‘We believe that the Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, will appear on this site this morning.’ A well-practiced line by now.
‘What makes you think that?’
‘The children know. She has already appeared to many of them and She told them to bring us here today.’
‘What if She doesn’t come?’
‘Doesn’t matter. She will appear, if not today then another day, soon. But She will appear today.’
‘You seem very sure of that.’
‘I am. It’s a modern miracle.’
‘Why should She appear here, or anywhere?’
‘She obviously has a message for mankind and has chosen this place. I don’t know why, but She has… has chosen this place to appear and after today this land will be sacred ground for all time.’ Henderson said it with an air of finality, as if there were no other possible conclusion.
‘Do you know what Her message will be?’ Lasker mentally congratulated himself for getting the question out without cutting a smile.
‘No, of course not, but I’m sure it will be of importance for all mankind.’ Henderson kept looking over Lasker’s shoulder, as if looking for someone in the crowd. The reporter ignored it and kept the questions coming.
‘But wasn’t Mary supposed to have given a message at Fatima? A message that has never been revealed by Rome in the years since?’
‘Uh, well, I think that’s right, yeah, but I’m not really in a position to comment on that. I believe we will be given a message today. That’s all I can say about that’
‘Are you aware that some people think flying saucers have been visiting Millville, not the Mother of God?’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Henderson asserted. ‘We knew that some curiosity-seekers and cranks would turn out here today but that’s okay. In fact, we hoped they would. They’ll see and they’ll learn, and there’ll be no doubt about it. But I don’t think you’ll see any flying saucers or little green men.’
‘Have you or any of your friends been in touch with the Church about this — either in the parish or with the archbishop’s office in Hartford?’
‘Of course. We’ve spoken with Father Connors, the pastor of St Jude’s.’
‘And what does he say?’
‘Well, you have to realise that they can’t come out and say anything, not at first. They have to be cautious in a sensitive matter like this, and they have to talk to their superiors and there’s a whole big political thing there, you know. But that’s understandable, that’s why the Church is what it is. They proceed at their own holy pace.’
‘Does that mean Father Connors discouraged you or doesn’t approve?’
‘No, not at all. It isn’t a matter of approving or not approving at this stage.’
‘What do you think he thinks?’
‘You’ll have to ask him that.’ Henderson looked pleased with himself. He had once heard a politician say that on television and it had seemed to work well.
‘I know you think there’ll be a message today.’
‘That’s right.’
‘But are you also expecting some sort of sign or miracle?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe and maybe not. I really can’t presume to think what the Virgin Mary might have in mind. I don’t see any wheel-chairs or people on crutches here, though.’ It wouldn’t do to be too grand in one’s predictions, Henderson thought. They’ll just say we’re a bunch of wild-eyed holy-rollers.
‘Did your children see Her?’
‘Yes, they did.’
‘Did She say anything to them?’
‘Him, my son. No, She didn’t.’
‘Does that strike you as odd?’
‘No. I wouldn’t expect Our Lady to be a gabber. She has a message for mankind and She’ll deliver it.’
‘Thank you.’ Lasker got Henderson’s full name, address and telephone number. ‘I may come back to you for more comments.’
‘Sure,’ Henderson said.
*
Marge Calder had to walk a considerable distance to reach the site at Mason’s Mill. Vehicles were lined up all the way down the dirt road that ran through Mason property and she could see that there would be a terrible snarl-up when everyone tried to go home. Walking in from the main road would be wiser, she had thought, but she hadn’t realised how far it was, and now she was hot and sweaty. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
There must be a couple of hundred people present, she thought, as she looked around. Plenty of familiar faces, seen around town before, but no one she knew to talk to. Then she spotted Martin Lasker standing by a car at the edge of the field. She walked over to him.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Remember me?’
‘Hi. Sure I do.’
‘Thanks for telling me about this.’
‘No trouble.’
‘I’m anxious to see — well, if anything happens.’
‘So am I, and a lot of other people.’
‘What a crowd,’ she agreed.
Dave Lutz, who had by now finished the jug of Bloody Marys, studied this woman from his seat in the car. When she looked at him absently, he smiled. ‘I’m Dave Lutz.’ She nodded politely.
‘Oh, sorry,’ Martin Lasker said. ‘Dave Lutz, a friend of mine. This is Mrs Calder.’
‘Marge. Hi.’
‘Hi. You think —’ but he realised that if he mentioned flying saucers he’d probably embarrass both Lasker and the woman. ‘What do you think it is, or will happen, or both?’
‘I really don’t know,’ Marge answered, thinking that Lutz had very watery eyes.
‘But you’ve seen it. Yes?’ He knew he wasn’t making a great impression on Marge Calder. Pity, she was good looking. And out of high school.
‘Yes, I’ve seen the lights, the blue whatever it is,’ she replied. ‘But from far away, miles really and I don’t have the slightest idea what they are.’ She turned to Martin Lasker but he was busy scanning the crowd.
‘Kind of like a picnic, or a Flag Day outing, isn’t it?’ Lutz said, to make conversation.
‘Yes, it almost looks like that,’ she answered.
The sound of voices rising in unison began to spread through the air, making itself heard above the buzz of conversation. The children by the Mill were singing hymns.
‘Listen,’ Marge Calder said.
‘Don’t tell me they have to summon Her to appear,’ Lutz cracked. ‘Or maybe this is just the warm-up band.’ Marge Calder didn’t smile. Oh well, Lutz sighed.
‘There’s the police,’ Lasker said. Marge followed the line of his gaze and Lutz craned his neck out of the open car-door to see. ‘The two guys in front are Sturdevent, the police chief, and Hanley, the captain,’ Lasker explained.
‘Looks like they have the entire police force of Millville with them,’ Marge said, shading her eyes with her hand.
‘Four… eight,’ Lasker counted. ‘I think there’s about twenty altogether on the force. Eight is a lot, especially on week-end rates.’
‘Are they going to try and break it up?’ Marge Calder wondered aloud.
*
It was worse than Sturdevent had expected in even his gloomiest of moods, and he knew it before he and Hanley reached the Mill Road cut-off. Dave Corwin had come on the police radio saying there was a jam of cars trying to get in, and that some were even driving into the fields. Sturdevent had immediately given the order to refuse all access and start sending people home. Dirty work for Corwin again, but that’s the way it would have to be. Sturdevent then radioed in to the station to call out additional policemen.
‘Sounds like they’re going to make a carnival out of it,’ Ned Hanley said.
‘Oh no, they won’t,’ Sturdevent rasped back. ‘Not in Millville, they won’t.’
When the other policemen arrived at the cut-off Chief Sturdevent led them on the last bumpy stretch of the journey to Mason’s Mill.
‘Well, well, well,’ Hanley said, sounding almost happy to see so many people at the site.
‘We
’ve got to break this up,’ Sturdevent said. This was too much. There would be trouble with the Mayor and the newspapers, regardless of which way he chose to handle the situation. A small gathering of religious fanatics had grown in no time to a major assembly. There were several hundred people present.
It annoyed Sturdevent that he was again coming around to Hanley’s viewpoint. These people should have been prevented from coming in the first place; now they would have to go, and it would be just too bad if a few sensibilities were ruffled in the process. He had been manoeuvred into another corner.
‘You can’t break this up,’ Hanley said calmly. ‘Not now, you can’t’
‘What? What are you talking about?’ Sturdevent couldn’t believe his ears.
The other patrolmen stood around anxiously, hands on hips, waiting for someone to give them definite orders.
‘You can’t break this up,’ Hanley repeated. ‘There’s too many people here now. You’d have to call in the National Guard, or at least have another couple of dozen men. There aren’t enough of us to move this crowd. Besides, we don’t have any kind of proper crowd-control equipment.’
‘Damn it all,’ Sturdevent said. Naturally Hanley would change his own mind in turn, just to make life more difficult for the Chief. ‘Fan out and tell these people to get out of here,’ Sturdevent told the policemen. ‘Tell them this is private property and they are trespassing, and they have to go home.’
‘You can’t arrest them all,’ Hanley said.
The men lingered, still uncertain. They knew it was an impossible job. People would just wander around, looking as if they were heeding the police instructions, but no one would actually go. And the situation was hardly right for arresting people.
Sturdevent, too, realised that police action at this stage would be largely ineffectual but he had decided that something had to be done. If he was going to be roasted later it wouldn’t be for total inaction. He could say he did try to get the people out but that he hadn’t enough men to do the job.
‘I know we can’t arrest them all I don’t want anyone arrested unless they give you active trouble. But I want you to get out there and move them. I don’t care if you have to take them out one at a time and lead them to their cars, I want them out of here. So get going.’
‘Why don’t you use the bull-horn?’ Hanley asked. ‘We have got that, in the car.’
‘I will in a minute, if it’s necessary.’ Sturdevent wouldn’t use the bull-horn, that was for sure. He didn’t intend to make matters worse by sounding silly in public.
‘Chief Sturdevent?’ It was Martin Lasker.
‘What?’
‘Are you going to break this up?’
‘Nice job your paper did, boy, getting everybody and his big brother-in-law out here this morning.’
Lasker ignored the crack. After his last run-in with Chief Sturdevent he had decided it was silly and unprofessional to worry about the hurt feelings of public servants, especially someone like this man, who was supposed to be in charge. ‘Are you going to break it up?’ he repeated the question forcefully.
‘We’ll see.’ To Hanley he said, ‘Let’s get going, Ned.’ Then Sturdevent had a bright idea, and it cheered him immensely. ‘Wait a minute. Ned, you get the bull-horn hooked up and tell these folks to scram.’ He should have thought of this the second Hanley brought it up.
‘Me?’ Hanley was taken aback.
‘Yeah, you.’ That would fix Hanley. ‘I’m going to try and find the people who are running this show. If we can get them out of here, the others may lose interest and leave.’
Hanley looked disgusted, but he began walking back to the police car. Sturdevent set off for the Mill with Lasker by his side.
This kid tags along everywhere, like a goddamn cocker spaniel, Sturdevent thought. ‘I hope you realise how stupid this whole thing is making Millville look,’ he growled.
‘Something is going on in this town, Chief. A lot of people have already seen things, including a friend of mine.’
‘Friend?’ Sturdevent made the word sound impossible. ‘Things? What things?’
‘You know, the —’
‘The Virgin Mary, I suppose.’
Lasker decided that anything he said would only further aggravate Sturdevent’s foul mood. They continued to work their way through the crowd, but before they reached the Mill they stopped. Everyone stood still. The singing ended.
In the air over the Mill a small but expanding globe of blue light formed. Within seconds it seemed as large as a house, floating in the air. The crowd gasped in unison. There it was.
The people closest to the object, the children and their parents, fell to the ground and began to pray aloud. Others in the crowd followed suit, but most people remained standing, staring transfixed.
So that’s it, Sturdevent thought. It does exist. He knew immediately it was real, not a trick. No-one could rig that. The light burned so brilliantly he felt as if he was standing in a dark room, but he knew he was out in a field on a sunny day. It was real all right, whatever it was. Two conflicting emotions welled up in him. First, a sense of relief that at long last he could see it and know it was real. No policeman could be held responsible for that thing. It had terrorised his town and he hadn’t caught it, but now he could see why. And so could everyone else. He was just as helpless and he felt as if a great burden had been removed from his shoulders. At the same time, fear grew within him. This was out of his hands now, he knew that, but who could deal with it? Who would protect them? Who would — save them? As the blue light hovered over the Mill, Sturdevent thought of his wife and children. They were at home, but no longer safe. Nobody was safe. He realised he was shaking badly.
Martin Lasker knew he should be describing everything into his tape recorder but he couldn’t move. His eyes were held to the incredible sight. It was beautiful, and there were shapes, or at least movements, within the thing, as if it were alive. He could understand now why some people thought it was the Virgin Mary or some such godly being. It looked like it should be. It was — perfect was the word that came to mind. A perfect, beautiful entity.
Marge Calder, who had still been standing near Lutz’s car when the blue light appeared, now began to work her way through the crowd to get a closer look. It was much more impressive than she had imagined.
‘Better stay back,’ Dave Lutz called after her, but she ignored him. ‘Damn it all.’ He slammed his car door shut and went after her.
Father Lombardy and Father Slomcenski had just made their way by foot up the dirt road and now stood at the edge of the field.
‘It is… I’ll be…’ Father Slomcenski murmured quietly.
‘Bigger than before,’ Father Lombardy said grimly. He began to move towards the Mill, but it was difficult going. There were so many people, and they all were moving slowly towards the blue light. Now the cloud seemed to be in the air everywhere, sinking lower like a fog. But it continued to bum brightly only at the point of origin, over Mason’s Mill. Father Lombardy felt close to panic. The air of menace was terrifying, but he seemed to be the only person sensing it. What could he do? It was too late; perhaps too late for all of them.
‘Oh God,’ he said aloud when, a few seconds later, he saw the first body flop through the air like a thrown toy.
The spell was broken and people began running and shouting. By the Mill, the wind spread in a widening gyre, casting people aside casually, churning up clumps of sod and stones. Chief Sturdevent, who had not quite reached the Mill, was close enough to notice that even water from the stream was splashed and sprayed about. Everything within the area of the blue light was hit, and the area of the circle was increasing.
It didn’t take the crowd long to scatter, either several hundred yards away into the fields or behind the line of cars on the dirt road. There they stood and gaped, like Ned Hanley who had not moved from the large boulder he had climbed onto. The bull-horn hung idly in his hand.
The blue light stopped growing, but
it remained at the site for nearly twenty minutes, burning like some grotesquely enormous flare. By the time it faded swiftly away most people had fled, although a number still stood watching from a safe distance.
In the trampled grass and dug-up dirt around the Mill were many more bodies.
CHAPTER NINE
Sturdevent hobbled into the lobby of the police station. He wore casts on his left ankle, which had suffered a slight fracture, and on his left hand, the wrist of which had been broken cleanly. He glanced up at the wall clock and saw that it was a few minutes before noon. Just over twenty-four hours after the incident at Mason’s Mill.
The room was crammed with people, mostly newsmen. There were others, though, he knew that — politicians, irate citizens and God only knew who else. They had been camping there for hours. Sturdevent didn’t like the idea of facing them, but he knew he had to — they would wait until he appeared, and to delay too long would only make matters worse.
He carried two sheets of paper in his good hand. One was an information sheet Hanley had prepared for him and the other was a statement he had written himself. As he stepped gingerly to the makeshift podium, the crowd seemed to lean forward towards him. Cameras popped and clicked, and he tried to ignore it all. Pretend you’re addressing an empty room. But be careful Several people in front started calling him by name and asking questions.
‘Just a minute,’ Sturdevent said, holding up his two sheets of paper. ‘Can I have quiet, please, for a minute?’
Everyone was suddenly silent, so quickly and so completely that Sturdevent was almost startled. He was aware of the sweat trickling down his sides. The heat and tension in the room was painful to him. All those faces looking at him, ready to draw on him, drain him., pick him apart piece by piece until there was nothing left. He felt as if he might vomit.
‘Before I fill you in on the information we have as it stands at the moment, I’d like to make a statement. Then you can ask questions, and we’ll answer them as best we can.’ Everyone remained still. Sturdevent held up the sheet of paper which contained his own handwriting and began to read in a loud, overly formal voice.
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