Devil's Kiss

Seventeen

Neither Sam nor Jane Ann wished to sleep in either of the parsonage's two bedrooms, for evil seemed to hang in the rooms, and the foul odor to the carpets and drapes. Jane Ann made the couch in the living room—which Sam learned folded out into a bed—and they slept there.

After making love, they slept fitfully for a few hours. But the night sounds of Whitfield soon awoke them. Sam was jarred out of a restless sleep, shaken into awareness by a scream.

"What was that?" Jane Ann sat up in the bed, eyes wide with fear.

"I don't know," Sam said, pulling on his jeans boots. "But I don' t think we'd better count on much more sleep this night."

Before Sam could slip into his shirt, Jane Ann's screaming spun him around. She pointed to a side window of the living room. The face of Max Steiner stared at them through the glass, his eyes dead-like, red-rimmed. Drool dripped from his lips.

Sam grabbed his .45, jerked open the front door, and recoiled in horror as he ran into Paul Barlow. Recovering, Sam pushed the man off his porch, sending him sprawling on the ground.

"What the hell are you doing on my porch at one o'clock in the morning?" Sam shouted at him. Sam backed away from the steps as Barlow slithered up the walkway, up the steps, crawling as a snake, hissing sounds coming from his lips, his mouth pulled back in a snarl, exposing his teeth.

Sam kicked him in the face, his boot catching his once friendly neighbor on the nose, sending blood spurting. Barlow fell to the sidewalk, crouching there, hissing and snarling at Sam.

Sam raised the .45, jacking back the hammer, his finger tightening on the trigger. "I'll kill you!" he warned, then watched as Barlow slithered off the steps, on all fours, working his way into the night, making terrible hissing noises as he crawled.

"God!" Sam's flesh felt creepy.

"SAM!" Jane Ann screamed. "They're coming in the back door."

The minister spun, running through the house, through the living room, dining room, into the kitchen. The back door was splintering under the crush of men gathering on the porch.

Sam lifted the .45 and pulled the trigger half a dozen times, the slugs tearing huge holes in the wood. He shouted to Jane Ann, "Get your shotgun—watch the front." He knew Jane An would not hesitate to use the 12 gauge.

There was screaming in the darkness around the back door, as the men—or whatever they were—ran away, dragging several of the dead or wounded with them. The snarling and howling of the possessed filled the night.

Jane Ann's shotgun boomed three times, shattering the momentary quiet. A screaming followed the discharges, then the thud of a body lifted off its feet and slamming to the ground. Moaning.

Sam switched on the outside lights, front and back. A body lay crumpled in the back yard, a bullet hole in the man's head, the head swelled from the impact of the heavy .45 slug. Sam ran through the house, to the front door. A man lay writhing on the sidewalk, both hands holding his stomach, his blood pouring out through his fingers. The shotgun, slug-loaded, had hit him three times in the chest and belly. The man shivered, drummed his heels on the sidewalk, and died.

Jane Ann's face was pale, but she grimly shoved shells into the shotgun, ready for another onslaught if need be. They both heard the sounds of sirens in the distance.

Sam shoved the .45 behind his belt, and strode to the hall closet, jerking open the door, reaching inside for the Thompson SMG. He slapped a clip in the belly and worked the bolt, chambering a round.

"Sam? That's a machine gun!" Jane Ann said.

"It sure is. And I'll bet you that's Addison coming here. He'll try to arrest me—or us. But I've got news for him: he's not going to do it."

Addison ran up the steps of the parsonage, stepped into the living room, then stopped cold in his tracks when he saw the Thompson in Sam's hands. The muzzle lifted to the sheriff's belly and Addison's gut sucked inward.

"Stand in the hall and watch my back," Sam told Jane Ann. "If anything—I mean anything—moves, shoot it."

"Now, you wait just a minute," Addison said, authority overcoming fright.

"Shut your damned mouth!" Sam barked at him. "I figured it all out, Addison. Me, and several others in this town. We know how it was done, and why. But it didn't work with us."

"I don't know what you're talking . . ."

"Shut up, you son-of-a-bitch!" Sam raged. He was in no mood to act the preacher part. "I know all about the roads being closed. I know all about your Black Masses, and I know about Doctor Black Wilder—where he came from, what he is, and what he's doing here. I don't know why your . . . possessed jumped the gun and started this night; you weren't supposed to start this soon, and I imagine Wilder is furious with some of you. You spoiled his little game."

"You're under arrest for murder, Balon!"

Sam laughed at him, enjoying immensely the flush that spread over the man's face. "You want to try to take me in, Walter. Come on."

"My dear man," a voice spoke from the front porch. An educated voice. "My, my, we did make a mistake with you, didn't we?"

Black Wilder stepped into the room. He was immaculately dressed in dark suit, very white shirt, dark tie with a small knot, polished shoes. A medallion hung about his neck. He smiled at Sam, then cut his eyes to Walter. "You may leave now," he said. "And drag those bodies away from this house. They offend me. You know where to take them." His voice sharpened. "Get out!"

Addison hung his head in obedience, his eyes fearful. "Yes, Master." He left the room.

"According to the book," Sam spoke over his shoulder to Jane Ann, "there will be a woman with him. A dark-haired woman—a witch, Nydia. If you see her, shoot her."

Wilder laughed. "Oh, no, no, my good man. My, you certainly are a violent one, aren't you? Old Testament type. I can see why your God chose you." He chuckled. "I can assure you, sir, more violence this night will not be necessary. Let me call Nydia in—please?"

Sam hesitated, then nodded, his finger on the 7ger of the SMG. "Nydia?" Wilder called. "Do come in. And do very carefully. The young lady here," his dark eyes swept Jane Ann's body, and his eyes filled with lust, "has a most awesome-looking shotgun. And she knows how to use it. In your present form, at least on this night, you are susceptible to scarring, and I know how you pride your beauty. You do remember that musket ball in France?"

"Why are you telling us this?" Sam asked. "Aren't you afraid we'll hurt her—or kill her?"

Wilder laughed. "No," he shook his head. "You could hurt her, slightly, but you could not kill her. Or me." His eyes took in the shotgun and Sam's SMG. "At least not with those weapons, sir."

The woman dressed in black walked stately into the room. She was perhaps the most beautiful woman Sam had ever seen. High, very full breasts, the pale cleavage exposed in her V-neck gown, the V just touching the darker area of nipple. Her hair was the blackest, matching her eyes. Her lips were full and red and moist.

"The V stands for virgin, I'm sure,"Jane Ann said sarcastically.

Nydia's lips pulled back in a faint smile. "Only slightly amusing, dear." Her eyes touched Sam, taking in his heavy musculature, shirtless. Her eyes drifted to his crotch, and she licked her lips. "I don't suppose you'd allow me the pleasure of kissing you hello?" she smiled.

"You've got to be kidding!"

She laughed, exposing dazzling white teeth. "I guessed as much." She glanced at Jane Ann. "You spoiled my plans, dear. I wanted so very much to be the one to seduce your new husband."

Startled, Jane Ann asked, "How did you know we were married?"

"I watched him make love to you yesterday afternoon, in the cottonwoods by that quaint little creek. Your technique is lacking, dear. There is more to making love than just having the man stick it in and grunt."

"Crude bitch!" Wilder muttered. "Absolutely no class or breeding."

"The bird that sang above us," Sam remembered. "I didn't recognize the call."

'My, aren't you the observant one?" Nydia smiled.

'Mr. Balon," Wilder said, "why don't you give up this fight? You can't win; surely you see that?'

"I don't see any such thing."

"Mr. Balon—you don't like being called Reverend, do you? Mr. Balon," Wilder pressed him. "let's be civilized men about this upcoming confrontation. In this area of Fork County, we have over two thousand—two thousand, sir—men, women, and children who have pledged their hearts and souls to my Master. What do you have? Nine-ten people. Eleven, counting yourself. Those are impossible odds, sir.

"You forgot one, Wilder."

"Oh? Who, might I ask?"

"God."

"Well! Where is He, sir?" Wilder smiled. "Is He massing great armies to come to your assistance? No, I think not, sir. You're quite alone with your faith." He laughed.

"You and your pitiful handful and a silly Jew who doesn't even believe in my Master."

"All Miles needs—and has—is the belief in a power greater than he. That's enough."

"You're defending his faith?"

"Why not?"

Wilder sighed. "You're a strange man, Mr. Balon. But, be that as it may, I still maintain you are alone in your fight. May I be seated, sir? Please—we have much to discuss and I see no reason why we can't be comfortable while doing so. Perhaps you would care to put on a shirt, sir. I'm afraid if you don't, Nydia is quite apt to start drooling down the front of her dress."

The witch laughed at him.

Sam had to smile at the ludicrousness of the situation. He nodded, then slipped into a shirt. The men sat. Wilder on the couch, Sam in his easy chair.

"Nydia?" Wilder said. "Why don't you and—" he smiled "Mrs. Balon go into the kitchen and prepare some refreshments? Some coffee, or tea, if you will." He glanced at Sam. "I'm suggesting they both go so you won't think I'm attempting to poison or drug you. I assure you, sir, that is not my style."

"You will not need that weapon, Jane Ann," Nydia said. "I will not attempt to harm you—either of you—without his permission," she glanced at Wilder. "And he has said we make no moves until twelve-oh-one a.m. Thursday. For whatever it means to either of you, you have our word on that. There are rules we must follow. Sam is, I believe, quite aware of them."

"Sam?" Jane Ann spoke the one word question.

"Go on, honey. For now, I believe them. It's still a game to them. They're going to try to convert us. Besides, they would rather not lose any members of their Coven by my hand."

"Exactly, sir," Wilder smiled, adjusting the crease in his trousers, flicking away an imaginary spot of dust from his suit coat. "And those who, as you put it, 'jumped the gun,' this evening, will be punished for doing so. Believe that, sir."

The men sat in silence for a few minutes, while women puttered around in the kitchen, speaking in low tones. Sam was amused, thinking that even among the hierarchy of Hell, women were still, at times, relegated to the kitchen.

When the women returned, Jane Ann's face was pale and angry. She sat down on the arm of Sam's chair. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nydia failed the first assignment," Wilder said. "Aside from being crude and vulgar, she is also tactless."

Sam's look was puzzled until Jane Ann explained. "She told me all about the . . . pleasures of their worship. She went into great detail. It seems, so she says, that if we join them, we can live forever. Wilder can assure us of that; our God cannot, according to her. She told me a great deal about . . . sex. Without limits, if you know what I mean. She was disgusting!"

Nydia laughed.

"Disgusting only to your way of thinking; your present beliefs," Wilder said, after a sip of tea. "But there is so much more than sex involved with us. I can promise you power, Mr. Balon. I can promise—and deliver—to you, sir, anything you ever dreamed of. Join us, name it, and it's yours.

"No way," Sam said.

The fastidiously dressed agent of the devil smiled, leaning forward. "Do you really know what you're rejecting, Mr. Balon? Really? Sir, I'm offering you the entire world! Not just this world, but worlds beyond this. I'm offering you a hundred thousand millenniums of pure pleasure.

"I'm—"

"I'm not interested," Sam said. "My God offers me a million millenniums with Him. I prefer His offer."

"You are an incredible man, sir!"

"No," Sam countered, "just a man who believes very strongly in God."

"But He offers you nothing!"

"He offers me eternal life."

"But so do I! And so much more than that. Bah! You should take a glimpse of Heaven. Boring, sir, boring. There is absolutely nothing to do. Think of my offer, Mr. Balon, and name your pleasure. Young, sweet succulent girls of fifteen or sixteen, with openings so tight they would make you scream with delight. If that is your wish, I can give you dozens—hundreds of them. You want power? Name it. I'll give you power. I'll give you entire cities to rule—if you wish, I can name you supreme commander of entire galaxies."

"What? Galaxies? You mean there are other worlds beyond ours?"

"Of course, sir. Hundreds of them."

"Tell me about them."

Wilder smiled, folding his arms across his chest. "Are you interested, sir?"

"You'll do all this for me if I help you win Whitfield?"

"Exactly."

"No."

Wilder would not give up. He shifted his gaze to Jane Ann. "And you, my dear—what is your pleasure. Name it, it's yours."

She slipped her hand into Sam's. "I have my pleasure."

For just an instant, Wilder's eyes met Sam's. He knows, Sam thought. He knows I'm going to die. I wonder if he knows I'm going to beat him, though.

"Yes," Wilder said. "I do." He shifted his back to Jane Ann. "Would you not enjoy a thousand Sam Balons? All naked, with organs so large you would think they would never stop filling you? All of them ready to serve your every whim?"

Jane wondered about, but did not pursue the :conversation Wilder just had with Sam. She smiled at Wilder. "I believe most women fantasize, Mr. Wilder. But I really don't care to be screwed with a baseball bat." She smiled at Sam's shocked expression. "Don't belittle it until you've experienced it," Nydia said. "I can assure you, my dear, being serviced by half a dozen men is something you'll never forget."

"I think I'll pass. Thanks just the same," Janey said.

Nydia looked at Wilder. She smiled, and with a minute shake of the head said, "Impossible."

"Yes," Wilder said, rising, "I believe you're right." He looked at Sam. "You won't reconsider, sir?"

"No."

"I'll speak with your little band of friends, perhaps."

"Go ahead, it won't do you a bit of good."

"Yes," Wilder smiled, but the muscles in his jaw were bunched with frustration, the smile forced. "I know. Very well, sir. You realize by now that we are not going to let you out of this county? Good. Well then, with that knowledge, you have something like twenty-four hours to make your peace with your God."

And the men again passed their silent messages.

I'm going to kill you, Sam projected.

Yes, Wilder acquiesced, but in doing so, you'll be destroyed. What will you have gained?

Peace, and a place with my Father.

Bah!

"Please bear in mind, Mr. Balon: you will not beat me in the main," Wilder's smile was evil. "And consider this: after all the suffering and blood-letting of the elderly—which you are powerless to prevent; I will not and would not have let them escape—I will still have alternates you are not aware of. Knowing that, sir, I beg you to reconsider. Oh, my, Mr. Balon—what a team we could make."

"No."

Wilder and Nydia joined hands. "Adieu, monsieur, mademoiselle," he said, and they were gone, leaving behind them a slight smell of sulphur and two very startled people, staring at the empty room. "Sam? How—what—?"

"I can't explain it. The devil's powers almost equal God's. You have to remember, Satan was once an Angel."

Sam carefully picked up the cups Wilder and Nydia had used and tossed them into the garbage.

With the lights blazing in the front and back of the house, Sam turned off the lights in the living room—after carefully locking the door and windows—and he and Jane Ann slipped back into bed.

"Do men really lust after young girls?" she asked. "I mean—as much as Wilder implied?"

"Many of them do, yes." He cupped a breast in his big hand. "But with women like you around, I can't possibly imagine why." He felt the nipple grow in his hand.

"For a minister," she smiled in the darkness, "you're insatiable!"

"Horny, too," he laughed, kissing her.

She touched him, held him for a moment, and they were as one, and "Solomon's Song" made them content.

The touch of the sun woke them, and although they did not speak of it, both were grateful for the light.

She rose from the bed, pulling away from his arms. She stood by the bed, naked. Sam reached out to caress her thighs. A loving touch with his fingertips.

"You'd better put some clothes on, you shameless hussy," he grinned at her. "You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to tempt a minister."

She struck a lewd pose, hands cupping her breasts. "I did a pretty good job of it, you'll have to admit that."

He jerked her back into bed.

shameless hussy," he grinned at her. "You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to tempt a minister."

She struck a lewd pose, hands cupping her breasts. "I did a pretty good job of it, you'll have to admit that."

He jerked her back into bed.

By noon they had packed up all they felt they would need and secured it in the bed of the truck, carefully wrapped in heavy tarps and tied down. Both of them knew they were being watched from all sides, but the street was deserted. Not a cat or a dog could be seen.

"It's eerie," Jane Ann said, watching Sam work, enjoying the way his powerful muscles rippled under his T-shirt.

"It's like a boil," Sam replied. "It'll pop soon."

Together, they made a last walk-through of the parsonage. "She was a very, very good actress," Sam said of Michelle. "It was her suggestion, her insistence, really, to come out here. Now I know why."

"Do you think she felt she would finally win you over to them?"

"At first, perhaps. But I believe toward the end she gave up. I think she was going to kill me."

The ringing of the phone startled them both. "We still have local service," Sam observed with a touch of sarcasm, picking up the receiver.

"Sam?" Wade yelled in his ear. "It's the church! It's on fire!"