Gateways (41 page)

He stopped the pickup at the gate and sat there in growing despair. The gun was old and would probably misfire, the bread knife wouldn’t even cut bread.

There was no way he could get even. The town was a small collection of pretty Victorian houses and a scattering of ranch-types plus a steepled church, all surrounded by rolling hills. It was a town that had no use for the too poor, the too smart, the too talented. He had been trapped in a small eddy of time where nothing would ever change and the people who lived there would keep it that way.

It was getting cold and made Jason shiver. He tried to find comfort in religion but couldn’t reconcile it with what had happened. He finally decided to pray to God to show him what he should do. He was no longer sure there was a God but if there were, God owed him. He wrapped his arms around himself against the chill; he didn’t remember when he fell asleep.

When he woke in the morning, he found that God had sent him a sign after all. For hundreds of yards around him, the ground was salt.

But that was just a down payment.

The bargain was sealed once again three weeks later. Lars Grady and Harry Smythe, the mayor’s son, had been the ringleaders. The best lawyers in the state were hired to defend them. But trials are decided when they pick the jury and no way was a jury of the townspeople going to send Grady and Smythe to jail. All they needed was a hook on which to hang their hat and the lawyers pointed out that once the Scovills had died, Jason was a squatter and should have been kicked out of town. He was a smalltime criminal in their midst.

The jury deliberated for an hour and Lars Grady and Harry Smythe
were found guilty of desecrating the morals of the town, fined a thousand dollars each and given six months probation.

Jason disappeared then, living in the woods just beyond the town and stealing blankets and food when he needed them. He had a hunch it wasn’t over yet.

Three weeks after the trial, Lars Grady went into the backyard to feed his two pit bulls when they turned on him. One got him in the face, the other in the groin. HIs father heard his screams and ran out and wasted the dogs with his shotgun but the damage was done. The best plastic surgeons in the country wouldn’t be able to make Lars handsome again and there was little to be done for the damage below the belt.

The Smythes were great horsemen and Harry was out riding one day when his horse refused to jump a small stream, threw Harry off, then fell on him. Harry drowned in six inches of water.

When he heard about it, Jason said a prayer and sealed the bargain. He would give up his free will and shed his humanity.

He would become God’s errand boy.

Jason was a young man when he decided to go back to Hillcrest, going by way of the town that boasted one of the largest cathedrals on the West Coast—the same one that he and Matthew Shepherd had once visited.

The interior of the cathedral was a monument to gothic taste with elaborate tapestries on the walls and marble steps leading up to the high altar. A pulpit of carved granite overlooked the congregation below and waves of sunlight through the huge rose window at the rear washed over the pews. Thick granite columns held up the vaulted ceiling and more sunlight poured through the narrow lead glass windows behind the altar.

Shepherd and he had never gotten over their sense of awe and the feeling that the cathedral really was God’s house.

Jason glanced around the cavernous space, wondering where the birds would build their nests when the windows had cracked and fallen and the doors had rotted and the cathedral was open to the air and the elements. They’d probably nest high up on the ledges where the pillars met the vault. The mahogany pews, if any still survived, would be stained white with the droppings of pigeons.

There would be no congregations—no people at all.

Jason tried to remember where the confessional had been—then saw it
close by one of the pillars on the left hand side. He and Shepherd had once gone to confession there out of curiosity and Shepherd had come out flushed and worried. Jason had asked what he had confessed to and Shepherd wouldn’t tell him though Jason had guessed: impious thoughts and too much playing with himself when his hands were in his pockets.

The green light was on, indicating that the priest was present, and Jason stepped in and knelt before the wooden latticework that hid the priest. There was a shuffling and the heavy breathing of a fat man making himself comfortable. Jason could smell his cup of coffee, laced with whiskey as it had been years before.

“Yes, my son?”

“I have no sins to confess, Father.”

Jason could sense the sudden nervousness of the man behind the screen. He knew the priest was staring at him through the latticework, trying to remember. It was the first thing he’d said years before in a moment of bravado.

The minutes passed and finally the priest wheezed, “I remember you—the preacher boy.” Then a half-drunken, bitter: “The antichrist. The one who is all sins.”

“I’m an errand boy,” Jason said.

Another long pause. Jason could feel the sudden fear of the priest.

“To tell us about the ‘end of days,’ ” the priest said at last. “Whatever you say, you’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” Jason said.

In a strained, slightly slurred voice: “I believe only in what the prophets say.”

“All prophets are errand boys,” Jason said. “We all do what God wants us to do.”

He felt the priest shiver behind the screen. “And you have come to tell me about the ‘end of days,’ ” he repeated.

“You’re living in them,” Jason murmured.

Another few moments of silence while the priest shifted uneasily behind the latticework. Jason stood up and quietly left the confessional. It was a hot day outside and he walked over to the shadow of a tree a few hundred yards away and looked back at the cathedral.

Inside, the cathedral had seemed huge, overpowering. But outside, with every step he took it diminished in size. A half mile away, the cathedral looked the size of a dollhouse, lost in the immensity of the world around it. The pigeons would have their way with it and so would the blistering sun
and winds and thunderstorms and someday dogs sniffing through the ruins would wonder what had stood there.

It hadn’t been a wasted day, Jason thought. He had given the priest a cause and a sense of purpose that he probably hadn’t had before. But strong convictions frequently require little evidence and sometimes none at all. Most miracles come cheap.

He hadn’t lied to the priest. A messenger from God really had appeared to tell him they were living in the “end of days.” The priest would become one of the anointed who thought they had seen a glimspe of the “end of days” and could fill it with noble deeds and die happy martyrs.

It would be soon now, Jason thought. But he would have to hurry as well as watch his back—the men following him were getting closer.

Jason was bone-tired and needed to stretch his legs. The highway curved down close to the beach and he spotted a deserted beach chair on the sands. He pulled over to the shoulder. He’d spend half an hour just sitting in the beach chair watching the sun go down—it was warm enough, he didn’t need a jacket. He got out and eased into the chair, took off his shoes and socks and dug his toes into the sand.

A hundred yards away an SUV was parked on the ocean side of the road and fifty feet closer to the water was a small tent. A young family camping out—older and they would’ve holed up in a motel with running water and genuine beds.

Jason stretched out and watched the sun sinking toward the horizon. It was a quiet night except for the squealing of two kids down by the water’s edge. A little boy and girl splashing around in the shallows.

The boy was shouting, the king in their game of Keep Away, the little girl giggling and making short forays for the red ball the boy held. She grabbed for it and he threw the ball over her head. A roller caught it and the ball bounced down the beach and came to a stop a few feet in front of Jason. The boy ran after it, then spotted Jason and stopped, his eyes wide.

He stood staring at Jason for a full minute, then said: “What’s your name, mister?”

“Jason—what’s yours?”

The boy clutched the ball and walked a few step closer, fascinated by
Jason. After a long moment he said, “My name’s Forrest. My parents call me Willow—it’s an old Indian name, I guess—after a tree.”

Jason shook the boy’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Willow.”

“What do you do?” the boy asked.

Jason smiled slightly. “I’m an errand boy.”

The boy’s sister walked up, equally wary, and they both stared at him. Forrest nodded at her. “My sister’s name is Dot.”

Jason formally shook her hand; he guessed she was a year younger than her brother.

“Hey, kids, leave the man alone.”

Jason hadn’t seen him approach; he’d been too intent on making friends with the boy and his sister. The man was tall, a few pounds heavier than Jason, his hair a lighter shade of red. He held out his hand.

“The kids belong to me. Name’s Noah, like in the Ark.” He glanced around. “You all alone out here?”

“Traveling by myself,” Jason said. Friendly, he thought. But danger sometimes came in a friendly disguise.

“Why don’t you come down and join us?” Noah said. “We’ve got a small grill and dinner is corn-in-the-husk, hamburgers, and shrimp—we managed to pick up some genuine ocean-caught shrimp in town. Got plenty enough to go ’round.” He smiled. “The kids like you, which means you’re not exactly a stranger. They’re better than dogs when it comes to sizing up people.”

It was tempting, Jason thought. An hour wouldn’t hurt and it would take his mind off the men following him, though they were still a day behind. He picked up his shoes and socks, muscled up from the broken beach chair, and followed them. Behind the flap of the tent, a woman was slicing tomatoes for a salad.

“You look beat,” Noah said. “Use a pick-me-up?”

“Easy on the booze,” Jason said. Middle America, he thought. In a lot of ways they reminded him of the Scovills when he was living on the farm.

“We got company, Emmy.” His wife was in her early thirties, a little on the plump side, her brown hair hidden beneath a bandana. She glanced up and smiled. “Nice to meet you—I’d shake your hand but right now I’m up to my elbows in ground beef.”

Jason turned away, desperately afraid he was going to be sick. Emmy picked up on it immediately. “I’m sorry—you’re a vegetarian, aren’t you? You’ll have to make do with potato salad, corn on the cob, and some nice greens.”

“That’ll be fine,” Jason said.

There was a camp chair and Emmy nodded toward it. “Take a load off.”

“What do you do?” Noah asked.

Jason hesitated. “I told the kids I was an errand boy. Not quite true. I help out the preacher in a Lutheran church in Grove. Maybe have my own church someday.”

Their attitudes subtly changed and Jason realized he wasn’t just a guest, he was now an honored guest.

“Never met a future minister before,” Noah said. He hesitated. “We—ah—we don’t call you ‘Father’ yet, do we?”

There was some splashing and squealing down by the oceanfront and Noah turned and shouted, “Hey, kids, stay away from that pier—probably got iron spikes sticking out and splinters that would cut you in two.”

He poured himself two fingers of scotch and relaxed in another chair. “You got any kids, Jason? Don’t suppose you do, you being a student preacher and all.”

“Not married,” Jason said, sipping at his glass. “Found the right girl but she died.”

He didn’t want to talk about Valerie.

“Sorry,” Noah murmured. He glanced at his watch, then yelled: “Willow, Dot—we’ve just got time for a skinny-dip before dinner!” He turned to his wife. “Leave the food alone for a few minutes, Emmy, let’s try the water.” He glanced at Jason. “You want to join us, feel free.”

Jason shook his head. “Don’t have a suit.”

“Neither do we,” Noah said. “Go skinny-dipping every so often so the kids get used to seeing naked bodies and won’t have any hang-ups about them.”

Jason thought: Why not? He stripped down and a few minutes later was in the water, playing a game of water polo with the kids. He lost sight of Forrest and Dot for a moment, then felt Forrest squirming up his bare back shouting “Chickenfight! Chickenfight!” A little farther out, Dot had climbed up on Noah’s shoulders and hooked her feet under his arms.

“Come and get me!” Forrest shouted. Jason and Noah obligingly waded a few feet closer to each other, making sure they didn’t go too deep. When they got close enough, Forrest and Dot started grabbing for each other. Noah winked at Jason, they ducked suddenly and Willow and Dot ended up in the water at the same time, both giggling and splashing toward the beach. Noah laughed, picked up Dot and waded toward shore. Forrest was tugging at Jason so he bent down and carried the boy piggy-back.

They spent a few minutes drying off and snapping towels at each other.
It all felt good, Jason thought. Too good. Even better than at the farm where the Scovills were lovely people but he had no friends of his own. Human friends. He put on his clothes and folded himself into the spare camp chair.