ain’t scared of Singer, and I ain’t scared of Bast, no matter how big he is. It’s him I’m afraid of.”
“Gardener?”
“He’s a devil from hell,” Rudolph said. He hesitated and
then added, “I’ll tell you something I never told nobody else.
One week he was late givin me my pay envelope and I went
downstairs to his office. Most times I don’t, I don’t like to go down there, but this time I had to . . . well, I had to see a man.
I needed my money in a hurry, you know what I mean? And I
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seen him go down the hall and into his office, so I knew he was there. I went down and knocked on the door, and it swung open when I did, because it hadn’t completely latched. And
you know what, kid? He wasn’t there.”
Rudolph’s voice had lowered steadily as he told this story, until Jack could barely hear the cook over the thump and
wheeze of the dishwasher. At the same time, his eyes had
widened like the eyes of a child reliving a scary dream.
“I thought maybe he was in that recordin-studio thing they
got, but he wasn’t. And he hadn’t gone into the chapel be-
cause there’s no direct connectin door. There’s a door to the outside from his office, but it was locked and bolted on the inside. So where did he go, buddy-roo? Where did he go? ”
Jack, who knew, could only look at Rudolph numbly.
“I think he’s a devil from hell and he took some weird ele-
vator down to report to fuckin HQ,” Rudolph said. “I’d like to help you but I can’t. There ain’t enough money in Fort Knox for me to cross the Sunlight Man. Now you get out of here.
Maybe they ain’t noticed you’re missin.”
But they had, of course. As he came out through the swing-
ing doors, Warwick stepped up behind him and clubbed Jack
in the middle of the back with hands interlaced to form one gigantic fist. As he went stumbling forward through the deserted cafeteria, Casey appeared from nowhere like an evil
jack-in-the-box and stuck out a foot. Jack couldn’t stop. He tripped over Casey’s foot, his own feet went out from under him, and he sprawled in a tangle of chairs. He got up, fighting back tears of rage and shame.
“You don’t want to be so slow taking in your dishes, snot-
face,” Casey said. “You could get hurt.”
Warwick grinned. “Yeah. Now get on upstairs. The trucks
are waiting to leave.”
4
At four the next morning he was awakened and taken down to
Sunlight Gardener’s office again.
Gardener looked up from his Bible as if surprised to see
him.
“Ready to confess, Jack Parker?”
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“I have nothing—”
The lighter again. The flame, dancing a bare inch from the
tip of his nose.
“Confess. Where have we met?” The flame danced a little
closer yet. “I mean to have it out of you, Jack. Where?
Where? ”
“Saturn!” Jack screamed. It was all he could think of.
“Uranus! Mercury! Somewhere in the asteroid belt! Io!
Ganymede! Dei—”
Pain, thick and leaden and excruciating, exploded in his
lower belly as Hector Bast reached between his legs with his good hand and squeezed Jack’s testes.
“There,” Heck Bast said, smiling cheerfully. “Didn’t you
just have that coming, you hellbound mocker.”
Jack collapsed slowly to the floor, sobbing.
Sunlight Gardener leaned slowly down, his face patient—
almost beatific. “Next time, it will be your friend down here,”
Sunlight Gardener said gently. “And with him I will not hesitate. Think about it, Jack. Until tomorrow night.”
But tomorrow night, Jack decided, he and Wolf would not
be here. If only the Territories were left, then the Territories it would be . . .
. . . if he could get them back there.
25
Jack and Wolf Go to Hell
1
They had to flip from downstairs. He concentrated on that
rather than on the question of whether or not they would be able to flip at all. It would be simpler to go from the room, but the miserable little cubicle he and Wolf shared was on the third floor, forty feet above the ground. Jack didn’t know how exactly the Territories geography and topography corresponded
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to the geography and topography of Indiana, but he wasn’t going to take a chance that could get their necks broken.
He explained to Wolf what they would do.
“You understand?”
“Yes,” Wolf said listlessly.
“Give it back to me, anyway, pal.”
“After breakfast, I go into the bathroom across from the
common room. I go into the first stall. If no one notices I’m gone, you’ll come in. And we’ll go back to the Territories. Is that right, Jacky?”
“That’s it,” Jack said. He put a hand on Wolf ’s shoulder
and squeezed it. Wolf smiled wanly. Jack hesitated and said,
“I’m sorry I got you into this. It’s all my fault.”
“No, Jack,” Wolf said kindly. “We’ll try this. Maybe . . .” A small, wistful hope seemed to glimmer briefly in Wolf ’s eyes.
“Yes,” Jack said. “Maybe.”
2
Jack was too scared and excited to want breakfast, but he
thought he might attract attention by not eating. So he shovelled in eggs and potatoes that tasted like sawdust, and even managed one fatty piece of bacon.
The weather had finally cleared. There had been frost the
night before, and the rocks in Far Field would be like chunks of slag embedded in hardened plastic.
Plates taken out to the kitchen.
Boys allowed to go back to the common room while Sonny
Singer, Hector Bast, and Andy Warwick got their day-rosters.
They sat around, looking blank. Pedersen had a fresh copy
of the magazine the Gardener organization published, The Sunlight of Jesus. He turned the pages idly, glancing up every once in a while to look at the boys.
Wolf looked a question at Jack. Jack nodded. Wolf got up
and lumbered from the room. Pedersen glanced up, saw Wolf
cross the hall and go into the long, narrow bathroom across the way, and then went back to his magazine.
Jack counted to sixty, then forced himself to count to sixty again. They were the two longest minutes of his life. He was dreadfully afraid that Sonny and Heck would come back into
the common room and order all the boys out to the trucks, and
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he wanted to get into the bathroom before that happened. But Pedersen wasn’t stupid. If Jack followed Wolf too closely,
Pedersen might suspect something.
At last Jack got up and walked across the room toward the
door. It seemed impossibly far away, and his heavy feet
seemed to bring him no closer; it was like an optical illusion.
Pederson looked up. “Where are you going, snotface?”
“Bathroom,” Jack said. His tongue was dry. He had heard
of people’s mouths getting dry when they were afraid, but their tongues?
“They’ll be upstairs in a minute,” Pedersen said, nodding
toward the end of the hall, where the stairs led down to the chapel, the studio, and Gardener’s office. “You better hold it and water Far Field.”
“I got to take a crap,” Jack said desperately.
Sure. And maybe you and your big stupid friend like to pull each other’s dorks a little before you start the day. Just to sort of perk yourselves up. Go sit down.
“Well, go on, then,” Pedersen said crossly. “Don’t just
stand there and whine about it.”
He looked back at his magazine. Jack crossed the hall and
stepped into the bathroom.
3
Wolf had picked the wrong stall—he was halfway down the
line, his big, clunky workshoes unmistakable under the door.
Jack pushed in. It was cramped with the two of them, and he was very aware of Wolf ’s strong, clearly animal odor.
“Okay,” Jack said. “Let’s try it.”
“Jack, I’m scared.”
Jack laughed shakily. “I’m scared, too.”
“How do we—”
“I don’t know. Give me your hands.” That seemed like a
good start.
Wolf put his hairy hands—paws, almost—in Jack’s hands,
and Jack felt an eerie strength flow from them into him.
Wolf ’s strength wasn’t gone after all, then. It had simply gone underground, as a spring will sometimes go underground in a savagely hot season.
Jack closed his eyes.
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“Want to get back,” he said. “Want to get back, Wolf, Help me!”
“I do,” Wolf breathed. “I will if I can! Wolf!”
“Here and now.”
“Right here and now!”
Jack squeezed Wolf ’s paw-hands tighter. He could smell
Lysol. Somewhere he could hear a car passing. A phone rang.