Devil's Kiss

by William W. Johnstone

  “You forgot one, Wilder.”

  “Oh? Who, might I ask?”

  “God.”

  “Well! Where is He, sir?” Wilder smiled. “Is He massing great armies to come to your assistance? No, I think not, sir. You’re quite alone with your faith.” He laughed.

  “You and your pitiful handful and a silly Jew who doesn’t even believe in my Master.”

  “All Miles needs—and has—is the belief in a power greater than he. That’s enough.”

  “You’re defending his faith?”

  “Why not?”

  Wilder sighed. “You’re a strange man, Mr. Balon. But, be that as it may, I still maintain you are alone in your fight. May I be seated, sir? Please—we have much to discuss and I see no reason why we can’t be comfortable while doing so. Perhaps you would care to put on a shirt, sir. I’m afraid if you don’t, Nydia is quite apt to start drooling down the front of her dress.”

  The witch laughed at him.

  Sam had to smile at the ludicrousness of the situation. He nodded, then slipped into a shirt. The men sat. Wilder on the couch, Sam in his easy chair.

  “Nydia?” Wilder said. “Why don’t you and—” he smiled “Mrs. Balon go into the kitchen and prepare some refreshments? Some coffee, or tea, if you will.” He glanced at Sam. “I’m suggesting they both go so you won’t think I’m attempting to poison or drug you. I assure you, sir, that is not my style.”

  “You will not need that weapon, Jane Ann,” Nydia said. “I will not attempt to harm you—either of you—without his permission,” she glanced at Wilder. “And he has said we make no moves until twelve-oh-one a.m. Thursday. For whatever it means to either of you, you have our word on that. There are rules we must follow. Sam is, I believe, quite aware of them.”

  “Sam?” Jane Ann spoke the one word question.

  Go on, honey. For now, I believe them. It’s still a game to them. They’re going to try to convert us. Besides, they would rather not lose any more members of their Coven by my hand.”

  “Exactly, sir,” Wilder smiled, adjusting the crease in his trousers, flicking away an imaginary spot of dust from his suit coat. “And those who, as you put it, ‘jumped the gun,’ this evening, will be punished for doing so. Believe that, sir.”

  The men sat in silence for a few minutes, while the women puttered around in the kitchen, speaking in low tones. Sam was amused, thinking that even among the hierarchy of Hell, women were still, at times, relegated to the kitchen.

  When the women returned, Jane Ann’s face was pale and angry. She sat down on the arm of Sam’s chair. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nydia failed the first assignment,” Wilder said. “Aside from being crude and vulgar, she is also tactless.”

  Sam’s look was puzzled until Jane Ann explained. “She told me all about the ... pleasures of their worship. She went into great detail. It seems, so she says, that if we join them, we can live forever. Wilder can assure us of that; our God cannot, according to her. She told me a great deal about ... sex. Without limits, if you know what I mean. She was disgusting!”

  Nydia laughed.

  “Disgusting only to your way of thinking; your present beliefs,” Wilder said, after a sip of tea. “But there is so much more than sex involved with us. I can promise you power, Mr. Balon. I can promise—and deliver—to you, sir, anything you have ever dreamed of. Join us, name it, and it’s yours.”

  No way,” Sam said.

  The fastidiously dressed agent of the devil smiled, leaning forward. “Do you really know what you’re rejecting, Mr. Balon? Really? Sir, I’m offering you the entire world! Not just this world, but worlds beyond this. I’m offering you a hundred thousand millenniums of pure pleasure. I’m—”

  “I’m not interested,” Sam said. “My God offers me a million millenniums with Him. I prefer His offer.”

  “You are an incredible man, sir!”

  “No,” Sam countered, “just a man who believes very strongly in God.”

  “But He offers you nothing!”

  “He offers me eternal life.”

  “But so do I! And so much more than that. Bah! You should take a glimpse of Heaven. Boring, sir, boring. There is absolutely nothing to do. Think of my offer, Mr. Balon, and name your pleasure. Young, sweet succulent girls of fifteen or sixteen, with openings so tight they would make you scream with delight. If that is your wish, I can give you dozens—hundreds of them. You want power? Name it. I’ll give you power. I’ll give you entire cities to rule—if you wish, I can name you supreme commander of entire galaxies.”

  “What? Galaxies? You mean there are other worlds beyond ours?”

  “Of course, sir. Hundreds of them.”

  “Tell me about them.”

  Wilder smiled, folding his arms across his chest. “Are you interested, sir?”

  “You’ll do all this for me if I help you win Whitfield?”

  “Exactly.”

  No.”

  Wilder would not give up. He shifted his gaze to Jane Ann. “And you, my dear—what is your pleasure. Name it, it’s yours.”

  She slipped her hand into Sam’s. “I have my pleasure.”

  For just an instant, Wilder’s eyes met Sam’s. He knows, Sam thought. He knows I’m going to die. I wonder if he knows I’m going to beat him, though.

  “Yes,” Wilder said. I do.” He shifted his gaze back to Jane Ann. “Would you not enjoy a thousand Sam Balons? All naked, with organs so huge you would think they would never stop filling you? All of them ready to serve your every whim?”

  Jane wondered about, but did not pursue the conversation Wilder just had with Sam. She smiled at Wilder. “I believe most women fantasize, Mr. Wilder. But I really don’t care to be screwed with a baseball bat.” She smiled at Sam’s shocked expression.

  “Don’t belittle it until you’ve experienced it,” Nydia said. “I can assure you, my dear, being serviced by half a dozen men is something you’ll never forget.”

  “I think I’ll pass. Thanks just the same,” Janey said.

  Nydia looked at Wilder. She smiled, and with a minute shake of the head said, “Impossible.”

  “Yes,” Wilder said, rising, “I believe you’re right.” He looked at Sam. “You won’t reconsider, sir?”

  No.”

  “I’ll speak with your little band of friends, perhaps.”

  “Go ahead, it won’t do you a bit of good.”

  “Yes,” Wilder smiled, but the muscles in his jaw were bunched with frustration, the smile forced. “I know. Very well, sir. You realize by now that we are not going to let you out of this county? Good. Well then, with that knowledge, you have something like twenty-four hours to make your peace with your God.”

  And the men again passed their silent messages.

  I’m going to kill you, Sam projected.

  Yes, Wilder acquiesced, but in doing so, you’ll be destroyed. What will you have gained?

  Peace, and a place with my Father.

  Bah!

  “Please bear in mind, Mr. Balon: you will not beat me in the main,” Wilder’s smile was evil. “And consider this: after all the suffering and blood-letting of the elderly—which you are powerless to prevent; I will not and would not have let them escape—I will still have alternates you are not aware of. Knowing that, sir, I beg you to reconsider. Oh, my, Mr. Balon—what a team we could make.”

  No.”

  Wilder and Nydia joined hands. “Adieu, monsieur, mademoiselle,” he said, and they were gone, leaving behind them a slight smell of sulphur and two very startled people, staring at the empty room.

  “Sam? How—what—?”

  “I can’t explain it. The devil’s powers almost equal God’s. You have to remember, Satan was once an Angel.”

  Sam carefully picked up the cups Wilder and Nydia had used and tossed them into the garbage. With the lights blazing in the front and back of the house, Sam turned off the lights in the living room—after carefully locking the door and windows—and he
and Jane Ann slipped back into bed.

  “Do men really lust after young girls?” she asked. “I mean—as much as Wilder implied?”

  “Many of them do, yes.” He cupped a breast in his big hand. “But with women like you around, I can’t possibly imagine why.” He felt the nipple grow in his hand.

  For a minister,” she smiled in the darkness, “you’re insatiable!”

  “Horny, too,” he laughed, kissing her.

  She touched him, held him for a moment, and soon they were as one, and “Solomon’s Song” made them content.

  The touch of the sun woke them, and although they did not speak of it, both were grateful for the light.

  She rose from the bed, pulling away from his arms. She stood by the bed, naked. Sam reached out to caress her thighs. A loving touch with his fingertips.

  “You’d better put some clothes on, you shameless hussy,” he grinned at her. “You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to tempt a minister.”

  She struck a lewd pose, hands cupping her breasts. “I did a pretty good job of it, you’ll have to admit that.”

  He jerked her back into bed.

  By noon they had packed up all they felt they would need and secured it in the bed of the truck, carefully wrapped in heavy tarps and tied down. Both of them knew they were being watched from all sides, but the street was deserted. Not a cat or a dog could be seen.

  “It’s eerie,” Jane Ann said, watching Sam work, enjoying the way his powerful muscles rippled under his T-shirt.

  It’s like a boil,” Sam replied. “It’ll pop soon.”

  Together, they made a last walk-through of the parsonage. “She was a very, very good actress,” Sam said of Michelle. It was her suggestion, her insistence, really, to come out here. Now I know why.”

  “Do you think she felt she would finally win you over to them?”

  “At first, perhaps. But I believe toward the end she gave up. I think she was going to kill me.”

  The ringing of the phone startled them both. “We still have local service,” Sam observed with a touch of sarcasm, picking up the receiver.

  “Sam?” Wade yelled in his ear. “It’s the church! It’s on fire!”

  EIGHTEEN

  No one came to fight the flames. The fire trucks sat idle in the deserted fire stations. Sam, Jane Ann, and their few friends stood in silence and watched the House of God consumed by the licking flames. Anita put her face in her hands and wept.

  “It’s just wood and glass and brick,” Sam said. “It can be rebuilt. Saving our lives and our souls is more important right now.”

  A group of men and women had gathered across the street, watching the fire. They were drinking heavily, passing a bottle among them. An attorney, once a member of Sam’s church, called out to the minister.

  “Did you get some pussy last night, preacher? Did Janey suck your cock for you?”

  The group howled with dirty laughter. One man opened the fly of his trousers and urinated in the street. “Hey, Faye?” he called. “You wanna come hold my fire hose?”

  Chester balled his fists, taking a step in their direction. Sam’s strong arm restrained him. “Take it easy, Ches. We’ll just leave them. They’re beyond help. But we’ll deal with them later—I promise you that.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” the man spoke through gritted teeth.

  Jimmy pulled up, his tires sliding black on the street. “The Catholic Church is on fire,” he told them. “People are just standing around, watching it burn.”

  “I wanted to stay over there,” Peter spoke from the passenger side of the pickup. “But Jimmy wouldn’t let me.”

  “Wise decision,” Sam said. “Come on, let’s all go over to Chester’s. We’ve got to plan where we’re heading when this thing breaks open.”

  “If we can get out of town.” Wade added.

  “We’ll get out,” Sam promised.

  “Why don’t we leave now?” Jimmy asked.

  “Two reasons,” Sam said. “They won’t let us, and it’s not part of the rules.”

  “Rules?” Peter was astonished. This . . . thing has rules!?”

  “Yes,” the minister said. “Like it or not, it does.” He looked across the street at the knot of profane men. “And we’re playing on their court—for now.”

  “What happens when we get on our court?” Wade asked.

  “We start killing!” the minister said flatly.

  The afternoon wore on slowly. Shaky nerves became more evident among the Believers. Sam made all the women go to bed for a nap.

  Over their protestations, he said, “It’s going to be a very long night—and a very dangerous one. I want everyone as rested as possible. So go to sleep for an hour or so.”

  When the women had gone, Tony held up a large bottle of pills for all to see.

  “What are those?” Miles asked.

  “Benzedrine. We may need them before this is over.”

  The men sat cleaning rifles, shotguns, pistols, and for Chester and Sam, automatic weapons.

  “How many extra barrels you have for that Greaser, Ches?” Sam asked.

  “Three,” the man replied, not looking up from his cleaning. “One warps, just screw another on and keep on firing.”

  “Sam?” Miles asked. “You know, you never said, but exactly what are we going to do when—it starts?”

  “Kill everyone who isn’t one of us,” Sam said it quickly and bluntly.

  The cleaning of weapons ceased. Only Chester did not appear shocked. He said, “What did you people think we were going to do? Send them roses?”

  “I’ve known some of those people out there all my life,” Wade said softly. “All my life.”

  Sam quickly corrected that. “Not those people, Wade. Those people out there, now, have sold their souls to Hell—and most of them did it willingly. Mind implantation, or not, we resisted it, and they could have, too. If their faith had been strong enough. They are not your friends.”

  “Two hundred to one, approximately,” Jimmy said.

  “What’s that mean?” Peter asked.

  “Our odds.”

  Jane Ann was the first one up from the napping. “I’m going to make some sandwiches. A lot of them. Wrap them up for tonight and tomorrow. I don’t think we’ll have much time for cooking.”

  “Sam?” Peter said. “I don’t understand something. What are They waiting for? Why don’t they just attack us now—or try to, that is?”

  Sam shook his head. “I can’t really answer that, Pete. I’ve told you all about the rules Nydia and Wilder spoke of. I like to think that God is giving—has given—us a week to prepare for what lies ahead. That’s the best I can do. Seven days,” he mused. “The roads will be closed for seven days.”

  “It took God seven days, Sam,” Chester said.

  “Yes, and I can’t help believing it’s all tied in somehow.” He shook his head in frustration. “I don’t know. It’s too much for one mortal man to comprehend. Listen to me, all of you: Tonight, when they make their move for us, it will come very quickly, violence always does. Chester has said the best spot for this first night is the old Talmage place, out in the Bad Lands. So if we get separated, head for there.”

  The other women had joined Jane Ann in the kitchen, happy to be doing something to occupy their hands and their minds.

  The sun began to sink into the west, shadows deepening around the town. Tensions began to mount among the Christians in the house.

  Sam walked out on the porch, taking stock of the situation, looking over the vehicles. Five pickup trucks. Everything they would need was packed away and tied down. They had enough ammunition to fight a major war—and they would need every round.

  If only, Sam thought, God gives us the time to do this thing. And again, he thought: Why me?

  Then it was full dark, and Sam knew the Disciples of Satan would wait no longer. He could practically feel their impatience to begin the hunt.

  How do I know that? he questioned s
ilently.

  Sam ran to the porch, throwing open the door. “Mount up!” he said.

  “But it’s four hours ’til midnight,” Wade argued.

  “MOUNT UP!” Sam barked at them. His tone moved them into action.

  They were outside, by their pickups. Everyone was armed. The eleven stood quietly in the night, listening to the rustle of leaves, the sighing winds from the prairie, and the thudding of their own hearts.

  “Going on a camping trip?” the voice came from behind them.

  The men spun around, hands on the butt of weapons. No one had heard the two men come up. Otto Stockman and Dalton Revere.

  “Otto,” Sam greeted the man. “Dalton. I’ve missed you at church lately.”

  The man spat his contempt, the spittle landing between Sam’s booted feet.

  A scream cut the night, shattering the illusion of peace.

  “What in God’s name was that?” Chester asked.

  “A nonbeliever,” Otto said. “There will be many more before this night is over.”

  “I thought we were all the nonbelievers?” Wade asked, his flesh goose-pimply from the screaming.

  “Oh, no,” Revere smiled. “There are many who are reluctant to serve any God with all their hearts. Sam knows, don’t you, Sam?”

  The minister said nothing.

  The screaming was heard again, a hoarse yowling, as if more pain than a human could endure was being forced upon unwilling flesh. Then a choking cry, and the night was silent.

  Otto laughed, an evil barking in the evening’s murkiness.

  “Mrs. Johnson’s house,” Chester said. “Two houses down.” He looked at Otto. “You people are crazy! You’re murderers!”

  “The mass is almost ready to begin,” Dalton said, holding out his hand. “It will be beautiful. Won’t you join us? It’s your last chance.”

  “Yes,” Otto said. “Join us—do.”

  “Otto?” Sam pleaded with the man. “What has happened to your faith? To your belief in our God? He hasn’t forsaken you. Give this up.”