We will rise, p.19
We Will Rise, page 19
The man reached into a coat pocket, withdrew a pistol, and aimed it at Pastor Steve.
“My wife and daughters say hi.”
The man squeezed the pistol’s trigger. The gun bucked in his hand as he fired, the sound of the shot echoing in the nave like thunder. A crimson flower bloomed in the middle of Pastor Steve’s forehead, and his brains sprayed out the back in a V-shape to splatter the black-and-white painting of the cross. Jerome thought the mix of gray and red was an improvement on the painting’s color scheme. Steve jerked backward then fell to the floor of the chancel. A number of people in the crowd screamed while others began yelling. Many jumped up from their seats and started heading toward the back, jamming the aisle and stepping on people who’d been sitting there. An Asian woman sitting against the wall in the rear of the nave rose to her feet and tried to fight her way through the fleeing crowd to reach the aisle. She wore a long-sleeved white shirt, blue slacks, and black shoes. There was an insignia on the left side of the shirt. Jerome stood too far away from the woman to make out the insignia clearly, but it looked like some sort of official city logo. She was likely a paramedic, he decided, and she wanted to check on Pastor Steve’s condition. Not that there was any real need. There wasn’t a surgeon on the planet that could put the red-and-gray slurry that used to be his brains back into his skull. Professional training died hard though, he supposed.
“Julie, don’t!”
A young man wearing a dark blue jacket and apparently no pants jumped up. He’d been sitting next to the paramedic, and now he started after her. An older Black woman who’d been seated on the other side of the paramedic got up, grabbed hold of the boy’s arm, and held him back. He tried to pull away, but the older woman draped an arm around his shoulder and held him in place. They watched with worried expressions as Julie fought her way into the aisle and slowly began pushing against the tide of terrified people trying to get the hell away from Mr. My-Gun-Is-God as fast as they could. Too many people were trying to fit through the doorway at once, and because of this no one was getting through. People shoved and hit and clawed at each other, their fear reducing them to little more than animals. Some gave up on going through the door and were pounding their fists against the glass walls between the nave and the narthex, hoping to break the glass and create alternate exits for themselves.
Julie had managed to get farther up the aisle than Jerome expected, but she was fighting a losing battle. There were too many panicked people trying to flee, and soon the inevitable happened. She was knocked down, fell to one knee, and Jerome knew that within seconds she’d be driven all the way to the floor and trampled. But a young man who looked to be of Middle Eastern descent was sitting in the pew next to where Julie had gone down. He stood, reached for her, caught hold of her arm, and hauled her into the pew with him. She fell into his arms, exhausted, and gave him a grateful smile. An older woman stood next to the young man, and she was looking back and forth, taking in all the chaos, eyes glittering and mouth stretched into a cruel, satisfied smile. She noticed Jerome looking at her, and they locked gazes, each taking the measure of the other. In that moment, Jerome realized he was looking at someone like him, a woman for whom today wasn’t a nightmare made real but rather a day of liberation, a day that her true self could be born.
Takes one to know one, he thought.
He nodded to her, and after a second’s hesitation, she nodded back.
Notice anything special about the EMT?
Jerome looked to his left and saw Randall standing there. His personal deity had returned.
Jerome looked at Julie, trying to understand what Randall was talking about. Then he saw it. Julie resembled one of Randall’s teenage victims – Linh Choi. They were both Asian, but it was more than that. They exuded a similar strength and confidence, although Julie’s was much more mature. Looking at her was like seeing what Linh might be like if she had lived to grow into full adulthood. Jerome had always found Linh to be the most attractive of the three victims, and Julie was equally as pretty. More so, because of her age. Her beauty had a chance to ripen where Linh’s hadn’t. Jerome felt his cock begin to stiffen. His dick still ached after fucking all those bodies by the blood river, but the pain felt good now, almost a turn-on in itself
Nice, huh? Randall said.
“Yes. Very.”
Then the sound of two more gunshots cut through the pandemonium, and everyone fell silent and froze.
Mr. My-Gun-Is-God had stepped up onto the chancel and taken Steve’s place at the lectern. He held his weapon pointed toward the ceiling, and Jerome realized these shots had been meant solely to get everyone’s attention. It was a waste of ammunition as far as Jerome was concerned, but it was the man’s show, and he could do as he pleased.
It won’t be his show for much longer, Randall said.
“Listen to me, everybody! We have to band together and fight back against the ghosts. It’s the only way we’ll have a chance to survive.”
“How are we supposed to fight them?” a woman in the congregation shouted. “They’re already fucking dead!”
This elicited murmurs of agreement from others in the crowd.
“If they’re real, then they can be fought,” Mr. My-Gun-Is-God said. But he sounded unsure, as if he didn’t fully believe his own words.
A man toward the back of the nave – one of the people who’d been trying to break the glass walls – called out, “You’re just a pussy who’s afraid of his own wife and kids!”
Mr. My-Gun-Is-God lowered his pistol and aimed it at the man who’d spoken. He didn’t fire, though.
“Damn right I am! If you’d seen the thing they’d become, you’d be afraid too!”
That’s your cue, Randall said. Let The Book be your guide.
Jerome smiled. It was time to share the new gospel with the good people of Echo Springs.
He started toward the chancel.
Chapter Eighteen
Mari watched in disbelief as Dean Carlson gunned down Pastor Steve. It seemed unreal, not least because it was so ordinary compared to what she’d experienced with Noelle and in Oliver’s basement. No ghosts, no nightmarish distortion of reality, just one man, one gun, and one bullet.
They’d stopped halfway between Oliver’s house and New Life so Julie could get out, brace herself against the van, and pop her shoulder back into place. Mari knew the woman was far from one hundred percent, but you couldn’t tell it by the way she jumped up now, clearly intending to go to Steve’s aid. But even without any medical training, Mari knew the poor man was dead. Oliver tried to stop Julie, but the Sanctuary had exploded into chaos, and Mari didn’t want the boy to be caught in the stampede of frightened people trying to escape. She stood, grabbed hold of him, and held him back. Together they watched as Julie tried to fight her way to Steve, but eventually she was knocked down. Mari feared she would be trampled, but a young man a few years older than Oliver helped Julie into his pew, getting her out of danger – at least for the moment. Mari wasn’t sure any of them would ever truly be out of danger again.
After Julie had told Oliver what happened to his mother, the poor boy had broken down sobbing. Mari almost told him about seeing his mother’s ghost in their kitchen and how she had urged Mari to save her son, thinking the knowledge might give the boy some comfort. But she decided to save that for later. Oliver had enough to deal with as it was.
The three of them had no idea where to go after that, and it was Mari who suggested the New Life church. It was where she and Lewis attended services, and she thought if there was ever a time she could use some spiritual guidance, it was now. When Mari suggested this, Julie seemed less than enthused about the idea, but Oliver responded more positively. Mari had seen the painting of Jesus in the Pattons’ vestibule, and she’d figured it was a good indication that Oliver’s family was religious. She assumed Oliver’s parents were progressive Christians given that they had a trans son, and New Life was a progressive church, so the boy should feel right at home.
When they reached New Life, she’d been surprised at first to see how crowded the parking lot was, but of course she wasn’t the only one who’d felt the need to seek out the comfort of church today. And more than that, the spiritual manifestations the three of them had experienced so far – with the possible exception of Julie’s brother – had turned out to be malevolent. Why would it be any different for everyone else in town? So if evil powers were trying to torment and kill you, where else would you go but a place that was dedicated to all that was holy, a place where you might be safe? But Dean had just reminded them all of a primal truth about the universe: safety was an illusion.
Mari didn’t know Dean well, but she’d been friends with his wife. She’d served with Adrienne on the summer picnic committee, and she’d been devastated when the woman and her two daughters had been killed. She and Lewis had attended their combined funeral, and they’d given Dean their condolences, though she knew it would do nothing to blunt the force of the man’s grief. That had been less than a year ago. Obviously, Dean was still struggling with sorrow, and the day’s events had metastasized his pain, turning it into madness. Everyone, herself included, was probably crazy now, at least a little.
She was startled when Dean stepped up to the lectern and fired two shots into the ceiling, abruptly ending the chaos. Everyone stopped moving, fell silent, and turned to listen to what the man had to say. He told them they needed to work together to fight the ghosts, but people in the audience challenged his words. Dean ended up aiming his pistol at one of these challengers, and Mari feared Dean was going to take a shot at the man. But then another man started walking toward the front of the Sanctuary. He was middle-aged, had curly rust-red hair, wore a dark-blue turtleneck, slacks the same color, and black shoes. He carried a book with a blood-red cover in his right hand, and he made his way through the crowd with a sense of purpose, as if he was a man on a mission. People looked at him as he passed but no one did anything to stop him. Maybe they figured if he wanted to get killed it was his own business. But there was something about him that said he was just as dangerous as Dean, maybe more so, and people remained very still as he went by, like prey animals hoping to avoid attracting a predator’s attention.
When Dean saw the red-headed man approaching, he swung his gun toward him.
“I don’t know who you are, but you need to stay the fuck back, buddy,” Dean said.
The red-headed man smiled. “My name is Jerome Gallagher. I used to be a librarian, but now…well, I guess you could call me a prophet.”
Jerome continued walking toward Dean, seemingly unconcerned that a man who’d just committed murder in front of the entire congregation had a gun trained on him.
Dean scowled, angered by Jerome’s words and the implicit challenge his approach constituted. But Mari thought he looked afraid too, and that worried her. Fearful people and guns were a dangerous combination.
“I’m warning you one last time,” Dean said. “Back off or I’m going to put a bullet in you too.”
“Guns will be powerless in the new world,” Jerome said. He stopped at the edge of the chancel, opened the red book, and held it out before him as if it were a talisman, pages facing Dean.
Red water – no, blood – gushed forth from the book in an arcing stream. It splashed onto the chancel next to Dean, splattered his pants legs as it formed a puddle. Jerome snapped the book shut, cutting off the blood stream. Dean stared at the crimson puddle, as if trying to make sense out of what he was seeing. Then three forms rose forth from the blood, the puddle shrinking as they ascended, as if they were being formed from it. When the process was finished, the puddle was gone, and three young women stood next to Dean. They were naked, covered with blood, hair wet and matted with it. The skin of their faces had been removed with surgical precision, leaving lidless eyes and lipless teeth surrounded by raw red muscle. They had one more thing in common: each held a knife in her hands.
“Behold the Sisters of the Blade,” Jerome said.
Blood ran from the top of the painting behind the lectern, completely obliterating the image of the cross. The blood reconfigured itself on the canvas, and when it was finished a crimson dagger had replaced the cross.
A number of people gasped in horror, and several pointed at the painting. Dean lowered his weapon and turned to see what they were looking at. When he saw the altered painting, he stared at it. Mari could only see the back of Dean’s head, but she could imagine the expression of fear on the man’s face. Dean then turned abruptly to the faceless girls and raised his gun.
“Fuck you, ghost bitches!” he shouted and began firing.
Even upset as he was, his aim was good, and the rounds struck the faceless women in their chests and abdomens. Their bodies jerked with the bullets’ impact, but they did not cry out in pain, and no blood ran from their new wounds. Dean continued firing until his gun ran out of ammunition, and he squeezed the trigger several more times before realizing what had happened.
“Where’s your god now?” Jerome asked.
The Sisters of the Blade raised their knives and Dean paled. He ejected the cartridge from his gun and jammed his hand into his pants pocket. He pulled out a fresh cartridge, but before he could put it in, the Sisters rushed forward. They fell upon him like ravenous animals, forced him to the floor of the chancel, and plunged their knives into him over and over. He screamed, high and loud, but not for long. After he’d fallen silent, the Sisters continued their grisly work, their enthusiasm unabated. No one in the Sanctuary spoke, no one seemed to even breathe. The only sounds were the chok-chok-chok of steel repeatedly violating flesh.
Jerome stepped up onto the chancel, and as he took Dean’s place behind the lectern, the Sisters of the Blade finally stopped savaging Dean’s corpse. They stood and lined up behind Jerome, knives held at their sides, blood dripping from the blades. Jerome then put his red book on the lectern and opened it.
“Today, my friends, is the Homecoming.” He beamed at the congregation as if he was spreading the good news. “This is the day that our dead have returned to free us from our petty, selfish lives. They’ve come to share with us the greatest gift of all – the gift of death. Life is an aberration, a mutation, a mistake. The dead have come to rescue us, and the only way they can do that is by destroying us. They love us, they miss us, they want us to join them, and the only way they can do that is to kill us.”
Jerome gazed upon the faces of the assembled once more, as if he were a teacher waiting to see if anyone had any questions or comments. Mari looked at Oliver, saw the boy was staring at Jerome with wide-eyed horror. Julie looked back at them, and Mari met her gaze. An unspoken exchange passed between them: How much worse was this day going to get?
Unfortunately, they were about to find out.
“Some of you might recognize the Sisters of the Blade,” Jerome said. “Even without their lovely faces. They’re three of the most famous citizens Echo Springs has ever known, all victims of the most famous – Randall Beck, a.k.a. the Skintaker.”
Jerome gestured toward a blond-haired teenage boy standing against one of the Sanctuary’s walls. He wore a Sonic Youth T-shirt, old jeans, and even older sneakers. Mari hadn’t grown up in Echo Springs. She and Lewis had moved to town after she’d landed her teaching job. She wasn’t as familiar with the story of Randall Beck as lifelong residents were, so she didn’t experience the same shock of recognition that many of those in the Sanctuary did. But she heard their gasps, saw the expressions of disbelief on their faces, and she knew this boy was – no pun intended – a dead ringer for the infamous killer. She had no problem believing the boy truly was Beck, though. After the things she’d seen this day, she could believe any damn thing.
Randall smiled and gave everyone a small wave of greeting. His eyes remained flat and emotionless, and Mari saw little humanity in them.
“Randall and people like him – Bundy, Dahmer, Gacy, Gein, Ramirez, Chikatilo, and so many more – were harbingers of the new age that we are now on the cusp of,” Jerome said. “They paved the way for the Homecoming with offerings of blood and flesh. Randall has come among you today to bring you the great gift of Oblivion. And I, as his prophet, have the honor of presenting this gift to you.”
Jerome tilted his head back to look at the ceiling and raised his hands palms up, as if appealing to the heavens. The book on the lectern began to shake, and then a geyser of blood shot upward from its pages to strike the church’s ceiling. The blood spread across the surface of the ceiling without a single drop falling, and as the book sent more blood gushing toward the ceiling, the layer grew thicker, and still none of it dripped on the people below. The sight was almost hypnotic, and everyone stared at the ceiling, entranced, Mari included.
It’s almost beautiful in a way, she thought, and she wondered if maybe Jerome was right, that the dead had come to free them from the burden of living. The thought had its appeal…after all, isn’t that what the words rest in peace meant? An end to suffering, worry, fear, regret, all the things that the world’s religions promised humanity would be free of in the next world. For her and the rest of those gathered in the Sanctuary, it could start here and now. She heard the faint, distant sound of a baby crying and a tear ran down her cheek. She could be with Lewis and Noelle. For the first time they could be a family, and they could remain one for all time.
Like the others, Oliver included, she gazed in wide-eyed awe at the expanding blood lake on the ceiling. Because she was in the back, she didn’t have to look straight up to watch the ceiling, and Julie remained in her field of vision. She saw the air next to Julie blur, and suddenly her brother, Brian, was standing next to her. He was worse for wear after having been snapped up by the huge creature from Delia’s dark river. His left arm was partly detached and now dangled uselessly at his side. Half of his head was gone, torn away by the monster’s teeth, revealing brain and bone, and his T-shirt and shorts were ripped, the flesh beneath shredded and bloody. Twice before Julie’s dead sibling had appeared to save her, and now here he was for a third time, having somehow escaped the belly of a massive nightmarish beast to come to his sister’s aid. Julie drew back in horror upon seeing her brother’s condition, but Brian seemed unaffected by her reaction. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the pew. Julie in turn caught the hand of the young man who’d saved her from being trampled and pulled him along after her. In turn, he took the hand of the older woman who’d been standing next to him, and she followed the other three. The Sanctuary was no less crowded than before, but everyone was immobile, frozen wherever they sat or stood – everyone except those in contact with Brian, that is – staring up at the blood gathering upon the ceiling. Because of this, Brian was able to lead Julie and the others toward the back of the nave swiftly and without difficulty. Mari was as entranced as everyone else in the Sanctuary and she couldn’t move, could barely think of anything except the beautiful crimson lake above. But part of her mind recognized that if Brian had returned to aid Julie, something seriously bad was about to happen. If she’d been in full possession of her body, she would’ve turned and hauled ass out of there, taking Oliver with her, but all she could do was watch as Brian, Julie, the boy, and the older woman approached. For an instant it appeared that they were going to exit the Sanctuary and leave Mari and Oliver behind. But Julie reached out with her free hand as she passed and snagged Mari’s. Her touch instantly broke the spell Mari had been under, and she was able to grab Oliver’s hand. Oliver returned to his senses just as she had, and now Brian led the entire group toward the door.
