The Revelations of Preston Black (Murder Ballads and Whiskey Book 3) (37 page)

If the devil didn’t show, they’d call
me a fraud.

And if the devil did show
…

“To him who alone doeth great wonders,
for his mercy endureth forever.” I kept my voice low because I didn’t want to
end up hoarse.

“To him that by wisdom made the
heavens—”

Off in the distance I heard a
commotion. The noise came from afar, but to me it sounded like people talking
in the back of a quiet theater. Just inaudible whispers at first, but the
warnings being yelled down the road got progressively louder.

“Heads up!”

I changed chords and slowed the tempo
so I could hear.

“Watch your feet.”

I held my breath.

“Off the road, there.”

I softly plucked the low E.

“Holy shit—”

Katy and the rest turned. I figured it
was Danicka, and prepared to step aside.

People pressed themselves in between
the vehicles along the berm, clearing the highway for something dark and slow.
Like a shadow.

Something that shook the ground, like
a steady pounding on a bass drum. I didn’t see headlights. I didn’t hear the
tap of her old diesel engine.

The surprise on the faces of the last
few rows of people made it impossible to know what to expect. Those who stood
farther off craned their necks. Flashes of white light lit the night as people
took pictures. Little red LEDs glowed as people videoed with their phones.

Because I couldn’t move, I was the
last one to see the magnificent black bull stride beneath the traffic signal as
the people parted. Yellow light splashed across the pavement as the bull walked
right up to me. The light turned red as the animal circled.

I could smell the sweat and manure on
its hide. I felt its hot breath on my hands as it sniffed me. It lifted its
head and its snout came to just below my chin. I took a step backward as it
snorted and blew mucus into the night.

It stared at me for a long moment.
Then, as quietly as it came, the bull turned and resumed its tour.

People at the other end of the
intersection cleared a path, same as when the animal arrived. A tense silence
lingered after it crept back into the darkness.

I looked at Katy and shrugged.

After an anxious moment I heard
whistles and howls coming from the darkness. A wash of applause that lasted a
minute too long considering what was about to go down tonight. I looked at
Katy. “What time?”

She said, “Midnight exactly,” as the
applause diminished.

My hands were shaking.

“Preston?” Jamie said, getting my
attention as he strummed an imaginary guitar.

I continued. “To him that stretched
out the earth above the waters, for his mercy endureth forever.”

The verse went on and on until the
words meant nothing to me. My eyes got tired from reading in the dim light. My
hands got sore.

I looked for stars. Looked at the people
who came out to see something they might not even be able to fully describe
later. Nothing changed but the words.

“The sun to rule by day…”

In the distance I heard cars starting
and saw the sweep of headlights as people got bored and decided to head home.

“The moon and stars to rule by night…”

There were new faces in the first few
rows. I turned slowly as I read, completing one revolution per verse, more or
less.

“Oh, give thanks unto the God of
heaven, for his mercy endureth forever.”

Over and over and over and over,
counting second after second for the next hour with each word I read, until
Katy finally said, “Five ’til.”

I continued, quieter now, with an ear
open for whatever came next. “His mercy endureth…”

And right on schedule a murmur came
from up the road. Once again the crowd cleared a path. Their collective tone
came off sounding a little less surprised this time.

I heard the click-clack of claws
before I saw the large black dog trot around the legs of the folks closest to
the intersection. It ran a wide circle, stopping to sniff the ground and coffee
cups and fast food wrappers. Nobody reached out or called to it.

Then, just like the bull, it headed
off to the north.

This time they didn’t applaud. People
returned to their Monster Energy Drinks and their iPhones. Texting and playing
Words With Friends as I went back through the verse.

“With a strong hand, and with a
stretched out arm…”

Katy leaned against Pauly. Rachael and
Chloey were wrapped up in a big old Mexican blanket from the back of Ben’s
Jeep.

“And slew famous kings…”

I yawned. In the distance I heard
birds. Aside from me and my guitar they made the only other noise.

“And brought out Israel from among
them…”

Off to the west lightning flashed from
a distant cloud. Faint blue bursts without sound seeped through the blackness.
I watched it for the better part of forty minutes while my fingers blistered
and bled. When they hurt too bad to play, I tuned my guitar to an open E and
pulled the bottleneck slide out of my coat pocket. I didn’t like the sound it
made.

Sounded like an invitation to trouble.

“But overthrew Pharaoh and his host in
the Red Sea…”

In the distance red brake lights
disappeared into the horizon as more people left.

“Who remembered us in our low estate…”

After what seemed like another hour, I
expected somebody to tell me the time had come to head back to the hotel. To
call it quits. Maybe I would’ve even welcomed it. Maybe I’d gotten in over my
head, and figured I could pull out before I embarrassed myself. Or worse.

But a black horse coming across the
muddy field changed my mind. I didn’t react as it passed. And as it returned to
the night, I found it easy to get lost in the meditation.

“For his mercy endureth forever.”

At three a.m. a black lamb bolted out
of the field from over by the cemetery. By now most of the people had gone. A
few dozen stragglers sat in truck beds and on car hoods on the medians and
shoulders. It didn’t feel like a party anymore.

It finally felt like a ritual.

“For his mercy endureth forever.”

At four, a black rooster strutted onto
the pavement. It lingered for a long time, scratching the blacktop and walking
small circles. Crows gathered in the trees at the edge of the fields. I could
hear them cry between verses. I kept expecting the rooster to respond, but it
left quietly, without paying anybody any mind at all.

“For his mercy endureth forever.”

At five a black cat fell onto its back
at my feet. It rolled in the grit, bathing in the dust. The birds grew louder.

“For his mercy endureth forever.”

At six, a crow landed on the traffic
signal and cawed. It hopped along the metal support, flicking its tail and
flapping. As it yapped, its cries were answered by others, off in the
blackness. They approached the intersection, flying circles around the crowd
like the souls of the departed fleeing this plane at Rapture. They formed a
high dome, a swirling black cup that forced my voice and guitar right back down
to me, creating an amphitheater in which the fantastic could happen. The air
warmed. The caws seemed superficially loud, like they were in my head. And when
that wave of birds landed, another surged in from the blackness.

Some of the kids tried to video with
their phones, but there was nothing to see above the glow created by the
traffic lights. It was as if the night itself transformed into a mass of black
feathers. The cawing grew as birds flew tighter circles around me. Their
shadows caused the light from the signals to be reflected in all directions. I
could see faces in the crowd. Some looked like they regretted coming out
tonight.

In the space between the birds I saw
the faintest trace of pink appear in the sky to the east. Katy wouldn’t look.

Hundreds and hundreds of them
descended upon us, their wings creating a superficial breeze that made the air
heavier as they flew tighter circles around the intersection.

So I didn’t see the car come in from
the west. I only saw the shadows created by her headlights grow down the
highway ahead of me. Then I heard a pair of thunderous booms. Just like the
night I met Tommy over in the cemetery.

Everybody turned and looked.

The crows didn’t fly off at the noise.
So I didn’t actually hear Danicka get out of the car and shut the door behind
her over their clamor. But I could smell clove and citrus. Like clementines at
Christmas. Beneath it all I caught the faintest scent of wood ash. She wore a
short grey wool jacket over a black dress. Her hair was pulled back in a silver
hair band.

She said, “So you saw the dog and the
bull and the rest?”

“Just like you said. Followed the
steps down to the letter. No shortcuts.” I let my guitar hang on its strap and
shook out my hands. Pins and needles shot through my fingers, up to my
shoulders. Bursting with confidence, I said, “Let’s get to it.”

“Preston, we don’t talk.” She set her
fingers lightly on my arm. “I’m sorry.”

And like that, she shattered my
resolve. I could barely find words to express my disappointment. “But you
said—”

Katy and the rest were on their feet,
ready to act if needed.

“Preston, be quiet. Please.” She spoke
without her normal poise. Her reply was quick and frail. “Do you have the items
I asked you to bring?”

When I tapped my toe she bent down and
picked up the Jack Daniels bottle.

She shook it hard, breaking up the
little clumps of clay. Then she walked a few feet due east and sprinkled a spot
of dirt onto the road. She did it again to the north, to the west, and to the
south. There was still a good bit of dirt in the bottle by the time she’d
finished, and she used some of it to connect the dots to make a circle.

“Lift up your foot,” she said.
“Quickly.”

She scattered half of what remained
under my left boot.

“Put your foot down, and do not move
it.” She’d moved fast, methodically. “Now the other.”

She poured the rest beneath my right
boot. When the bottle was empty I planted my foot, and did not move it.

“Silver coin?”

I found it in my pocket.

“Put it on your tongue. And whatever
happens, do not speak. Do you hear? Don’t say anything. In your head, think
‘Body of Christ’ over and over, nothing else.”

“Dani—”

“You cannot speak, Preston. This is a
warning.” She put her hand over my mouth as she turned to look over her
shoulder.

“I misled you—we have nothing to
discuss tonight. Maybe you will never believe me, but it was not easy to have
used you like this.” She looked very sad, distracted. “I didn’t know any other
way. Surely you must think I’m horrible, which I do not deny, not anymore. I
have acted selfishly, and am very sorry to have involved you. And I am not evil
in the way you think.”

She took a bit of chalk and wrote
crazy letters I didn’t recognize on the blacktop.

“In my apartment, when we were eating
sushi, I said to let everybody write what she wants, and I meant it very
sincerely. Do you remember?” She stopped writing long enough to look up at me.
“I said that nothing matters until it is written. If it is not written, it
never happened. Do you remember?”

I looked for Katy. It hurt a bit to
see Ben holding her. Protecting her. Pauly had his face buried in his hands.

“Well, I have nothing with your name
written on it. And I have nothing with your brother’s name written on it. I am
the only one here bound by an inscription.”

From the east I heard a rumble and
tried to turn, but was too scared to move my feet.

Danicka said, “For one hundred and
fifty years I have tried to renegotiate my destiny. But the biggest part of my
agreement specifically forbade that.”

I bit my lower lip and glared at her.
That’s
where I come in.

“And I am sorry to have deceived you.
So very, very sorry. Perhaps, I recognized that a part of you would harbor
compassion for me even though I’d hurt you so badly. But I couldn’t rely on
that. Not tonight. The price that I paid was the price of never being able to
love or trust.” She sniffed back tears.

“With everybody I touch recoiling from
me…” Her eyes searched the sky for something. A word maybe, or an intervention.
“Every time I share a kind word with a man, he learns to abhor me. Two
lifetimes of accumulated hatred. Enough rejection and coldness for ten women.”

She pointed at Katy. “You can find
love and die knowing you are loved, but I can’t. Because I can never love, even
if that is what my heart wants more than anything. But until I have loved, I am
the same stupid girl I was one hundred and fifty years ago. It’s my shame, to
have agreed to something I now see is a lie. A tremendous lie and a curse.”