"No," Chester said. "Can't stand country and western music, and I certainly can't tolerate this new rock and roll. Besides, when I did accidently tune in, I got nervous. I mean—I felt strange when I listened."
They all denied ever listening very much to the local station. But all admitted when they did listen, it made them nervous.
"For years," Jimmy said, "it was kind of a blah station. The old people listened to it mostly. Then, after Sorenson bought it, he brought in a whole new crew; changed the programing completely. Hillbilly for the adults, rock and roll for the kids."
"That's right," Peter said. "Something else, too; after Sorenson bought it, he stopped all religious programing. On Sunday's, it was all rock and roll."
"It wasn't a very powerful station, was it?" Sam asked.
"No," Wade said. "Two hundred and fifty watts. And the tower was in a bad location, so I'm told. Twenty miles out of town, you couldn't pick it up."
"And the nearest town is over forty miles away," Jane Ann added.
"This new crew Sorenson brought in," Sam said, "was there anything—odd about them?"
Most agreed they never saw much of them. They tended to stay by themselves, in a mobile home.
"Yes," Jimmy said. "Yes, there was something. I remember now. They all wore medallions about their necks."
"That's right!" Wade snapped his fingers. "I always thought it was some kind of station symbol, or something like that."
"It was," Sam said. "Of the worst kind."
"What does the station have to do with all this, Sam?" Father Haskell asked.
"Mind implantation. The government has proven it. It works."
"I'm afraid I'm a bit behind times," Dubois confessed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"The message would be very short," Sam said. "Perhaps one tenth of a second. So short the conscious mind would not realize it had heard anything. But the subconscious would record and remember it. Over a period of months, a person would have heard that message millions of times. It would be a part of them. If the message played on some secret desire, such as—oh—sex, power, money, revenge—whatever—a person could be won over. Like hypnotism, only much more insidious."
Chester nodded. "Yes, now I recall. Jack and Ruby would lock themselves in a bedroom, listening to the rock and roll. When it was over, or if one of us would make them turn it off, they'd be surly, restless; they would want to do—wild things. And did do them!"
Jimmy rose to pace the den. "My girl did the same thing. I used to have to make her turn the radio down or off. She was receiving messages from it."
"The same with my wife," Peter noted. "I bought her an expensive combination radio/Hi-Fi set just so she could listen to that crap!"
"But, Sam?" Doris asked. "Why didn't it affect all the kids? It didn't seem to bother our two. Or Wade or Anita's."
"I can't answer that, Doris. I just don't know."
"Our kids never listened much to the radio," Anita said. "We," she looked at her husband, "always listened to classical music. So did Miles and Doris's kids. We became friends partly because of our mutual interest in good music."
"Of late," Chester said, "oh, probably within the last six months, our two have begun running with some—well, wild kids. Guess that's where they got hooked. I'd try to talk with them, so did Faye, but it just seemed to bounce right off them."
It was late afternoon, the shadows moving through the town, thickening around the houses.
"Don't be afraid," Father Dubois smiled, sensing the fear building in some of the people. "This is God's day. Satan can make no move against us on this day."
"What do we do?" Tony asked.
"This is what we do," Sam took command, leaning forward, speaking softly.
Fourteen
Dark when Sam reached the parsonage. The lights were on in the living room. With a dull feeling in his guts, Sam realized Michelle was home and he would have to face her. He hated her!
A virile man, Sam's sex life had been nil for months, and he was very much aware of his need for a woman. His groin told him so when he had looked at Jane Ann that afternoon. The women he had known before becoming a minister walked naked through his mind. Soft breasts and erect nipples, satin-smooth legs, wet mouths, and . . .
He forced those thoughts from his mind as he got out of the car. "I don't see how priests do it," he muttered.
The odor in the house hit him when he opened the door. The smell of stale sweat, unwashed bodies, and the musky smell of sex. Everything that had occurred the past days fell on Sam's mind, overpowering the big man. Wild rage raced through him, hot and uncontrolled, overwhelming reason. He stalked through the house, seeking Michelle.
The door to her bedroom was closed. He tried the knob. Locked. Sam forced the door open. Michelle lay on the bed, naked, her legs spread wide, fingers busy within the dark mass of pubic hair at her apex.
The stench in the closed room was vile.
Michelle's breasts, full and heavy, were marked with bruises. Her knees were scratched. She had not washed herself, and the room stank with the scent of the unfaithful, the betrayer, the Godless.
The medallion hung about her neck, between her breasts, her nipples swollen with passion. Michelle's breath was quick, in her anticipated self-induced climax.
She opened her eyes; eyes dark with fury. "Get out of my room!" she hissed at him. "GET OUT!" she screamed.
Sam's temper boiled to the surface. All the rage and disgust and frustration rose up, yelling to be freed. "You Godless whore!" he shouted at her, grabbing her by one ankle, jerking her from the bed. She yelped as her bare butt hit the floor.
Michelle spat profanities at him, the filth spewing from her mouth. Sam slapped her, his big hand hard on her face, back-handing her twice. He tore the medallion from her neck, breaking the heavy chain, and threw it across the dimly-lit bedroom. The medallion bounced off a wall. His wife squalled at him, face ugly with rage and hate.
"Goddamn you!" she kicked at him with bare feet.
Sam dodged the kick and dragged her, by the heels, across the room into the bathroom. She howled and fought him. Shoving her into the shower stall, he turned the water on full force, adjusting the water temperature, then tossed a bar of soap onto the floor of the stall.
"I really don't want to touch you," he said. "But if I have to, I'll scrub the stink off you."
She laughed at him, her lips pulled back in a snarling grimace. Sitting on the floor of the stall, the water pasting her black hair to her skull, Michelle lewdly spread her legs wide, exposing herself to him.
Her fingers hooked inside her labia, she opened herself. "Wouldn't you like to fuck me, Sam? Come on, honey—I'll give you some pussy."
Sam hit her with his fist. He hit her a short, hard, chopping right, his big fist catching her on the side of the jaw. Her head snapped back, banging against the side of the stall. She slumped forward onto the wet floor, unconscious.
Sam washed her, soaping her again and again until her body was red from the abrading of the washcloth. He washed her long hair until it squeaked. She groaned, shook her head, and tried to bite him. He popped her again with his fist and she was still.
Sam dragged her out of the stall, dried her, and carried her to his bedroom, dumping her on the sheets. With rope from the storeroom, Sam bound her, tying her hands to the headboard, her feet to the base of the frame. He tossed a blanket over her nakedness. She lay glaring up at him, eyes wild with fury.
"Bastard!" she hissed. "You'll die for this."
"One of us will," he promised her, stripping off his wet clothing.
Her eyes lingered at his groin. "Fuck me, Sam!" she begged him. "I need it!"
He looked at her in disgust, then turned his back to her. He walked into the bathroom, drying himself, changing clothes. Her screaming followed him through the house as he dialed the rectory for Father Dubois.