He parked on the south side of the original chapel and got out of the car, waving back to the workers when they waved at him.
The Church of the Living God was taking shape. The contours of the awesome structure placed into his mind by Christ and given material form in Covey's sketches could now be seen in the building itself. The nucleus of the completed church was clearly visible in the existing structure. If work went on at this pace, if construction continued unabated day and night, if they continued to recruit more volunteers, it was quite likely that the church would be completed within the next two weeks.
In time for the Second Coming.
He looked up at the building. The black looked good.
It lent the original chapel and its additions a pleasing uniformity.
He waved again to the workers, walked up the front steps, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.
The interior of the church had been transformed.
Wheeler stood for a moment in the vestibule, the door swinging slowly and silently shut behind him.
The pews were gone. The long benches had been disassembled, the wood used to cover all windows in the room and to make crude walkways over the three large holes which now took up most of the chapel's floor space. The cross still hung behind the altar, untouched, but the altar itself was now peopled with the mummified remains of three men, positioned in reclining poses, and a woman who held in her hands a plate on which sat the dehydrated head of a child.
The woman was obviously supposed to be Salome, holding the head of John the Baptist. It was beautiful.
Wheeler took a tentative step forward, but from within the blackness of the nearest hole there came a sound of wind, a sound of water. A single strong my of light burst upward from the opening and rising within that light was the Lord Jesus Christ.
Wheeler involuntarily stepped back. Jesus arose from the depths, grinned. His eyes were wide, the brows arched, and His teeth were red, smeared with blood, the divisions between them dark and unusually well defined. His beard was dirty, matted with brown and red, and in His arms was the unmoving body of a goat.
"Truly, truly I say to you, unless you eat flesh and drink blood, you have no life in you." Jesus laughed, almost giggled. ""He who eats flesh and drinks blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day. For flesh is food indeed, and blood is drink indeed."
A slight chill caressed the back of Wheeler's neck. He recognized the verses from the Gospel according to John, but there were words missing, words that altered the meaning of the phrases. Somewhere, a small part of him was saying that Jesus was not supposed to act this way, but Christ looked upon him, held his eyes, and that tiny voice died.
Standing upon the walkway above the hole, Jesus raised the goat to His face. He bit into the animal's neck and placed His mouth over the bite before the blood began to gush. Wheeler watched as the goat's body deflated instantly shrinking, caving in on itself, the long hair twisting, withering, the skin conforming to the structure of the skeleton beneath.
Jesus dropped the used carcass into the hole.
And then it was over. He was the Savior again, the bloody beard and teeth gone, the. wild giggling visage replaced by a solemn expression of perfect contentment, and Wheeler fell to his knees, sobbing with joy, unbearably happy to be in the presence of this Lord, the Lord he knew and loved.
"This is my home," Jesus said, his melodious voice echoing in the pastor's head. "I live here now. And from this day forward, worship services will be conducted outside. They will no longer be held within the church." "Yes," Wheeler agreed, nodding.
"Sacrifices acceptable and pleasing to God will be left in each of the three openings in the earth."
"Yes," Wheeler agreed.
Jesus smiled. "We shall begin the punishment of the sinners.
Wheeler's pulse quickened, and the excited anticipation which coursed through every fiber of his being was unlike anything he had ever experienced. "Yes," he said. Christ's smile was beatific. "They will all die painfully." "Yes." Wheeler felt a strange stirring in his groin. Jesus reached out a hand, and the pastor walked across the small section of floor onto the pew walkway over the hole. Looking down, he could see that the hole was not really a hole at all, but a steeply sloping tunnel running under the south wall of the church. He took Jesus' hand, and the Savior's eyes twinkled. "I will show you my home. I will show you my wonders. I will show you fear in a handful of dust."
That sounded familiar, Wheeler thought. He had heard that before. Not in the Bible, but somewhere else. He tried to think, tried to focus, tried to remember, but the connection would not be made.
And then they had jumped from the walkway and were floating down.
"No." Rich shook his head. "I will not." "I'm not trying to censor you or anything," Hollis said. "I'm just saying play it down, don't sensationalize it, leave it alone for a while."
Rich looked the owner of the dude ranch squarely in the eye. "Play it down? You think I'm making too much of this, blowing it out of proportion? You think Clifford's going to come back to life?"
"That's not what I'm saying. Look, our businesses are interconnected here, and I just think we oughta look out for each other. It's not going to do anyone any good to start a panic. As you know, I'm the largest single employer in Rio Verde. I provide jobs for twenty-five people part time and another twenty full time. If guests get scared away, those people'll be out of jobs. I'll lose money; I won't be able to afford to advertise in your paper; everyone will get hurt."
Sue watched Rich from the side. Sloe saw his jaw clench, the muscles in his face tightening. "So you want me to pretend that Terry Clifford wasn't murdered, that he's still happily working at your stable and nothing out of the ordinary has occurred."
Hollis smiled. "You're twisting my words, son. All I'm saying is don't blow this out of proportion. Don't give people another excuse to criticize our town. I mean, hell, how do you think it makes your brother look if your paper makes it sound like a damn psycho's running around killing people?"
I "And draining their bodies of blood."
"There you go again, talking like a tabloid. All I'm doing is suggesting that you treat Terry's passage with some respect. Inform people that he died, just don't go into the, grisly details."
I didn't go into the grisly details." You did from where I stand."
I'm a reporter. It's my job to tell the truth. If it makes you feel any better, it's October and the tourist season is over and by next summer everyone will have forgotten all about this."
"Oh, no, they won't."
Rich ran an exasperated hand through his hair. "Who reads the paper except locals? They're not the ones coming to your ranch. Jesus, I don't know why I'm even arguing this point. I run a newspaper, crummy as it is, and when news happens I'm going to report it. Period."
Hollis's voice became a little less folksy, the tone hardening. "The First Amendment does not give you the right to damage my business."
"I'm not trying to damage your business. I'm simply reporting the facts. Look, I can get plenty of reliable sources willing to go on record saying that a vampire killed Clifford, Torres, and those two kids. You want me to do that?"
"Reliable sources? Like who? Your dipshit brother?"
Rich stiffened. "Get out of this office," he ordered. "Now."
Hollis started walking. "I'm pulling all of my advertising from this rag."
"Go right ahead." The editor stood unmoving, watching him leave. Sue tried to return to work on her article, but out of the corner of her eye she saw Rich remain standing in the middle of the newsroom. She looked up, cleared her throat in an effort to get his attention. He turned to face her. "Are you going to be able to keep going?" she asked. "Without his advertising, I mean?"