "I'm calling the sheriff!" she announced. "I'm going to have you arrested!"

  "I am here to save you from the darkness that threatens, from the evil within. I am here to put you on the path of righteousness and--"

  "Get the fuck out of here!"

  Marina was aware that her voice sounded panicked, that she was becoming hysterical, but she was terrified. She saw in her mind the bloody kitchen, gray and red portions ofVlad scattered over the tile floor and the Formica countertops. She dialed the sheriff's number again, and this time the phone rang. Someone on the other end picked it up.

  "This is Marina Lewis," she said breathlessly into the receiver.

  "There's someone at my house. He's outside my front door, trying to get in--"

  "We'll have someone there immediately," the receptionist told her.

  "Don't let him in. Do you have any firearms in the house?"

  "No."

  "Then I'd suggest grabbing a baseball bat or a knife or any sort of weapon you do have. Just in case." There was a click, and the receptionist's voice became muffled as she put out the call. "Deputy Chmuraand Deputy Weiss will be there in a moment," she said, reconnecting into the line. "Don't panic."

  "I'm not." Marina looked up, putting the receiver down. The voice outside had stopped. She listened for a moment, then ran over and turned down the TV. Nothing. Gathering up her courage, she pulled open the curtains and looked outside.

  Brother Elias was gone.

  Marina returned to the phone. "He left," she said. "Thank you." She didn't wait for the receptionist's reply but hung up the phone. She again moved to the front of the room and looked out the window, trying to spot any sign of movement in the darkness, listening for the sound of a starting car.

  A moment later, she heard the sound of a siren, growing louder, coming closer. The trees lining the narrow dirt road soon glowed with the blue and red of the sheriff's flashing lights. Behind the sheriff's car, thankfully, unbelievably, was the Jeep.

  Marina opened the front door and ran outside.

  Only then did she realize that she was crying.

  Father Andrews milled around after the prayer meeting, shaking hands and talking with parishioners. The meeting had gone much better than he'd expected. He had never conducted a prayer meeting before, and though he knew theoretically what was required of him, he was sure that the actual practice would be quite different. He wasn't sure he'd be able to do it. But Father Selway's congregation had been kind to him on Sunday, and the parishioners at the prayer meeting had been just as nice. They'd guided him through the meeting, letting him know how Father Selway had done things, but letting him know that if he wanted to make changes that was fine, too.

  He grabbed a Dixie cup filled with red punch. An elderly woman next to him, wearing a large hat and too much makeup, reached for a cookie. She smiled up at him. "My name's Betty Murphy," she said.

  He shook the woman's offered hand. "I'm glad to meet you, Mrs. Murphy, and I'm glad that you could make it to our meeting."

  She giggled. "Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world. I come here every week. Been coming ever since Jim died." She straightened her flowered hat. "I wanted to ask you what you think of that new preacher who's been preaching around town."

  "New preacher?"

  "Yes. I'm not sure exactly who he is, but I've seen him twice already this week. The first time, he was preaching in the parking lot in front of the old bowling alley. The second time, he was on top of a car parked near the post office, yelling at the people who walked by.

  It was real hellfire and damnation stuff, how we are all going to burn if we don't repent." She wrinkled her nose distastefully. "I never did go in for that sort of preaching." She put her hand familiarly on his arm. "That's why I became an Episcopalian." "I couldn't help overhearing you." A thin middle-aged man, wearing a gaudy new western shirt and a bolo tie, turned from the small group he was with to face the priest. He held out his hand. "JeffHaught ."

  Father Andrews shook his hand. "I'm glad to meet you."

  The man turned to Mrs. Murphy. "Were you talking about that street preacher been around town the past couple days?"

  She nodded, her hat bobbing up and down in assent.

  "Did you hear what he said?"

  Mrs. Murphy sniffed. "I heard enough."

  The man faced Father Andrews. "That preacher'
s crazy. I was just stopping by the Circle K yesterday to buy some ice, and I saw this crowd gathered around the side of the building. I went over to investigate, and there was this preacher, wearing a heavy gray suit, in the hottest part of the day, standing on one of those empty wooden spools they use for telephone line. I stood there listening for a while and," the man shook his head, "I never heard anything like it. He started off like Mrs. Murphy said, regular fire and brimstone fundamentalism, but then he started on this .. . weird stuff. He started saying how Satan and God were going to fight it out here on earth and how we'd better start gathering up our weapons to fight. He said some people were going to be fighting on God's side, but some were going to be on Satan's. Then he started pointing out specific people in the crowd!"

  Father Andrews smiled. "That's not unusual. A lot of these evangelists use such techniques to fire up the crowd and get people to listen to them."

  "He said God and Satan were going to fight here, in Randall. Next week."

  Father Andrews' smile faded. Mrs. Murphy laughed out loud. She let go of the priest's arm and grabbed the other man's. "Oh Jeff. You don't mean to tell me you actually believe that nonsense?"

  He shook his head, smiling. "Of course not. But a lot of other people seemed to." He looked at Father Andrews. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Father. Do you think maybe you could give some kind of warning during your sermon Sunday? Tell people not to listen to this jerk?"

  The priest slowly shook his head. "No, I can't really do that. It is not my place to criticize other religions, particularly on the pulpit."

  "I understand. I just thought that maybe as a kind of public service ..."

  Father Andrews smiled. "No."

  Jeff nodded. "That's okay." He started to go, then turned back around. "You know something, though? When I was leaving, he was starting to make predictions."

  Father Andrews frowned. "What kind of predictions?"

  "The only one I really heard was the first one. He said the churches in town were going to be struck down, one by one, by the devil's fire.

  Then I went to get my ice. He was still talking, but I didn't hear what he said."

  "That is a little more serious," Father Andrews said. He was silent for a moment, thinking, but conscious of the two pairs of eyes on him, he forced himself to smile. "Of course, he probably just heard about the vandalism and what happened to the Selways and was trying to make the most of it," he said.

  Jeff nodded. "Probably." He shook the priest's hand again. "I really enjoyed the meeting, Father. I just wanted to tell you that. I hope you're going to be around here for a while."

  "I hope so, too," Father Andrews said laughing. But he stopped laughing almost immediately, aware of how callous and flippant that sounded in the wake of what had happened to the Selways .

  Though he had never met his predecessor, everyone here had been on close terms with him, and they had all liked him a lot.

  But neither Jeff nor Mrs. Murphy noticed his faux pas, and he did not dwell on it, turning his attention instead to the excited chattering of Mrs. Murphy, who was filling him in on the details of everyone in the room. He watched as Jeff and two of his friends left by the front door. A few moments later, several other elderly ladies came up to talk to him, to tell him how much they'd enjoyed the meeting. He kept the conversation on a light tone. There was something in the story of that preacher that bothered him, and he found himself coming back to it, thinking about it, and not concentrating on the conversation around him.

  By ten o'clock, everyone had left, even Mrs. Murphy, and he put away the leftover carton of punch, storing it in the church refrigerator, and picked up the crumpled Dixie cups left on the tables around the room. He gave the room one last cursory glance, and turned off the lights, locking the door behind him as he stepped outside.

  He felt a smothering cloak of dread settle about him the second he stepped out of the church. The air suddenly felt thick and heavy, hard to breathe. He thought instantly of the preacher.

  From the center of town, he heard a siren, loud in the still evening.

  Afiretruck , Father Andrews thought. One of the churches is on fire.

  But he pushed the thought from his mind. He was overreacting, still hyped up from his talks with the sheriff. He was jumping at shadows.

  He could not allow his emotions to run away with him. If he was going to be any help at all to the sheriff, he would have to think things through logically, reason everything out.

  He got into the car just as it started to drizzle. The light rain and the windshield wipers cleared the small flecks of soot and cinder from the glass.

  Jim sat in Ernst's office, squirming in the uncomfortable plastic chair the fire chief had filched from the elementary school last year when the cafeteria had caught on fire. Ernst nodded slowly, not looking up from his desk. "It's arson," he said. "We haven't had time for an official investigation yet, of course. But after a while you can spot these things. It's arson. I'd bet money on it."

  Jim stood up and started pacing around the room. "Damn it, I knew it would be." He hitched up his pants. "That's the last thing I need right now."

  Natalie Ernst stuck her head in the open doorway. "You two want anything to drink? Coffee?"

  The fire chief shook his head, waving her away. "Not now, Nat. Maybe later."

  She smiled cheerfully at her father-in-law. "Okay."

  Ernst picked up a short stubby pencil from the top of his desk, turning it over in his hands. "This is the fire season, you know. The rangers do most of the work, but we have a pretty full load ourselves."

  Jim nodded. "I know."

  "But the monsoons have come," Ernst continued. "And if you and your men need a little help, we'll be glad to help you out. I can spare a few men, as long as things don't get too crazy around here."

  Jim shook his head. "Thanks, but--"

  The staccato clanging of a loud fire bell sounded throughout the small building. Ernst stood instantly up, punching the intercom button on his desk. "What is it?" he asked.

  "Church," Natalie said. "First Southern Baptist. Over on east Main."

  Ernst stared at Jim. "Want to come along?"

  The sheriff nodded. He followed Ernst out to the garage, where four other men were already putting on fireproof uniforms. Ernst quickly got into his suit and hopped into the truck. Jim jumped into the passenger seat, and the other men found places on the back of the vehicle. The fire chief nipped on the siren and pulled out onto the street.

  "It's a hot one," Ernst said as they pulled up to the church. Jim saw multicolored shards of stained glass littering the church parking lot.

  The windows had exploded outward, and thick white smoke was billowing from the open holes. Small orange flames were licking out of a hole in the roof.

  Ernst stopped the truck and jumped out. "Anybody inside?" he yelled, approaching a young man standing in the parking lot watching. The young man shook his head. The other firemen were already hooking up the hoses. "How long ago did it start?" Ernst demanded.

  The young man shrugged. "It was alreadygoin ' when I got here."

  "Did you call it in?"

  "No." He pointed toward a teenage girl standing nearby, holding her hands over her mouth. "She did."

  The firemen had hooked up the hoses by this time, and two of them grabbed axes from the back of thefiretruck . Ernst hurried across the asphalt to join them, and Jim approached the sobbing girl. "You're the one who reported the fire?" he asked gently.

  She nodded, still holding her hands in front of her mouth.

  "I'm Sheriff Weldon. Could you tell me exactly what you saw? Did you see how it started?"

  The girl shook her head. "I was just walking by on the way to the store, and I saw smoke coming out from under the door." She looked up at him. "That's my church, you know." She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of a hand. "I ran over and opened the door, and all this smoke just poured out. I called out, to see if anyone was in there, but no o
ne answered. I ran around the building, looking for Pastor Williams' car, but it wasn't there so I assumed there was no one in the church, so I ran across the street and called the fire department." She stifled a sob. "We just got that new Sunday school addition put onto the church last year. Now we're going to have to start from scratch."

  Jim turned to watch the firemen put out the blaze. "Maybe they'll be able to save it," he said. "Maybe there won't be that much damage."

  "It's destroyed!" the girl sobbed.

  An overweight man wearing faded jeans, a Charlie Daniels T shirt, and a CAT hat moved next to the sheriff. He stared at the firemen, who were running into the side doors of the church with long hoses. "You know, Brother Elias said this was going to happen."

  Jim turned to look at the man. "What?"

  "I said, Brother Elias said this was going to happen."

  Jim was instantly on the alert. Brother Elias. The man who had been harrassingGordon's wife. "Who is this Brother Elias?" he asked.

  The man shook his head dismissively. "A preacher I saw out by the Circle K yesterday. Crazy as a fucking bedbug."

  "But he said this church was going to be set on fire?"

  The man chuckled, a low sound that came from deep within his massive chest. "He didn't say this church was going to be set on fire, he said all the churches were going to be burned. Satan was going to burn them, he said."

  "Why?"

  The man shrugged. "How the fuck should I know?" He stared at the smoking building, but it was clear that the firemen already had the blaze under control. He started to move off.

  "Wait," Jim said. "Do you know where I can find this Brother Elias?"

  The man shook his head. "Search me. I saw him at the Circle K yesterday, but I heard someone today say he was at the sawmill. You might try there."