Page 26 of Going Home in the Dark

“I tried. If there ever was a Wayne Louis Hornfly—and we all know beyond a doubt that there was—he passed through the world without leaving a trace. The name came to me in the plane, when we were in an unusually powerful lightning storm. Hornfly. It fills me with dread.”

“Lightning?” Rebecca asked. “You mean lightning has something to do with him?”

“Maybe.”

They sat in silence, taking refuge in wine.

The restaurant became busy. To Spencer, a lot of the patrons looked as if they were scientists and mathematicians. They were not a glamorous bunch. Eyeglasses were prevalent. There was an air of arrogance about them, a smugness, as if they knew things no ordinary mortals would ever know. A few wore shirt-pocket protectors and were well equipped with ballpoint pens. They were somewhat better dressed than the locals, yet a bit unkempt. One wore a black T-shirt with white words that proclaimedEinstein Was No Bill Nye, referring to Bill Nye the Science Guy on television. Spencer was pretty sure he could sort out the employees of the Keppelwhite Institute from the regular folks.

Then Bobby said, “I keep thinking about the church, Saint Mark’s. All those bodies lined up in the basement. Maybe our minds are connecting puzzle pieces. Maybe the bodies in the basement are somehow tied to Hornfly.”

Vito returned to ask if they knew what they wanted for dinner. They did. He took their order. The process was uneventful. Vito went away, if his name really was Vito.

“After dinner,” Bobby said, “we should go to Saint Mark’s when we’re finished here.”

“What?” Spencer said. “Tonight?”

“That’s when I expect to be finished eating,” Bobby confirmed.

Rebecca said, “Churches don’t stay open twenty-four/seven like they once did. These days, too many crazies are out there who want to damage or desecrate churches. Saint Mark’s will be locked tight.”

“I can get in anywhere,” Bobby said.

“How’s that?”

“Because I’m a novelist who’s written about burglars and done his research.”

Vito brought their food. It was wholesome and delicious. In some novels, meals are described in luscious detail and poetic terms in order to help create the ambience of the scene. Not in this one.

“Okay,” Rebecca said, “so we’re going to the church because Ernie’s not dead even though he sure seems to be, and maybe if we don’t do something in a timely manner, then he might die for real, and we can’t think of where else to go anyway. But what do we hope to find there, guys? You don’t think there will be ten dead bodies lined up on the basement floor, do you?”

“Maybe not,” Bobby said. “But there’ll be something—a clue, a lead—because that church was always a weird place even before what we found that night.”

Rebecca frowned, but that expression in no way diminished her beauty. Spencer was pretty sure that nothing could make herless attractive. If you came upon her by surprise, while she was hunkered in a cave, covered in filth and blood, greedily devouring a sackful of kittens, her face twisted in an expression of insane glee, she would still be gorgeous, elegant, graceful. It was a gift. Rebecca said it was sometimes a curse, as when a film director, addled by LSD and PCP, wanted to cut her head off and preserve it forever in his freezer. But being down-to-earth and honest, she acknowledged that looking the way she did had so many advantages that it was worth the risk of decapitation.

Frowning exquisitely, Rebecca sought clarification from Bobby. “Weird? What was weird about the church before those bodies?”

“For one thing, Pastor Larry.”

“Ah. Yes. I almost forgot. Pastor Larry.”

Through Spencer’s mind’s eye, seven faces turned in succession, as if painted on a revolving drum. Four were Larrys with whom he had been friendly—Jenkins, Eckstein, Block, and Fukagami. Then appeared Larry from the Three Stooges, Larry the golden retriever who lived with a neighbor in Chicago, and finally Pastor Larry. The reverend had a round face and blond hair as fine as that of a baby. His blue eyes were watery, suggesting he sorrowed over the fallen condition of humanity without surcease. Yet his mouth curved in a perpetual dreamy half smile in both times of rejoicing and times of tragedy, as if he were equally amused by the triumphs and tribulations of his parishioners, though no one could recall seeing him actually laugh.

“I never liked Pastor Larry,” Spencer said. “I couldn’t begin to understand why Ernie was drawn to him even if it did irritate the hell out of Britta. I hope we don’t see him tonight.”

Rebecca said, “Maybe he’s not at Saint Mark’s anymore.”

“Oh, I imagine he’s still there,” Bobby disagreed. “He’ll only be maybe fifty-five. And he’s not the kind of charismatic preacher that churches all over the country are scheming to lure away.”

“Even if he had nothing to do with those bodies,” Spencer said, “there’s something twisted about him.” He touched his porkpie hat as if to ward off evil, like a pilgrim might touch a sacred object.

17As Rebecca Pays the Check, Bobby Recalls the Evening When She Became an Amigo

In late September, classes at Maple Grove High had been in session for a month, long enough for most of the teachers to decide that imparting knowledge to their students was a more arduous task than any human being ought to be required to undertake. After the inexplicable excitement that possessed the teenagers on their return to school, they had adjusted to the realization this would be another year of tedium, punctuated by more frequent and intense hormonal urges than the previous year, most of which would be relieved with an imaginary partner. Already, teachers had resorted to educational films, periods of assigned research in the library, silent reading sessions, and other scams, giving themselves more time to suck on cigarettes in the faculty lounge before smoking anywhere in the building was at last forbidden; when that tragic day arrived, there would be no relief except through prescription drugs or capitulation to one degree of insanity or another.

That autumn night was cool but not cold, windless but not perfectly still. Thick fog oozed through lamplit streets. In those blinding conditions, most drivers piloted their cars and trucks well below the speed limit, but a few reckless individuals racedinto the void with the conviction that excess alcohol provided protection equal to Kevlar body armor or with the belief that God looked after fools.

On Monday evenings, Adorno’s Pizzeria was never super busy because here in the heartland most people who had dining-out money used it Wednesday through Sunday. A few booths were occupied, but the tables in the center of the room were untenanted. Now and then customers came in to pick up the takeout they had ordered.

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