#47
Leon hunkered down in the pew and quietly turned the page. In the novel, the space armada was reaching galaxy Epsilon Ten, with war imminent. Behind the spine of the well-worn library book, his hymnal jutted out on either side and prevented the galactic battle and the spiritual war being waged from the pulpit from meeting head on.
The next instant was a blur. Leon stared down at a very thin, folded paper tucked into the pages of his book. All he saw was the vague outline of darkly inked symbols showing through the paper. He could make out a couple of words-eternal-soul-payment-retribution-but most of it looked like Hieroglyphics. Leon frowned at the paper. Then he heard something, and he glanced up. A fist slammed into his cheek and sent him reeling across Gladys Martindale’s lap, spilling hymnals, fur stoles, and Sunday-go-to-meeting hats in all directions.
Reverend Stoots stopped mid-sentence and stood at the pulpit, staring down at the disturbance in the pews. He gave a start and took a step back as he realized who had thrown the punch. Growling like a crazed beast, Cassandra Dean Altamont drew back and sent a second blow flying, this time knocking the hat from Gladys Martindale’s head. Leon Donner, recipient of the first swing, had dropped to his knees and was crawling away toward the center aisle of the church, his hymnal forgotten and a book with a lurid, wildly colorful cover clutched tightly in his hand.
Leon reached the aisle and stood, staring wildly over his shoulder. Cassandra bulled her way through the panicked faithful, pushing, kicking, and throwing them out of the way as she came.
“Give me my book,” she screeched.
Reverend Stoots held his hand over his microphone so no sound would slip free and draw her attention. Cassandra Dean Altamont scared him to death. From the Egyptian Ankh hung around her neck to the tattoos of snakes he knew wrapped up her forearms beneath her jacket, she was the purest evil he’d ever encountered.
Monty Python lines sprang to his mind unbidden, leftovers from long gone college days, and he nearly snorted with laughter as his mind screamed,” She’s a witch – BURN HER.”
Leon had a choice, run for the front doors and hope to outdistance her, or make for the altar and the rectory beyond, seeking sanctuary. He didn’t have long to decide.
Cassandra tripped over the last set of legs and into the aisle. Leon bolted for the altar, turning to see how closely she was pursuing. He should not have turned. His foot caught on the edge of the first carpeted step leading to the altar. He spun forward, managed to get the hand with the book down to balance himself, tottered back up, and then lost his balance completely. His arms pin wheeled, and as he fought for balance, the book went flying in the general direction of the Epsilon Ten Galaxy, then back to Earth in along arc.
Cassandra screeched. Reverend Stoots backpedaled, tripped on his robes, and hit the floor hard on his rump. Leon spun off and crashed down the stairs. The book turned lazily through the air. In flight the pages rippled, and the folded bit of paper dropped free. It fluttered like a wing-damaged moth.
Cassandra dove forward. She reached for the paper, missed it, turned and snatched at it with her other hand. This time she got it, but the momentum carried her forward too fast. Her hip caught the edge of the baptismal pool beyond the altar, and with a look of dismay, she tottered over and back, disappearing from sight with a splash.
The explosion blew the thick velvet curtains into the air like great batwings. A horrible scream ripped through the church, echoing off the domed ceiling and crashing off the acoustically perfect backdrop of the choir loft. Panic set in. Men, women and children scrambled for the exits.
Reverend Stoots sat very still and watched the baptismal. Unnoticed, Leon slipped up the side of the altar and retrieved the library book from whereat had fallen. Reverend Stoots saw him, frowned, and rose. He stepped forward to the edge of the pool. Leon, uncertain what to do, stepped forward as well. The two peered over the stone lip.
The water had turned black. Small waves rippled over the surface, but there was no sign of Cassandra. A dark powder that might have been ashes swirled on the surface, but that was it.
Reverend Stoots turned to Leon and glared.
Leon lowered his gaze again and shuffled his feet.
“I didn’t know it was her library book,” he said. “I was going to give it back – I found it in the park. I just wanted to read it first.”
Reverend Stoots blinked; trying to figure out what Leon was talking about, then turned back to the pool.
“I never thought I’d see Cassandra Dean Altamont step into my baptismal,” he said to no one in particular.
Leon was staring at the first page of the library book, where the card pocket was pasted in. Without looking up, or really hearing, he said.
“She was overdue.”
Written by David Niall Wilson - Visit WebsiteFollow me on Twitter
