"What's the attraction?" I asked.
No one answered.
Suddenly, one of the ladies sighed deeply and started moving her head around. Tears welled in her eyes and began streaming down her face. She rounded her shoulders as if warming up to take an exercise class. About that time the man's cane fell to the ground and he slowly straightened his back. A look of ecstasy crossed his face and tears flowed freely from his eyes. The third woman broke into a wide smile and started dancing in a tight little circle of space.
I looked around.
The others were making small movements with their bodies. Some of the new arrivals stood stock still, as if waiting for something marvelous to happen. Their eyes were hopeful and glazed over as if experiencing the type of rapture that comes from contemplating divine things. As I watched their faces break into euphoric smiles I was reminded of a tent show I'd been to as a kid, where a preacher offered to trade the town folk miracles for money.
Only there were no preachers around.
I didn't want to leave. But apparently the guys in the van had seen me trying to talk to the old folks, because the driver climbed out holding a cell phone to his ear, and within seconds, a cop car pulled in front of the church. I waved goodbye to my elderly friends and to the cops and van guys as well, and jogged back to my car. No sense in ruffling feathers my first day on the job.
I glanced at the church again and saw more people heading there. All were old or sickly, though some were being pushed in wheelchairs by younger, healthy people. All of them: healthy or sick, young or old, looked like they came for a miracle. Silently, I wished them well, but couldn't help thinking they were the same people who'd travel 50 miles and stand in line to see a piece of French toast that looks like St. Paul's bullfrog.
I backed onto Eighth, made my way to the corner and turned right on A1A. I'd got about a mile before losing the feeling of euphoria. I didn't know what the power was, or how it spread, but it seemed to emanate from the church. At least today it did. Of course, yesterday I felt it behind the B amp;B and the night before it occurred a mile further south. So what had I really learned? My life had been filled with strange experiences, but this one took the cake! If the town wanted to make a killing, maybe they could find a way to harness the energy around that church and sell it. I doubted that was possible, but on the chance it might be, I gave serious thought to heading back that way with an empty bottle and a cork.
But that would have to wait.
I drove another half-mile and turned into the parking lot of The Seaside B amp;B, where, as caretaker, my first order of business was squirrel infestation.
I'd begun my military career right out of high school as a sniper for the Army. In those days I learned how to move stealthily through the woods and tall grass, where distance traveled was often measured in feet per hour. What I'm saying, it was a rare day that I didn't encounter snakes, rodents and insects of all types, so I had no fear of St. Alban's tree squirrels.
But I had no intention of climbing into that attic yet.
Most animals will give you a wide berth, provided you don't back them in a corner. In the wild, there are plenty of escape routes for the big and small beasties, all of who are nervous, frightened, or curious. When they see or hear or feel you coming, the nervous move on, the frightened growl or hiss and move on, and the curious stop to look, maybe piss or defecate near you, but eventually slither or scurry away.
But the Seaside attic was self-contained, with walls, a floor and a ceiling and only a few small holes available to the beasties as escape routes. I had no idea what might be lurking in the eaves and insulation-filled floorboards of that attic, but there was one thing I did know: this was their attic, not mine. It had been theirs for a long time, and I wasn't going to change that in a day, or even a week.
I had a plan.
My plan involved the ladder I found in the storage shed that was located to the side and back of the property. It looked to be about twelve-feet tall, with an extension that would take it up to about twenty.
Beth had gone to Jacksonville for the day, and guests weren't scheduled to arrive until after four, so Rachel and I had the place to ourselves. My plan was to make a quick, pre-emptive strike against the squirrels by boxing them in. I'd let them sit there awhile, let them expend some energy trying to scratch their way out, then gas them with a pesticide bomb and assess their response. I gathered some metal flashing, nails and a hammer, and propped the ladder against the side of the house by the openings the squirrels were using to enter and exit the attic. I boarded up the holes I could find. Then I put the ladder and other materials away, changed into a pair of khaki shorts, and swung by the kitchen long enough to crush some ice cubes in a blender and roll them into a hand towel. Then I headed to the beach where Rachel was sunbathing.
"Hey Scatman," Rachel said.
"Scatman?"
"I looked it up on my laptop," she said. "Scatman Crothers played the part of the caretaker in The Shining. Dick Hallorann?"
You had to love this girclass="underline" two days earlier I'd told her about the Grady Twins, today she was giving it back to me. Rachel had on a black and white striped bikini and was lying on a chaise. She wore her hair in a French braid with a white bow tied on the end. She'd pulled the braid over her left shoulder to frame her face. The glass beside her was empty; save for a small pool of water and a couple of nearly melted ice cubes, remnants of what I guessed had been a pina colada.
"Where'd you get the drink?" I said.
"I made it in the kitchen. They don't have anyone to serve drinks here, can you believe that?"
"I think the waitress is supposed to serve the drinks."
She looked at me curiously. "Well, that's what I did."
I nodded.
Rachel said, "What's with the towel?"
"Here, I'll show you." I put the frozen towel around her neck.
She gasped when it touched her skin, but within seconds she was murmuring, "God, that feels good!"
I said, "I think I'll take the car down A1A for a few minutes."
"Like how many minutes?"
"Maybe twenty. You want to come?"
"No, I'm good. I want to catch some rays today if we're still doing breakfast tomorrow. Are we?"
"We are."
She looked up at me and squinted against the sun. "You sure you want to do that? Cook breakfast for tourists and townies?"
"I am. Can I get you another drink before I go?"
"Maybe you could bring me one when you come back."
I kissed her on the cheek. "As you wish," I said, quoting a line from our favorite movie, The Princess Bride.
"Thank you, Farm Boy," Rachel said, not to be outdone.
A few minutes later I took A1A back to the church, but this time I felt nothing. Nor were there any old people in the churchyard. Whatever had happened, if it happened, had stopped happening. But I didn't care; I knew how to find another great feeling.
I turned the car around and headed to the sand dune where we'd found the boy a couple nights ago. I parked on the shoulder of the highway and made my way to the fire ant colony, and lay on my back next to it the same way the kid had been laying. While I waited I wondered what I'd tell the cops if a squad car happened by.