Only a madman killed without a compelling need.
With but rare exception, murder simply was not an efficient method of solving problems.
Now, curled up in the back of the van in Paula Parkins’s dark garage, Shaddack reminded himself that he was destiny’s child, that he had seen the moonhawk three times. He put all fear of Loman Watkins and of failure out of his mind. He sighed and slipped over the edge of sleep.
He dreamed the familiar dream. The vast machine. Half metal and half flesh. Steel pistons stroking. Human hearts dependably pumping lubricants of all kinds. Blood and oil, iron and bone, plastic and tendon, wires and nerves.
9
Chrissie was amazed that priests ate so well. The table in the rectory kitchen was heavily laden with food an immense plateful of sausages, eggs, a stack of toast, a package of sweetrolls, another of blueberry muffins, a bowl of hash-brown potatoes that had been warming in the oven, fresh fruit, and a bag of marshmallows for the hot cocoa. Father Castelli was pudgy, sure, but Chrissie had always thought of priests as abstemious in all things, denying themselves at least some of the pleasures of food and drink just as they denied themselves marriage. If Father Castelli consumed as much at every meal, he ought to weigh twice what he did. No, three times as much!
As they ate, she told him about the aliens taking over her folks. In deference to Father Castelli’s predisposition toward spiritual answers, and as a means of keeping him hooked, she left the door open on demonic possession, though personally she much favored the alien-invasion explanation. She told him what she’d seen in the upstairs hall yesterday, how she’d been locked in the pantry and, later, had been pursued by her parents and Tucker in their strange new shapes.
The priest expressed astonishment and concern, and several times he demanded more details, but he did not once pause significantly in his eating. In fact he ate with such tremendous gusto that his table manners suffered. Chrissie was as surprised by his sloppiness as she was by the size of his appetite. A couple of times he had egg yolk on his chin, and when she got up the nerve to point it out to him, he made a joke about it and immediately wiped it off. But a moment later she looked up, and there was more egg yolk. He dropped a few miniature marshmallows and didn’t seem to care. The front of his black shirt was speckled with toast crumbs, a couple of tiny pieces of sausage, flecks of potatoes, sweetroll crumbs, muffin crumbs… .
Really, she was beginning to think that Father Castelli was as guilty as any man had ever been of the sin of gluttony.
But she loved him in spite of his eating habits because he’ never once doubted her sanity or expressed a lack of belief in her wild story. He listened with interest and utmost seriousness, and seemed genuinely concerned, even frightened, by what she told him. “Well, Chrissie, they’ve made maybe a thousand movies about alien invasions, hostile creatures from other worlds, and they’ve written maybe ten thousand books about it, and I’ve always said that man’s mind can’t imagine anything that isn’t possible in God’s world. So who knows, hmmmm? Who’s to say they might not have landed here in Moonlight Cove? I’m a film buff, and I’ve always liked scary movies best, but I never imagined that I’d find myself in the middle of a real-life scary movie. He was sincere. He never patronized her.”
Although Father Castelli continued to eat with undiminished appetite, Chrissie finished breakfast and her story at the same time. Because the kitchen was warm, she was rapidly drying out, and only the seat of her pants and her running shoes were still really wet. She felt sufficiently reinvigorated to consider what lay ahead of her now that she had reached help. “What next? We’ve got to call in the Army, don’t you think, Father?”
“Perhaps the Army and the Marines,” he said after a moment of deliberation. “The Marines might be better at this sort of thing.”