A green pinwheel whistled toward Billy’s face; as he ducked it he smelled his hair burn. A red star exploded in the sky, washing the field with bloody light. The chilling shriek of the Civil Defense air-raid siren began whooping from atop the high school, cutting through the night like a clarion of disaster.
Billy grasped the collar of a boy whose shirt had been all but blown off his back, and he screamed, “I TOLD YOU! I TRIED TO WARN YOU!” The boy’s face was as pale as marble, and he walked on as if Billy were invisible. Billy looked wildly around, saw June Clark lying on the ground in a fetal curl, Mike Blaylock lying on his back with a shard of wood through his right hand, Annie Ogden on her knees as if praying to the bonfire. Above the screaming, he heard the sound of sirens approaching from Fayette; suddenly his knees gave way and he sat on the black ground as fireworks kept whistling all around him.
Someone staggered out of the haze before him and stood looking down. It was Mr. Kitchens, blood leaking from both his ears. A white spray of sparks exploded behind him, and his face worked as if he were trying very hard to open his mouth. Finally, he said in a hoarse, chilling whisper, “You…!”
25
THE CREEKMORES FOUND THEIR SON IN a corner of the tense, crowded Fayette County Hospital waiting room. They had heard the Civil Defense siren, and Ramona had sensed tragedy.
Billy’s face was heat-swollen, his eyebrows all but singed away. There was a thin blanket draped across his shoulders, and resting in his lap were his bandaged hands. The stark overhead lighting made the Vaseline smeared on his face shine, and his eyes were closed as if he were asleep, removing himself from the noise and tension by sheer willpower alone.
John stood behind his wife, his spine crawling from being stared at by all the other parents. Someone at the high school, where they’d stopped first, had told him that Billy was dead and the boy’s body had already been carried away in an ambulance, but Ramona had said no, she’d have known if her son was dead.
“Billy?” Ramona said, in a trembling voice.
The boy’s eyes opened painfully. He could hardly see through the swollen slits, and the doctors had told him there were maybe forty wood slivers in his cheeks and forehead but he’d have to wait until the burned kids were treated.
She bent down beside him and hugged him gently, her head leaning against his shoulder. “I’m all right, Mom,” Billy said through blistered lips. “Oh God…it was so terrible…”
John’s face had been gray ever since they’d left the school and had seen those bodies lying under the blankets, the gurneys being pushed along the hallway with burned teenagers on them, parents shrieking and sobbing and clinging to each other for support. The night was filled with ambulance sirens, and the burned-flesh stink floated in the hospital like a brown haze. “Your hands,” he said. “What happened?”
“I lost some skin, that’s all.”
“Dear God, boy!” John’s face crumpled like old sandpaper, and he put his hand against the tiled wall to support himself. “Lord God, Lord God I never saw anything like what I saw at that school!”
“How’d it happen, Dad? One minute it was just a bonfire, like every year. Then it all changed.”
“I don’t know. But all those pieces of wood…they cut those kids up, just cut them to ribbons!”
“A man there said I did it,” Billy said tonelessly. “He said I was drunk, and I did something to the fire to make it explode.”
“That’s a damned lie!” John’s eyes blazed. “You didn’t have a thing to do with it!”
“He said I have Death inside me. Is that right?”
“NO! Who said that to you? Show him to me!”
Billy shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now, anyway. It’s all over. I just…wanted to have fun, Dad. Everybody wanted to have a good time…”
John gripped his son’s shoulder, and felt something like deep ice crack inside him. Billy’s gaze was strangely dark and blank, as if what had happened had blown all the mysterious fuses in his head. “It’s all right,” John said. “Thank God you’re alive.”
“Dad? Was I wrong to go?”
“No. A man goes where he wants to, and he has to go some places he don’t want to, as well. I expect you’ve done a little of both tonight.” Farther along the corridor, someone wailed in either pain or sorrow, and John flinched from the sound.
Ramona wiped her eyes on her sleeve and looked at the tiny slivers embedded in Billy’s face, some of them dangerously close to having blinded him. She had to ask, though she already suspected the answer. “Did you know?”
He nodded. “I tried to tell them, I tried to warn them something was going to happen, but I… I didn’t know what it was going to be. Mom, why did it happen? Could I have changed it if I’d done anything different?” Tears slipped down his Vaseline-smeared cheeks.
“I don’t know,” Ramona replied; an honest answer to a mystery that had plagued her all her life.
There was a sudden commotion over at the far side of the waiting room, where a corridor led to the main doors. Ramona and John both looked up, and saw people thronging around a large, thick-bellied man with gray curly hair and a boy about Billy’s age, lean and red-haired. A shock of recognition pierced Ramona. That bitter night at the tent revival replayed itself in her mind—it had never been very far beneath the surface, not in all of seven years. A woman grasped Falconer’s hand and kissed it, begging him to pray for her injured daughter, a man in overalls pushed her aside to get to Wayne. For a few seconds there was a shoving melee of shoulders and arms as the parents of hurt and dying kids tried to reach Falconer and his son, to get their attention, to touch them as if they were walking good-luck charms. Falconer let them converge on him, but the boy stepped back in confusion.
Ramona stood up. A state trooper had come in, trying to settle everybody back down again. Through the mass of people, Ramona’s hard gaze met the evangelist’s, and Falconer’s soft, fleshy face seemed to darken. He came toward her, ignoring the appeals for prayer and for healing. He looked down at Billy, his eyes narrowing, then back into Ramona’s face. Wayne stood behind him, wearing jeans and a blue knit shirt with an alligator on the breast pocket. He glanced at Billy and for an instant their eyes held; then the boy’s gaze locked upon Ramona, and she thought she could actually feel the heat of hatred.
“I know you,” Falconer said softly. “I remember you, from a long time ago. Creekmore.”
“That’s right. And I remember you, as well.”
“There’s been an accident,” John told the evangelist. “My boy was there when it happened. His hands are all cut up, and he…he saw terrible things. Will you pray for him?”
Falconer’s eyes were locked with Ramona’s. He and Wayne had heard about the bonfire explosion on the radio, and had come to the hospital to offer consolation; running into this witch-woman again was the last thing he’d expected, and he feared the influence her presence might have on Wayne. His bulk dwarfed her, but somehow, under her hard and appraising stare, he felt very vulnerable and small.
“Have you brought your boy here to heal?” she asked him.
“No. Only to minister, alongside me.”
Ramona turned her attention to the boy, and stepped a pace closer to him. Billy saw her eyes narrow, as if she’d seen something that scared her about Wayne Falconer, something he wasn’t able yet to see, perhaps. Wayne said, “What’re you looking at?”
“Don’t mind her. She’s crazy.” Falconer took the boy’s arm and started to herd him away; suddenly a hollow-eyed man in blue jeans and a T-shirt stood up from his seat and grasped Wayne’s hand. “Please,” the man said, his voice sad and raspy, “I know who you are and what you can do. I’ve seen you do it before. Please…my son’s hurt bad, they brought him in a little while ago and they don’t know if he’s gonna…” The man clung to Wayne’s hand as if he were about to collapse, and his bathrobed wife rose to support him. “I know what you can do,” he whispered. “Please…save my son’s life!”
> Billy saw Wayne glance quickly at his father. The man said, “I’ll give you money. I’ve got money, is that what you want? I’ll turn to the Lord, I’ll go to church every Sunday and I won’t drink or gamble no more. But you’ve got to save him, you can’t let those…those doctors kill him!”
“We’ll pray for him,” Falconer said. “What’s his name?”
“No! You’ve got to touch him, to heal him like I’ve seen you do on television! My son’s all burned up, his eyes are all burned!” The man gripped at Falconer’s sleeve as other people thronged around. “Please let your boy heal him, I’m begging you!”
“Well just look who’s here, everybody!” Falconer suddenly boomed, and pointed toward Ramona. “The Creekmores! Wayne, you know all about them, don’t you? The mother’s a Godless witch, and the boy calls up demons like he did at a certain sawmill around here! And now here they stand, on the eve of the worst disaster in Fayette history, turning up like bad pennies!”
“Wait,” John said. “No, you’re wrong, Reverend Falconer. Billy was at the high school, and he got hurt—”
“Hurt? You call that hurt? Look at him, everybody! Why isn’t he all burned up, like the son of this poor soul here?” He gripped the man’s shoulder. “Why isn’t he dyin’, like some of your sons and daughters are right this minute? He was out there with the other young people! Why isn’t he burned up?”
All eyes turned toward Ramona. She was silent, unprepared for Falconer’s attack. But she understood that he was trying to use her and Billy as scapegoats, to avoid explaining why Wayne couldn’t go from room to room in this hospital and heal everyone in them.
“I’ll tell you why,” Falconer said. “Maybe there are forces working behind this woman and boy that are better left alone by Christian folk! Maybe these forces, and God only knows what they are, protected this boy. Maybe they’re inside him, and he carries Death and destruction with him like a plague—”
“Stop it!” Ramona said sharply. “Stop trying to hide behind smoke! Boy!” She’d addressed Wayne, and now she moved past the evangelist to face his son. Billy rose painfully to his feet and held onto his father’s arm. “Do you know what you’re doing, son?” she asked softly, and Billy saw him wince. “If you do have a healing gift, it’s not to be used for wealth or power. It can’t be part of a show. Don’t you understand that by now? If you’re pretending to heal folks, you’ve got to stop giving them false hope. You’ve got to urge them to see a doctor, and to take their medicines.” Her hand came up, and gently touched Wayne’s cheekbone.
He suddenly thrust his jaw forward and spat in her face. “Witch!” he shouted, in a strident and frightened voice. “Get away from me!”
John leaped forward, his fists clenched. Instantly two men blocked his way, one of them shoving him back against the wall, the other pinning him there with an arm across his throat. Billy didn’t have a chance to fight, for he was facing a knot of desperate and fearful people who wanted to stomp him under their shoes.
Falconer’s voice raised above the din of shouting. “Hold on now, folks! We don’t want any trouble on our hands, do we? We’ve got enough to concern ourselves with tonight! Leave ’em be!”
Ramona wiped her face with the back of her hand. Her gaze was gentle but full of deep sadness. “I’m sorry for you,” she told Wayne, and then turned to Falconer. “And for you. How many bodies and souls have you killed in the name of God? How many more will you destroy?”
“You’re Godless trash,” the evangelist said. “My son carries Life inside him, but yours spreads Death. If I were you, I’d take my trash with me and get out of this county.” His eyes glinted like cold diamonds.
“I’ve said my piece.” She took a few steps, stopped, and stared at a man and woman who blocked her path. “Move,” she said, and they did. John was shaking, rubbing his throat and glaring at Falconer. “Let’s go home,” Ramona told her men; she was close to tears, but damned if she’d let any of these people see her cry!
“We gonna just let this filth walk out of here?” someone shouted from the other side of the waiting room.
“Let them go,” Falconer said, and the crowd quietened down. “Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord! You’d better pray, witch! You’d better pray real hard!”
Ramona stumbled on her way across the room, and Billy took her weight on his shoulder to lead her out. John kept looking back, afraid of being jumped. Shouts and catcalls followed them all the way. They got in the Olds and drove away, passing ambulances that were bringing dead teen-agers wrapped in black rubber bags.
J.J. Falconer hurried Wayne out of the waiting room before anyone else could stop them. His face was flushed, his breathing rapid, and he motioned Wayne toward a utility room. Amid brooms and mops and cans of detergent, Falconer leaned against a wall and dabbed his face with a handkerchief.
“Are you all right?” Wayne’s face was shadowed and grim; a single light bulb hung on a cord just above his head.
“Yeah. It’s just…the excitement. Let me get my breath.” He sat down on a detergent can. “You handled yourself pretty good out there.”
“She scared me, and I didn’t want her touching me.”
He nodded. “You did real fine. That woman’s pure trouble. Well, we’ll see what we can do about her. I’ve got friends in Hawthorne. Yeah, we’ll see…”
“I didn’t like what she said to me, Dad. It…made me hurt to hear her.”
“She speaks in Satan’s language, trying to trick and confuse you, and make you doubt yourself. Somethin’s got to be done about her and that…that mongrel of hers. Vic Chatham told me the whole story, about what his brother Lamar saw up at the mill. That boy spoke to the Devil up there, and went wild and almost tore the place apart. Somethin’s got to be done about both of them, and soon.”
“Dad?” Wayne said after another moment. “Could I…could I heal a dying person, if I…tried hard enough?”
Falconer carefully folded his damp handkerchief and put it away before answering. “Yes, Wayne. If you tried hard enough, and prayed strong enough, you could. But this hospital is not the proper place to heal.”
Wayne frowned. “Why not?”
“Because it’s…not a house of God, that’s why. Healing is only right in a sanctified place, where people have gathered to hear the Lord’s Word.”
“But…people have a need right here.”
Falconer smiled darkly and shook his head. “You’ve got that witch’s voice in your head, Wayne. She’s confused you, hasn’t she? Oh sure, she’d like to see you go from room to room in this hospital, and heal everybody. But that wouldn’t be right, because it’s God’s Will that some of these young people die here tonight. So we let the doctors work on ’em, and do all they can, but we know the mysterious ways of the Lord, don’t we?”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s right.” When he stood up, he winced and gingerly touched his chest. The pain was almost gone now, but it had felt like an electric shock. “Now I’m feelin’ a bit better. Wayne, I want you to do me a favor. Will you go outside and wait in the car?”
“Wait in the car? Why?”
“These poor folks will expect you to heal if you stay here, so I think it’s best if you wait while I pray with them.”
“Oh.” Wayne was puzzled, and still disturbed by what the witch had said to him. Her dark eyes had seemed to look straight to his soul, and she’d scared the daylights out of him. “Yes sir, I guess that would be best.”
“Good. And will you slip around to the side door? If you go back out through that waitin’ room, there might be another commotion.”
Wayne nodded. The woman’s voice echoed in his head: Do you know what you’re doing, son? Something within him suddenly seemed to be tottering over a cliff’s edge, and he jerked himself back with the savage thought: She’s as evil as sin itself, her and the demon boy, and they should both be cast into the Lord’s fire! Lord says what? BURN THEM! “We’ll get them, won’t we, Dad?”
“
We’ll get ’em,” Falconer replied. “Just leave it to me. Come on, I’d best get out there. Remember: out the side way, okay?”
“Yes sir.” A low flame of rage was burning inside Wayne. How dare that woman touch him like that! He wished now that he’d struck her across the face, knocked her to her knees for everyone to see. He was still shaking from being so close to them. Their darkness, he knew, was pulling at him, trying to lure him. There would be a next time, he told himself; oh yes, and then…
He had the vague beginnings of a headache. He said, “I’m ready now,” and followed his father out of the utility room.
26
JOHN WAS AWAKE IN the dark, thinking.
Ramona shifted softly in the crook of his arm; they’d slept closer in the last three nights, since what had happened at Fayette County Hospital, than they had in many years. His throat was still bruised from where a man’s forearm had pressed against it, and he’d been hoarse the next day until he’d accepted a tea of sassafras root and dandelion that Ramona had brewed for him.
The kids who’d died in the accident had been buried the previous day. John’s trips into town during the last few days had been brief; at Lee Sayre’s hardware store no one would come to wait on him, and when he went to get a haircut Curtis Peel suddenly announced he’d close up for the afternoon. So he drove into Fayette for a bucket of roofing pitch, and decided to let his hair grow longer. While he was in Fayette, he heard from a clerk that somebody had hidden two crates of assorted fireworks down inside the bonfire, and the intense heat had made them all go off at once. The troopers had said that the amount of black powder had been equal to a couple of short sticks of dynamite; it had looked like a kid’s prank, done by somebody who’d thought the fireworks going off would take the others by surprise, but all that explosive powder in such a small space, the heat of the gasoline-fed fire, and the small, sharp shards of wood had added up to seven deaths and a score of terrible injuries. One boy, a senior football player named Gus Tompkins, was still lingering at the Burn Center Hospital in Birmingham, blinded and shocked dumb.