"You came back," Buck said.
She wheeled around, hiding the gun from him. He had emerged from the bathroom and was standing between her and the door.
"I knew you'd come back," be said to her. "They always do."
"I want you to show yourself-" Virginia said.
"I'm naked as a babe as it is," said Buck, "what do you want me to do: skin myself? Might be fun, at that."
"Show yourself to John, my husband. Make him see his error."
"Oh, poor John. I don't think he wants to see me, do you?"
"He thinks I'm insane."
"Insanity can be very useful," Buck smirked, "they almost saved Sadie from Old Sparky on a plea of insanity. But she was too honest for her own good. She just kept telling them, over and over: 'I wanted him dead. So I shot him.' She never had much sense. But you... now, I think you know what's best for you."
The shadowy form shifted. Virginia couldn't quite make out what Durning was doing with himself but it was unequivocally obscene.
"Come and get it, Virginia," he said, "grub's up."
She took the .38 from behind her back and leveled it at him.
"Not this time," she said.
"You can't do me any harm with that," he replied. "I'm already dead, remember?"
"You hurt me. Why shouldn't I be able to hurt you back?"
Buck shook his ethereal head, letting out a low laugh. As he was so engaged the wail of police sirens rose from down the highway.
"Well, what do you know?" Buck said. "Such a fuss and commotion. We'd better get down to some jazzing, honey, before we get interrupted."
"I warn you, this is Sadie's gun-"You wouldn't hurt me," Buck murmured. "I know you women. You say one thing and you mean the opposite." He stepped toward her, laughing.
"Don't," she warned.
He took another step, and she pulled the trigger. In the instant before she heard the sound, and felt the gun leap in her hand, she saw John appear in the doorway. Had he been there all along, or was he coming out of the rain, prayers done, to read Revelations to his erring wife? She would never know The bullet sliced through Buck, dividing the smoky body as it went, and sped with perfect accuracy toward the evangelist. He didn't see it coming. It struck him in the throat, and blood came quickly, splashing down his shirt. Buck's form dissolved like so much dust, and he was gone. Suddenly there was nothing in Room Seven but Virginia, her dying husband and the sound of the rain.
John Gyer frowned at Virginia, then reached out for the door frame to support his considerable bulk. He failed to secure it, and fell backward out of the door like a toppled statue, his face washed by the rain. The blood did not stop coming however. It poured out in gleeful spurts; and it was still pumping when Alvin Baker and his deputy arrived outside the room, guns at the ready.
Now her husband would never know, she thought. That was the pity of it. He could never now be made to concede his stupidity and recant his arrogance. Not this side of the grave, anyhow. He was safe, damn him, and she was left with a smoking gun in her hand and God alone knew what price to pay.
"Put down the gun and come out of there!" The voice from the lot sounded harsh and uncompromising.
Virginia didn't answer.
"You hear me, in there? This is Sheriff Baker. The place is surrounded, so come on out, or you're dead."
Virginia sat on the bed and weighed up the alternatives. They wouldn't execute her for what she'd done, the way they had Sadie. But she'd be in prison for a long time, and she was tired of regimes. If she wasn't mad now, incarceration would push her to the brink and over. Better to finish here, she thought. She put the warm .38 under her chin, tilting it to make sure the shot would take off the top of her skull.
"Is that wise?" Sadie inquired, as Virginia's finger tightened.
"They'll lock me away," she replied. "I couldn't face that."
"True," said Sadie. "They'll put you behind bars for a while. But it won't be for long."
"You must be joking. I just shot my husband in cold blood."
"You didn't mean to," Sadie said brightly, "you were aiming at Buck."
"Was I?" Virginia said. "I wonder."
"You can plead insanity, the way I should have done. Just make up the most outrageous story you can and stick to it." Virginia shook her head; she'd never been much of a liar. "And when you're set free," Sadie went on, "you'll be notorious. That's worth living for, isn't it?"
Virginia hadn't thought of that. The ghost of a smile illuminated her face. From outside, Sheriff Baker repeated his demand that she throw her weapon through the door and come out with her hands high.
"You've got ten seconds, lady," he said, "and I mean ten."
"I can't face the humiliation," Virginia murmured. "I can't."
Sadie shrugged. "Pity," she said. "The rain's clearing. There's a moon.
"A moon? Really?"
Baker had started counting.
"You have to make up your mind," Sadie said. "They'll shoot you given half the chance. And gladly."
Baker had reached eight. Virginia stood up.
"Stop," she called through the door.
Baker stopped counting. Virginia threw out the gun. It landed in the mud.
"Good," said Sadie. "I'm so pleased."
"I can't go alone," Virginia replied.
"No need."
A sizeable audience had gathered in the lot: Earl and Laura May of course, Milton Cade, Dwayne and his girl, Sheriff Baker and his deputy, an assortment of motel guests. They stood in respectful silence, staring at Virginia Gyer with mingled expressions of bewilderment and awe.
"Put your hands up where I can see them!" Baker said. Virginia did as she was instructed.
"Look," said Sadie, pointing.
The moon was up, wide and white.
"Why'd you kill him?" Dwayne's girl asked.
"The Devil made me do it," Virginia replied, gazing up at the moon and putting on the craziest smile she could muster.
DOWN, SATAN!
CIRCUMSTANCES HAD made Gregorius rich beyond all calculation. He owned fleets and palaces; stallions; cities Indeed he owned so much that to those who were finally charged with enumerating his possessions-when the events of this story reached their monstrous conclusion-it sometimes seemed it might be quicker to list the items Gregorius did not own.
Rich he was, but far from happy. He had been raised a Catholic, and in his early years-before his dizzying rise to fortune-he'd found succor in his faith. But he'd neglected it, and it was only at the age of fifty-five, with the world at his feet, that he woke one night and found himself Godless.
It was a bitter blow, but he immediately took steps to make good his loss. He went to Rome and spoke with the Supreme Pontiff; he prayed night and day; he founded seminaries and leper colonies. God, however, declined to show so much as His toenail. Gregorius, it seemed, was forsaken.
Almost despairing, he took it into his head that he could only win his way back into the arms of his Maker if he put his soul into the direst jeopardy. The notion had some merit. Suppose, he thought, I could contrive a meeting with Satan, the Archfiend. Seeing me in extremis, would not God be obliged to step in and deliver me back into the fold?
It was a fine plot, but how was he to realize it? The Devil did not just come at a call, even for a tycoon such as Gregorius, and his researches soon proved that all the traditional methods of summoning the Lord of Vermin-the defiling of the Blessed Sacrament, the sacrificing of babes-were no more effective than his good works had been at provoking Yahweh. It was only after a year of deliberation that he finally fell upon his master plan. He would arrange to have built a hell on earth-a modern inferno so monstrous that the Tempter would be tempted, and come to roost there like a cuckoo in a usurped nest.