“I’m sorry, Reverend,” Tarretti said. “Obviously we’ll need to talk about this right away. I—” He hesitated. “I’m not good with phones, not sure if you could tell that from our last conversation. Could you come by my home right away? Do you know where it is?”
Nathan said he did, and looked at Elizabeth. He had so many things to do, so many people to contact, he should not even consider accepting the invitation. But the sensation of a connection, of puzzle pieces falling together—this new terrible one included—was overpowering. He heard himself say, “I’ll be there in a few minutes,” before he could decide on any other reply.
Tarretti said that was good, and to hurry. “Call no one else, Reverend,” he added before disconnecting, “until we’ve spoken. Please. I’ll explain everything when you get here.”
Nathan pocketed the phone, numb. A brief idea stuck him, like a car racing by as he stood at the side of the road. He may have just accepted an invitation to visit Hayden’s murderer. But like a passing car, it made an impression only for a moment before he ignored it. The world around him had gone completely insane. If he did this, visited Tarretti right away, heard what he had to say then moved on to more urgent matters, maybe he could come through to the other side. The rational side. The way his life was before coming to town.
Or maybe he’d already cracked up but hadn’t yet realized it.
He grabbed his jacket and stood. Elizabeth fumbled in her pocketbook for money to leave on the table. Though they hadn’t gotten the bill yet, what she left seemed far beyond what it would have come to.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ll drop you off—”
“I’m coming with you, wherever you’re going.” She got up and took his arm. He didn’t argue. At the moment he wanted no one else at his side but her.
Then he remembered that fleeting thought about Tarretti.
“Maybe you should stay at home. I don’t know if—”
“Don’t bother, Nate,” she said, and caught the waitress’s attention to explain the money was on the table. They walked outside together. Nathan’s tears had dried. He had too much to do. He’d mourn his old pastor another day. There would be the sorrow of others to deal with, now.
Chapter Forty
Josh Everson clicked the “back” button on his browser and chose the next link on the Internet search page. He’d gone through seven so far and was getting a little nervous. Of course, there were a couple of pages that were so obviously the result of fractured minds that he didn’t take them seriously. In one, a person—man, woman or kid, he couldn’t tell—calling himself WFC-Guy (the WFC meaning Watchdog For Christ, the name of the website), claimed the existence of an international organization of neo-Ammonites who actively worship the demon Moloch. A slight variation on Nate’s spelling, but he had said to expect that. The site claimed such followers were, in truth, aliens from an as-yet undetected galaxy who were slowly replacing top figures in world governments with replicants. If that was true, he’d voted a space creature for U.S. President in the last election. This last bizarreness aside, it did have the connection he was looking for, so Josh bookmarked the page and moved on.
Another site explained in gruesome detail the various modes of sacrifices to the demon-god. Here, its name was spelled Molech. This particular page gave him the willies. Descriptions of young children placed atop the hands of a large iron idol, cast in the shape of a sitting man with the head of a bull. Through the use of pulleys and winches, the arms were raised up. The demon’s mouth was always open, “always hungry” as the description read, ready to receive the offering. In its belly raged a sacrificial fire. The flames grew so hot that the idol’s iron skin glowed red, giving the impression of demonic life within.
He bookmarked that one, too. Much of the other information he’d uncovered was similar, or mentioned Molech only in passing with scores of other demons not a whole lot nicer.
He sat back and took a sip of his warm Coke. He refined his search. Alongside “Molech,” “Ammonites” he added “United States” and “Massachusetts,”
From the living room came a hard knock against the apartment door. Josh reflexively checked the time—nine-sixteen—then clicked “Search” before getting up. He reminded himself to give Davy a call at the Grocer in a half hour. He’d convinced the kid to work a double shift tonight so he’d have time to get Nate his info. Davy had closed the place before, but he was a teenager and tended to forget little things like shutting off the outside light.
When he opened the door, Josh expected to see Nate’s eager face. Instead, a familiar white-haired man stood in the hall. For a moment, he thought the guy might be one of the many neighbors he hadn’t gotten around to introducing himself to over the past two years. Then he placed the face.
Looking much less menacing in the bright hallway lights than he had this morning, Whitey from the men’s club said, “Josh Everson?” He didn’t sound angry. That was good. Josh steeled himself for a barrage of insults for walking in on him and Nate. He recalled the details of Nate’s suspicions and what he’d just read online.
Oh, man, he thought. I’m toast.
“Hi,” he finally said, “that’s me. Can I help you with something?” He wanted to slam the door and call the cops, but what would he tell them? That a demon-worshipping alien from Galaxy X was standing at his door?
The man smiled. His white moustache hardly moved, so little did the smile affect his mouth. “Yes, you will help me.” His voice had a calmness and power that put Josh at ease. Why had he been so worried about the guy?
Quinn continued, “Let me in, Josh, and I will explain what I need.”
Josh nodded, never looking away from the other man’s eyes. Very clear. A smart man. He hoped he could help him, and backed up a step. Quinn entered the apartment and Josh followed his progress.
“Close the door.”
He closed the door.
“Come and sit,” the man looked around then pointed to the couch, “over there.”
Josh walked over to the couch. He looked away from Quinn’s face as he sat and suddenly wondered why he was being so agreeable with this loony.
“Look at me and listen carefully.”
Oh, that’s right, he remembered. I was going to help him with something.
Quinn sat beside him on the very edge of the cushion and said, slowly, “You talked to your friend Nathan Dinneck today, after the two of you left my store. Is that correct?”
“Yes.” That was a relief. If this was about Nate, he knew everything.
“Tell me everything you discussed, from the beginning.” He leaned forward. “Remember everything and tell me.”
Josh walked out from The Greedy Grocer and saw Nate’s car. He looked back through the store’s window. They must have missed each other. Nope, not in there. He wondered if Nate might have actually had the gumption to check out his dad’s new hangout for himself. He walked casually along the sidewalk, neither feeling the concrete under his feet nor thinking it odd that a moment ago he was sitting in his living room with the guy who ran this place.
As he told the story, his eyes remained unfocused. His visitor listened. When Josh finished, he simply stared across the room, like a robot who’d been switched off.
“Josh Everson?”
Josh’s eyes refocused on Quinn’s face.
“Hmmm?”
“Tell me everything you have learned on your computer.”
“I can show you,” he said, emotion now trickling into his voice.