Lies of the Prophet

by Ike Hamill

  Lies of the Prophet

  Title Page

  Chapter 1 - Prayer

  Chapter 2 - Changeling

  Chapter 3 - Emergency

  Chapter 4 - Graveyards

  Chapter 5 - Outed

  Chapter 6 - Gregory Wakes

  Chapter 7 - Serving

  Chapter 8 - Lynne

  Chapter 9 - Gregory rises

  Chapter 10 - Carol free

  Chapter 11 - Gregory ascends

  Chapter 12 - Lynne

  Chapter 13 - Marta's emancipation

  Chapter 14 - Hole Island

  Chapter 15 - Marta develops

  Chapter 16 - fair exchange

  Chapter 17 - Marta hunts

  Chapter 18 - Carol and Lynne

  Chapter 19 - Marta moving

  Chapter 20 - Convergence

  Chapter 21 - Showdown

  Chapter 22 - Recovery

  Lies of the Prophet

  BY

  IKE HAMILL

  WWW.IKEHAMILL.COM

  What people are saying about Lies of the Prophet:

  “… I felt exhilarated, shocked by what was happening, but also amazed and impressed by the destructive force I was witnessing. Like watching a tornado rip through a town. Horrific, yes, but awesome. An impressive and imaginative tale of a supernatural power struggle.”

  “… incredible story that kept me turning pages well into the night, day after day. Lies of the Prophet was a gripping read which incorporated many pop-culture themes, but with really unique twists and new perspectives. Much like his previous book, The Vivisectionist, Hamill creates characters with depth who really drive the story: the friendly neighbor lady who takes a dark turn when touched by fame, the weary diaper-changing widow with a two-year old who actually IS possessed (unlike most two-year olds, who just act that way), or the career-driven man behind the scenes trying to manage an unlikely celebrity persona... these vivid characters come to life on the page, and again left me picturing the scenes on a high-def movie screen with a $13 box of popcorn on my lap.”

  Special Thanks:

  Brian Holdt

  Walter Hamill

  Tom Bruns

  Chris Wallace

  Cynthia Hamill

  Dan Moran

  Emilio Millán

  Cover art by Chris Wallace

  Illustrations by Dan Moran

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and events have been fabricated only to entertain. If they resemble any facts in any way, I’d be completely shocked. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the consent of Ike Hamill. Unless, of course, you intend to quote a section of the book in order to illustrate how awesome it is. In that case, go ahead. Copyright © 2012 by Ike Hamill. All rights reserved.

  Ike Hamill

  http://www.ikehamill.com

  Chapter 1

  Prayer

  EXCEPT FOR THE DECAYING CORPSE on the toilet, the bathroom looked spotless. Someone had stretched plastic tight over the window. Not a single wrinkle showed. Checked yellow drapes didn’t quite match the shower curtain, but the bright colors were cheery. Lynne’s eyes danced from detail to detail. Globs of white caulk plugged the sink’s drain and faucets. The mirrored door to the medicine chest stood open enough so Lynne saw the line of caulk that sealed the razor blade slot.

  “Where’s the smell?” asked Lynne.

  Her new partner, Jenko, spoke over her shoulder—“They rub a cream on the body right after death.” Lynne glanced at Jenko. He rubbed his bushy mustache after he spoke. His hard jaw was clenched, but Lynne thought Jenko’s eyes were kind.

  Lynne returned her own eyes to the vertical-striped wallpaper where it peeled away near the corner. She let her eyes wander down to the black and white tiled floor. Pink slippers decorated with small flowers, maybe Kalanchoe flowers, peeked out from under the yellow nightgown. Puffy black toes, nightmare toes, stuck out of the ends of the slippers. The corpse’s nightgown was yet another shade of yellow. It didn’t match the drapes or the shower curtain. It covered most of the toilet bowl.

  This was her very first day of a brand new job. It was her first case. She could hear the slow breathing of her new partner behind her. She’d never had a job like this. Had anyone ever had a job like this? An offhand comment had led to a phone call. That phone call had led to a bizarre interview with two black-suited men. Somehow her answers had led to a job offer, and now she stood here. Her new job had brought her to this bathroom, trying not to look at what she was supposed to be looking at.

  The corpse sat on the toilet with its head slumped down. Only head, hands, and feet were exposed. Lynne flipped on the light. The dead lady’s hands looked pretty normal. Maybe they were a bit shiny. The head—that was a different subject. The head had drawn her attention first and Lynne wouldn’t let herself look at it again. The feet bloated with black blood. They might burst and cover the floor with blood molasses at the slightest disturbance.

  Lynne regarded her own hands. They were young-ish, decent shape. She could take better care of them, but they weren’t disgusting claws. She resolved to use some of that moisturizer on them when she got home. What was she saving it for? Plus, it smelled good. This place didn’t smell terrible, but it would be pure joy to take a deep breath of something pretty.

  “Are you going in?” asked Jenko, making Lynne jump.

  “No need,” said Lynne. She turned to let him pass. She couldn’t help but steal another glance at the grandma-corpse: the cheek had a large gray blotch where the skin looked papery, like a wasps nest. Her eyeballs had shriveled leaving dark sockets; her lips had withdrawn to reveal the corners of angry teeth. “I can see from here,” Lynne continued. Now that she’d brought her eyes to the corpse, it was hard to look away. She forced herself.

  Lynne backed up from the door, relinquishing her grip on the frame to see the gaskets installed. With the door shut the room would be airtight.

  “Mr. Jenko?” she asked her partner.

  “Jenks,” he said. “Or Bud.”

  “Sorry,” she said. After a name-sized pause, Lynne continued—“Do we need to do anything here? Like I said, I can’t see anything that I need to…”

  “I’ve got to do my bit,” Jenko cut her off. “It’ll be a few minutes. Maybe you should sit down. You don’t look so hot.”

  “Yeah,” said Lynne. “It’s just, the guys, they didn’t say exactly what I’m supposed to be doing. I don’t see anything, you know?” This poor old lady wasn’t the first dead body she’d ever seen but there was something compelling. She didn’t want to turn away completely, like only her vigilance kept the corpse planted on the toilet. “How did she go?” Lynne asked Jenko.

  Her partner crouched in front of the body. His knees touched the nightgown.

  “No idea,” he said. “How should I know?” Jenko unzipped his black bag a couple of inches. He produced a long stainless steel probe about a quarter inch in diameter. He popped the cap off the end. The angled tip reminded Lynne of hypodermic, but like a giant one, for an elephant vein. Jenko held it like a cigar.

  “Aren’t you some kind of medical guy or something?” Lynne asked.

  “Did somebody tell you that?” Jenko asked. “Who told you that? Was it that skinny guy with the greasy hair? Harry, or Larry, or whatever?” The probe waved around while Jenko talked. Lynne felt hypnotized by the shiny metal.

  “What? Oh, nobody, I guess,” said Lynne. “I just assumed because of your black bag. It looks like what a doctor would take on a house call… What is your bit then?”

  “This and that,” said Jenko. He turned his attention back to the corpse, and lined up the shiny metal probe with grandma’s torso. With the tip placed, he pulled back his free hand and
then slammed his palm into the device. The torso lurched with the blow.

  “Jesus,” said Lynne. “What are you doing?”

  “Core sample,” said Jenko. He twisted the end of the probe and wiggled it back out of the body. At one point he braced grandma’s shoulder with his forearm for leverage. “It’s for the lab guys,” he said.

  “She’s just a dead woman though, right?” asked Lynne.

  “Are you asking, or telling?” Jenko asked. “Do you know what your bit is?”

  Truth be told, Lynne wasn’t exactly sure. The guys in the suits had explained it only once, and it seemed like big parts of the plot had been missing. She’d heard the salary though. That part was quite easy to understand. Lynne decided to deflect the question—“Isn’t the family downstairs going to be really pissed? You’re kinda desecrating their dearly departed.”

  “If they notice,” said Jenko. “Maybe that’s why you should come all the way in and close the door.”

  Lynne looked sidelong at the gasketed door and shook her head no. If that door closed, the bathroom would be an airtight tomb, complete with a dead person. She was happy to stay on the threshold of that reality.

  Jenko capped his probe and stuck it back in his bag.

  They both jumped when the corpse gurgled. Lynne automatically cleared her throat; she couldn’t help it. It sounded like grandma was about to speak. Jenko froze, concentrating on the corpse’s face. Lynne pushed back from the doorjamb. To suppress her panic she tried to calculate when she’d get her first paycheck. The corpse continued to rattle out a phlegmy preamble.

  “Oh,” said Jenko. “Just the toilet.”

  Lynne let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Good.”

  “You almost had me there, Annie,” Jenko said. He patted grandma’s shoulder.

  “Why do they do it?” asked Lynne. She could barely hear her own voice over her pounding pulse.

  “Do what?”

  “This,” Lynne waved at the bathroom. “All this.”

  “Greed. Money,” said Jenko. “Why else? You gotta figure that Gregory has made what, nine billion? Certainly enough to cope with a corpse or two lying around. Grandma’s like their lottery ticket.”

  “But she’s so clearly dead,” said Lynne.

  “Yeah,” said Jenko. “Easy for you to say.” He stood up with an easy grace for his age. Lynne’s knees would have snapped and crackled if she had stood up that quickly. Jenko flexed his fingers and then cradled grandma’s head between his big palms. His thumbs rested just under the desiccated earlobes. He jerked his hands to the left.

  Lynne covered her own gaping mouth at the sound of crunching neck bones. “What the hell?” she asked.

  “In case you’re wrong,” he said. “We don’t want surprises later.” He glanced around the bathroom. “You know, this is actually one of the nicer jobs I’ve seen.”

  Lynne was still in shock.

  Jenko didn’t notice. “Looks like they’ve been praying night and day.” He pointed down to the floor.

  She just looked at him. The sound of breaking spine was still echoing in her mind.

  He pointed to the floor—“Seriously, look.”

  Lynne knelt down to see what he meant. She saw it—the family had worn shiny spots on the floor around the toilet. Lynne imagined all the praying that went in to those spots. She’d seen the praying on TV. So many families crowded around rotting bodies, hoping for the loved-one to come back just like Gregory.

  “All for nothing,” said Jenko. From his pocket he pulled a tube of instant glue. He dabbed a spot on grandma’s nightgown, right where his probe had penetrated. When he folded it inward and sealed the hole, it looked just like a natural wrinkle. “This one’s not dancing at any more weddings. Right, Annie?” Jenko asked the corpse.

  “Hey,” a voice spoke up from behind Lynne. “What are you doing?” It was the son, the middle-aged head of the household. He pushed past Lynne and approached Jenko. “Don’t touch her.”

  “Sir, sir,” said Jenko. “I understand that this is a very upsetting time. Let me tell you exactly what we’re looking for.” He gently turned the son back towards the door. The man struggled against Jenko’s nudges.

  “Let me see your ID again,” the man said to Jenko.

  Jenko pointed to Lynne. It took her a second, but she recognized the signal. It was one of the few instructions Jenko had given her on the ride over. She slipped backwards down the hall, while Jenko distracted the bereaved. After padding down the carpeted stairs, Lynne crossed the foyer. In the living room the rest of the family huddled together. Their loose-fitting clothes and drooping heads made them look tired and tense. Lynne slipped out the front door.

  She had just pulled shut the driver’s door when Jenko exited the house. He strode through the flower bed. The homeowner stood on the porch with a cordless phone pressed to his ear. He pointed at Jenko as he talked into the phone.

  Jenko climbed in and Lynne put the car into reverse. They jerked back towards the street.

  “Take it easy,” said Jenko. “He’s not calling anyone.”

  “How do you know?” asked Lynne. She pulled down the suburban street. “He could turn us in for impersonating the Commission.”

  “If he calls the cops they’ll start asking questions he doesn’t want to answer,” said Jenko.

  “I thought everything looked legal in there,” said Lynne. “As long as they have the right paperwork. They’re allowed—right?”

  “You can keep a body now, nothing wrong with that, but you’re still not allowed to pull your kids out of school so they can circle around and pray to a corpse all day,” he said. “That’s what they’re busting the prayer freaks on these days.”

  “Oh,” said Lynne.

  “Take a left,” said Jenko.

  “The office is this way,” she said.

  “We’ve got another case,” he said.

  “Huh? It’s almost five. I thought…” she began.

  “These things come in all the time,” said Jenko. “We’re twenty-four seven. Should be the same exact thing though. In and out. People praying to a dead guy.”

  “Why do they always pray?” asked Lynne. “I always wondered that. I mean, Gregory was really direct on that point in several different interviews. He said that he didn’t come back because people prayed all the time, he said he came back because there was constant love. Or continuous love, or something.”

  “Yeah, that was it,” Jenko agreed. “Continuous. I think that different people just equate love differently. For most of them they think that prayer is love. Kneeling down on a hard floor, begging Jebus to bring back Grandma Annie is the same thing as love. I saw one case where they just kept piling money and expensive stuff around the dad. Like, I don’t know, like a tribute, or bribe or something. That was love to them.”

  “How many cases have you worked?” asked Lynne.

  “Your next right,” said Jenko. He ignored the question and focused on his phone, reviewing the map to their destination.

  “How many?” she asked again.

  “Oh, who knows,” said Jenko. “Countless.”

  “When do you think we’ll be done?” asked Lynne. “I’ve got a thing tonight at my mom’s house and I was hoping to go home and change first.”

  “Unknown,” said Jenko. “If it’s another ordinary stiff, then not long. But let me warn you,” he pointed at Lynne, “don’t try to say it’s a pure-dead just because you have something else to do. They’ll find out about it eventually. Of that you can be sure.”

  “So you’ve found a non…” she struggled with the construction, “non-pure-dead or whatever before? Like a real Passage?”

  “No, who said that?” asked Jenko.

  “We’ll you just said that they’ll find out,” she explained. “I mean, how would you know?”

  “They will,” he said, nodding vigorously. “Or would. Don’t worry, they for sure would.”

  “Hmm,” said Lynne, twisting her mo
uth and furrowing her brow.

  Jenko guided Lynne through a couple of turns to get to their destination.

  “So close to the last one?” asked Lynne. “That seems unusual.”

  “Ah, not so much,” said Jenko. “They always seem to come in little packs. Kinda like celebrity deaths. I think statistically it’s perfectly explainable. Like if you get thirty people in the same room you’ll always have two with the same birthday. It just happens that way. Anyways, this one isn’t a grandma who faded away on the toilet,” he said as he read from his phone. “I’m guessing aneurysm from sex.”

  “It says that, or you’re guessing?”

  “It says that if you read between the lines,” he replied.

  “I hope you’re wrong,” she said.

  “Why?” he asked. “That would be a great way to go.”

  “Maybe for you,” she said. “But what about the wife, or partner, or whatever? How would that make them feel? They’d probably be scared to death to have sex again.”

  “Life’s full of risks. Sometimes the reward justifies the risk. Pull in here,” he pointed.

  Lynne guided the car up the long driveway of a small ranch-style house. It was brick for the lower half and topped with siding and green-shuttered windows. Scraggly bushes grew in front of the house and lined the walk. Lynne guessed it was the house of a bachelor—her bias telling her that a wife wouldn’t put up with such run-down appearance.

  “Well maybe he was just having sex with himself,” said Jenko. “No woman would live here.”

  Lynne looked up, surprised that he had reached the same conclusion. As they looked at the house a curtain in the front window pulled to the side and they saw a little head peeping out at them.

  “Was that a kid?” asked Lynne.

  “We’ll find out,” said Jenko.

  They got out together and walked side-by-side to the door. Lynne buttoned the top button of her jacket and tugged at the hem to make it look more professional. It was her first day with that suit—her new employer had insisted on business attire. The door cracked open before Jenko had a chance to knock.