The Best Horror of the Year. Volume 4

“Every man or woman who suffers pain is possessed, of course, but in some unfortunate people — you are one — the problem goes deeper. The possession isn’t a transient thing but a permanent condition. One that worsens. Doctors don’t believe, because they are men of science. But you believe, don’t you? Because you’re the one who’s suffering.”

“Yous bet,” Newsome breathed. Kat, sitting beside him on her stool, had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes.

“In these unfortunates, pain opens the way for a demon god. It’s small, but dangerous. It feeds on a special kind of hurt produced only by certain special people.”

Genius, Kat thought, he’s going to love that.

“Once the god finds its way in, pain becomes agony. It feeds just as termites feed on wood. And it will eat until you are all used up. Then it will cast you aside, sir, and move on.”

Kat surprised herself by saying, “What god would that be? Certainly not the one you preach about. That one is the God of love. Or so I grew up believing.”

Jensen was frowning at her and shaking his head. He clearly expected an explosion from the boss… but a little smile had touched the corners of Newsome’s lips. “What do you say to that, Rev?”

“I say that there are many gods. The fact that our Lord, the Lord God of Hosts, rules them all — and on the Day of Judgment will destroy them all — does not change that. These little gods have been worshipped by people both ancient and modern. They have their powers, and our God sometimes allows those powers to be exercised.”

As a test, Kat thought.

“As a test of our strength and faith.” Then he turned to Newsome and said something that surprised her. Jensen, too; his mouth actually dropped open. “You are a man of much strength and little faith.”

Newsome, although not used to hearing criticism, nevertheless smiled. “I don’t have much in the way of Christian faith, that’s true, but I have faith in myself. I also have faith in money. How much do you want?”

Rideout returned the smile, exposing teeth that were little more than tiny eroded gravestones. If he had ever seen a dentist, it had been many moons ago. Also, he was a tobacco-chewer. Kat’s father, who had died of mouth cancer, had had the same discoloured teeth.

“How much would you pay to be free of your pain, sir?”

“Ten million dollars,” Newsome replied promptly. Kat heard Melissa gasp. “But I didn’t get to where I am by being a sucker. If you do whatever it is you do — expelling, exterminating, exorcising, call it what you want — you get the money. In cash, if you don’t mind spending the night. Fail, and you get nothing. Except your first and only roundtrip on a private jet. For that there will be no charge. After all, I reached out to you.”

“No.” Rideout said it mildly, standing there beside the bed, close enough to Kat so she could smell the mothballs that had been recently keeping his dress pants (maybe his only pair, unless he had another to preach in) whole. She could also smell some strong soap.

“No?” Newsome looked frankly startled. “You tell me no?” Then he began to smile again. This time it was the secretive and rather unpleasant smile he wore when he made his phone calls and did his deals. “I get it. Now comes the curveball. I’m disappointed, Reverend Rideout. I really hoped you were on the level.” He turned to Kat, causing her to draw back a bit. “You, of course, think I’ve lost my mind. But I haven’t shared the investigators’ reports with you. Have I?”

“No,” she said.

“There’s no curveball,” Rideout said. “I haven’t performed an expulsion in five years. Did your investigators tell you that?”

Newsome didn’t reply. He was looking up at the thin, towering man with a certain unease.

Jensen said, “Is it because you’ve lost your powers? If that’s the case, why did you come?”

“It’s God’s power, sir, not mine, and I haven’t lost it. But an expulsion takes great energy and great strength. Five years ago I suffered a major heart attack shortly after performing one on a young girl who had been in a terrible car accident. We were successful, she and I, but the cardiologist I consulted in Jonesboro told me that if I ever exerted myself in such a way again, I might suffer another attack. This one fatal.”

Newsome raised a gnarled hand — not without effort — to the side of his mouth and spoke to Kat and Melissa in a comic stage-whisper. “I think he wants twenty million.”

“What I want, sir, is seven hundred and fifty thousand.”

Newsome just stared at him. It was Melissa who asked, “Why?”