The Devil's Dream: A Nightmare (6 page)

The lights were dimmed as they always were at this time of the day. Art appreciated that as much as he did anything about this place, because it gave a sense of reverence and allowed him to focus easier. He bowed his head and closed his eyes, trying to find the place where he always spoke to God and sometimes God spoke back. Not often, but sometimes, if Art listened close enough.

* * *

G
od
.

I’m scared pretty much shitless right now. Why did you create this man? I can’t even begin to understand how he’s running around in someone else’s body. It’s beyond me and yet you’ve put him in my way for the third time. The first time I hunted him to a cabin in the woods, the second time, to a warehouse, and now he’s here again. He’s here and he’s threatening to destroy everything you’ve created.

I’m old. I’m not ready to retire exactly but I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I can face this man down, if he’s even a man. I know Jesus asked for you to take the cup from his lips, that he didn’t want to drink from it. I don’t want to drink from it either, Lord. I don’t want anything to do with this and yet I’m not sure who else I can pass it too. There are other people in the Bureau, sure, but none that were there the last two times. I’m more scared at what failure means this time. It seems that no one is really considering that. The whole conversation with Gyle felt like we were talking about possibilities, but there wasn’t any real worry that we wouldn’t find him. That I wouldn’t find him. And what if I don’t?

Am I responsible for the death of your world?

Is that the weight which is actually being put on me right now?

* * *

A
rt paused
, letting his thoughts sink in. He didn’t open his eyes, but concentrated on whatever feeble connection he was making with God. The weight of the world was slowly descending on him in this cathedral—the realization that some seven billion people were counting on him. Were asking him, even though they didn’t know it, to keep them safe. He swallowed and turned his folded hands into fists, trying to stop their shaking.

No one said those words to him in his office. No one told him,
hey, this guy who’s threatening the world, he may actually be able to do the things he’s claiming, and we’re kind of looking at you to stop it, or we’re all going to die
. No, it had been business as usual, like they were looking for some kind of bank robber.

Now, bearing his soul to God, Art was coming to the realization that this was no bank robber, that Brand wanted more than money. He wanted seven billion lives. Seven billion souls.

Art tried to swallow but there wasn’t any saliva left in his mouth.

* * *

W
hat the fuck
am I supposed to do? Find him? Kill him? You do realize we killed him last time, right? We shot bullets through every part of his body, and he still came back. He still was able to implant his mind into someone else’s.

So, what. The. Fuck. Am I supposed to do?

* * *

A
rt fell
silent for a long time. No more angry outbursts, no more questions, just silence. Someone looking in might have thought he was sleeping, such was his stillness. Art didn’t know much about meditation and he never tried to do it consciously, but when he prayed, when he felt his anger rising at a God he couldn’t understand, one that didn’t seem willing to make himself understandable, Art fell silent. He fell silent and listened for anything that God might give him. If nothing, fine. Art deserved nothing from God and so, while he might demand something in moments of anger, when he found his focus again, he realized that God was a being unto Himself. A being that could only be revered, not questioned.

* * *

Y
our will not mine
. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

* * *

“
Y
ou’re going
to need to get out of town.”

“Why?” Jake’s mother almost shrieked over the phone. “Out of town? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Calm down, Martha. Let him talk,” Pete Deschaine said.

“I can’t go into detail right now. I think you’ll hear about it soon enough, but you can’t stay where you are. You can’t go live with Aunt Belle or any of your friends from church. You need to get out of town, and I’d prefer out of the country.”

Pete laughed, and Jake smiled in spite of the situation's gravity, smiled at his father’s voice, laced with that supreme confidence which permeated everything he did. Thirty years in the military did that to someone. It did a lot of other things, Jake understood, but it also created a sense that one had seen everything that could be seen, so why worry any longer?

“Why do we need to leave? You got some loan sharks after you?” Pete asked.

“No. I really can’t tell you, Dad. I can say though, that if you stay in the country, especially in Mississippi, much longer, you’re going to be in more danger than you would be if you headed to an island for a month or something. Just think of it as a vacation. We all know that you two have the money saved up, so you could do it and not feel anything financially.”

“Maybe you’re right there, but I don’t like being run out of my home if I don’t know why,” Pete said.

“How’s police work in Texas got anything to do with your father and I in Mississippi?” Martha asked.

“It doesn’t,” Jake answered.

“Naw, it don’t, Martha. What Jake’s telling us here is he’s either gotten in some trouble with unsavory folks or he’s gotten a promotion. If it’s unsavory folks, then he doesn’t want us to know, and if he’s gotten a promotion, then he can’t tell us. That about the gist of it?” Pete asked.

“Yes, sir, that is,” Jake said. His father was sir. Not every time, but a lot of the time and especially when Jake was trying to convey something important. He had said the same thing when his Dad told him he wasn’t to be drinking and driving after prom. “Yes, sir.” He hadn’t either. He had parked his car first, and then gotten about as drunk as a seventeen year old could get, throwing up all over his tuxedo but never returning to the car. Jake had built a life off his Dad believing him when he said ‘yes, sir.’

He heard his Dad sigh into the phone. “Martha, you’re always saying you want to visit Mexico. How long of a trip should we take do you think, Jake?”

“Three weeks for now. It might stretch out as long as two months, but I doubt that.”

“Martha, we could use three weeks in the sun, and you know you’ll be half drunk the whole time, so it’ll feel like one week for you.”

“Are you okay, Jake? Should I be worrying, because I’m going to be honest, I’m worrying pretty hard right now,” his mother said.

“I’m fine, and no, don’t worry. I’m just taking precautions. You’re in no danger right now and most likely, if you were to stay, you would be fine. I just want to make sure.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll get to packing.” He heard his mother hang up the phone.

“You’re okay?” His Dad asked, the two of them alone on the phone now.

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“And we’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah. No one even knows you exist. I imagine in a week or so you’ll hear about what’s going on, and then you’ll think, yeah, it made sense we left,” Jake said.

“Okay. We’ll call from Mexico. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

His new boss had gone down the street to pray and Jake was alone in his office. The first call he made was to his parents, to get them out of the country. He didn’t like hearing what the director had said on that subject, but the man was right. Brand wouldn’t think twice about stealing Jake’s parents if it meant his message might get out quicker. It was better to have them somewhere else, away from all this.

What was Art praying about? He hadn’t even tried to hide it, hadn’t said, “Got to deal with some personal things, be back in a few.” He just said, “I’m going to pray,” and then headed out of the building. Jake couldn’t remember the last time he had prayed. The thought of God didn’t take up much of his time, and based on Art’s colorful language, Jake thought the same would hold true for him. Religious people were supposed to be pious, definitely supposed to watch their mouth.