"None of this leaves the room, understand?"
Gordon nodded silently, his face pale.
"But that wasn't all. Don told us that after the creatures killed Selway'sfamily, they madeSelway himself kneel before a fire, telling him to bow down before his new God. Something huge came out of the flames, something with horns that Don said looked like the devil, and Selwaywalked into the fire." He paused. "We never foundSelway's remains. Don told us we wouldn't."
"That's quite a story," Father Andrews said. "But you expect me to believe it all?"
"What don't you believe?"
"Where do you want me to start?" He looked at the sheriff and sighed.
"Okay, first, the conception of the devil as an entity with horns and a tail and a pitchfork comes from artists and fiction writers. It has no theological basis in fact--"
"Are you telling me that the Bible gives detailed descriptions of each and every demon mentioned and that none of them have horns?"
"Well, no," the priest admitted. "There are very few physical descriptions."
"Okay then."
"But psychic dream correlations are very seldom literal. There's hardly ever a specific one-to-one correspondence between the details of a premonition and what actually occurs--"
The sheriff held up a hand. "Look, humor me. Suppose the boy saw what actually happened? What then?"
"I'm--"
"Take into account the fact that several churches have been vandalized and painted with goat's blood, that goats from neighboring farms have been slaughtered, that two of the farmers themselves have been killed, that similar things have happened around the state. Throw in your own experience, the disappearance of some teenage boys and some small stuff like Gordon's cat. What have you got?"
The priest looked at him. "Do you want my official answer as a member of the Episcopal church, or do you want my own personalanswer?v "Your personal answer. Your honest answer." "I don't know," Father Andrews admitted. "But you're starting to scare me."
Marina was standing in the front doorway when Gordon hopped out of the car. She walked down the porch steps to meet him. "What took you so long?"
He shook his head. "Nothing." He kissed her lightly on the lips.
"Did you find anything out from the sheriff?"
"No. Nothing new."
"That bastard. I'll be damned if I'll vote for him again. He hasn't done a single thing to find out what happened."
"He's trying," Gordon said.
She stepped back from him, her brows furrowed. She crossed her arms.
"What did he do? Give you some sob story about how overworked he is?"
Gordon smiled. "No."
"Well then why are you sticking up for him?"
"A lot of things have been happening around here. He's busy."
"That doesn't helpVlad ." Marina turned away with an angry toss of her head and walked back up the porch steps.
Gordon followed. "Look, I don't want to argue about this right now." He hefted the small brown paper sack in his hand, making a clanking jingling noise, and she turned around to look. "I bought some locks," he said.
She stared at him levelly. "That's something."
"I'm going to put them on so we don't have to worry about anyone else breaking in."
She nodded, softening but still not smiling. "You do that. I'll start making dinner."
For the next hour he lost himself in the menial job of installing locks on the windows. He was all the way around to the kitchen window when Marina called him in for dinner. He waved at her, telling her he'd be through in a minute, and hastily put in the last screw before going inside to eat.
He washed his hands in the kitchen sink as Marina placed a large salad and two bowls of minestrone soup on the table. She seemed to have forgotten all about their earlier disagreement. "So," she said, getting out the silverware, "how do these locks work?"
He sat down. "Simple. You push the bolt to lock the window, pull the bolt to open it."
"How come you're putting them on the outside?"
"The lock itself is on the underside of the window, even though you lock it from inside the house."
The phone rang, and they looked at each other. Ordinarily, when someone called during dinner they let the phone ring without answering it, but Gordon did not want to take any chances. "I'll get it," he said.
Marina nodded.
He came back into the kitchen a few minutes later, embarrassed.
"Brad," he said. He scratched his head. "He wants me to help him finish up tonight."
"Tonight!" Marina looked at the clock. "It's after six already!"
Gordon shrugged. "He's let me off early the past few days to take care of this break-in--"
"So what's that mean? You owe him your life?"
"That's the reason he's fallen behind. All he wants me to do is help him deliver a few cases to the markets in town. That's it. With both of us working it shouldn't take more than an hour. Hour and a half at the latest."
"What about the door locks? You're just going to leave me here alone by myself? It'll be dark in less than an hour."
"We only have two doors," he said. "I don't have to meet Brad until seven. I have plenty of time to put both locks on."
"Hurry up and eat then." Marina shivered, though it was far from cold.
"I want them done before you go."
All of the lights in the house were on, but Marina was still frightened. She should have gone with Gordon, should have gone to the stores with him and read magazines while he unloaded Pepsis.
The house sighed somewhere, creaking, and she blamed the wind, though she knew the air outside was still. She focused her attention on the TV, trying to get herself involved in the show, but the picture came in poorly, the dialogue interrupted by loud crackles of static, and she realized that there was a storm somewhere between Randall and Flagstaff. The thought made her aware of how isolated she really was from everything. She considered calling Ginny, but then decided against it. She didn't really have anything to say; she would just be calling to assuage her fears, to feign companionship.
Wasn't that reason enough?
No. She forced herself to watch the snowy television. Besides, Gordon would be home soon.
There was a knock at the door. Marina jumped from her chair and ran to the front. She peeked through the curtains of the living room window and saw a strange man in a gray business suit standing on her doorstep.
She gave a short, sharp cry and the man's sharp eyes veered instantly to her window. She let the curtain fall, backing into the room. She banged against a chair and reached behind her, grabbing it for support.
There was another knock at the door. This one firmer, less hesitant, more insistent. The man wanted in!
"Go away!" Marina yelled.
"I have come to speak with you and your husband," the man called through the closed door. His voice was loud, carrying with it the controlled authority of a public speaker.
"My husband's not home! Come back later!"
"I will talk with you, then."
Marina licked her lips, but her tongue was dry as well. She could feel her arms trembling with fear. Slowly, she crept forward until she was again at the window. She thought for a moment, then moved to another vantage point--the window on the other side of the door. She pulled the curtain slowly back and peeked out. The man's gaze was still fixed on the other window. "I would like to speak with you," he said.
"I can hear you fine!" Marina yelled. "Tell me what you want to tell me, then leave! Or I'm going to call the sheriff!"
His gaze swung immediately to her, and she blanched at the intensity of his expression. She noticed for the first time that he carried with him a Bible, tucked under his right arm.