Bill sighed and stared out the window. More than ever, he wished he could be in New Hampshire for the next seventy-two hours. That wasn't to be. And he wasn't going to get near any of the other primaries if he didn't get on the stick and write those letters to the New York and Maryland Provincials.
He rolled a piece of paper into the old gray Olympia portable his folks had given him as a high-school graduation gift and began banging away. He was halfway through the first letter when he was interrupted by a timid knock on his office door.
"Father Ryan?"
It was Sister Miriam.
"Yes, Sister? Is something wrong?"
"I'm not sure." She held a folded newspaper in her hand and seemed unusually reticent. "Wasn't that friend of yours who was here a few weeks ago—the one who wanted to go through the records—wasn't his name Stevens?"
"Sure. Jim Stevens."
"Isn't he the one who inherited the Hanley estate?"
"That's him. Why do you ask?"
"Now, mind you, Father, I'm not the sort to buy this kind of trash on a regular basis," she said, unfolding the tabloid and extending it toward him, "but this paper has some very strange things to say about your friend and Dr. Hanley."
Bill took the paper and frowned when he saw the logo, The Light, and its notorious left ear, "The News That Hides From the Light of Day Can't Escape The Light." Sister Miriam was an exemplary member of the Sisters of Charity, but she had an addiction to gossip magazines and tabloids. The Light was just about the cheesiest member of the latter category.
"Jim Stevens is in here?" he said, opening to page three.
"I think that's who they're talking about."
He scanned the first paragraph and saw Jim's name, Roderick Hanley's, and Monroe, Long Island, mentioned. It looked like a long article.
"Can I give this back to you later, Sister?"
"Of course," she said in a conspiratorial tone, no doubt thinking she had won a convert. Then she left him alone with The Light.
Fifteen minutes later Bill had finished the article and was up and pacing his office, feeling rocky.
Bullshit! All bullshit! Has to be!
But the paper had to have a damn near unimpeachable source to dare print something this far out. Otherwise Jim would sue it for every cent it had. And then there was the matter of Carol's call last week, about Jim being so upset as he traced his mother's identity. Of course he would have been upset—if this article was true, it meant he didn't even have a mother. Or a father, either, for that matter!
What am I saying?
Of course it wasn't true! How could it be true? This was the stuff of science fiction!
But then again, Jim had been terribly upset on Tuesday.
Good Lord! He wondered if Jim had seen the article yet. Bill didn't want to be the one to tell him about it, but he wanted to be available if Jim needed a friend. And he was going to need a friend or two when the big papers and television got hold of this.
And what about Carol? She was probably hurting as much as Jim.
He dialed Jim's number but the line was busy. After three more futile tries he knew he had to get out to Monroe. Something told him he was going to be needed there.
4
The Sunday meeting was late getting started. Brother Robert wasn't here yet, and if he didn't show soon someone would be asked to start it in his place. Grace hoped no one asked her to speak. She wouldn't know what to say. She glanced around the room at the small, chatting groups. There seemed to be an air of expectation among the Chosen. Martin was paler than usual, and seemed especially tense. She felt it herself and could see it in the eyes of the others. Only the strange Mr. Veilleur seemed immune to it. He was sitting by himself in the last row, in the same spot as Wednesday, staring off into space.
Suddenly Brother Robert burst in, his eyes bright and feverish, his face flushed. He was waving a newspaper.
"This is it!" he cried, waving the tabloid in the air. "The sign we have been waiting for! It has come!"
He rushed by her to the front. The aura of peace and tranquillity that usually enveloped him was gone. His movements were abrupt as he squared himself behind the lectern. His usually soft brown eyes glinted in the fluorescent light. He radiated nervous energy as he began making the sign of the cross without waiting for the Chosen to be seated.
"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, bless this gathering.
"Friends! We've all been touched by the Spirit in a special way. We've been privileged to be made aware of the incarnation of the Evil One, the Father of Lies, the Antichrist, who would undo all the work of the Son of God and his followers and his Church, who would plunge the world into eternal darkness. We have sensed his presence, but we haven't known in what guise he would come."
Brother Robert held up the front page of the newspaper. Grace recognized The Light.
"Now we know!
"The story revealed in these pages is a fantastic one, an incredible one, one I'm sure will be dismissed as deranged confabulation because of the very nature of the story itself, and because of its trashy source. But let me tell you, friends, the story is true!
"How do I know? Because the Spirit was with me this morning as I passed a corner newsstand. The Spirit drew my attention to these headlines, urged me to pick up the paper and read it. And as I read the article inside I knew that each word was true!"
Brother Robert rolled up the paper and began slapping it against his left palm as he went on.
" 'God works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.' " He allowed his Son, Jesus, to be born into the family of a poor carpenter. He allowed a prostitute, Mary Magdalen, to comfort His Son as He carried the Cross to his destiny. And He has chosen a humble, much-maligned tabloid to reveal to His Chosen the identity of the Antichrist.
"The Light tells of the story of a scientist who, with the typical arrogance of all scientists who think man's puny mind capable of unraveling the mysteries of God's nature, decided to play God. This man perverted God's scheme for the reproduction of humankind and, in an arrogant attempt to usurp the power of God, caused a vile abomination to be born. This scientist took a piece of his own flesh, and from it grew another human being! He called this thing a 'clone'—an exact replica of himself. Yes! He played God by creating another being in his own earthly image!"
Grace gasped. How could such a thing be possible? She glanced over to where Mr. Veilleur sat. She noticed that for the first time since his arrival he seemed interested in what was being said. Very interested. He was leaning forward in his seat, his eyes intent on Brother Robert.
" 'But what does this have to do with the Antichrist?' you say. Let the Spirit flow into your mind as I did, and you will see that the creature resulting from this blasphemous experiment is not a man! Oh, he may look like a man, he may act like a man, and he may speak like a man, but he is a hollow thing with no soul! No soul! For how can he have a soul? He is not a new human being, born of man and woman, and therefore the possessor of a new soul. No! He is a mere collection of cells donated by a scientist playing God! And as such, he is a perfect vessel for Satan! The Evil One has entered his soulless body and is ready to begin subverting the salvation brought to us by Jesus Christ!"