It’s heads. I feel relieved and terrified at the same time.

Monica and Tyler share a look. Tyler shrugs.

I turn to go to Interrogation Room 2.

“Where are you going?” says Tyler.

“To get the ladies,” I say. “Can’t leave them here if the sheriff’s —.” I stop myself. Whately’s listening. I can see he wants to ask but he doesn’t.

Tyler nods after a moment's thought and says, “Go get them.”

“I’m coming too,” says Whately. “I’m a registered nurse. I can help. I’m going.”

Tyler holds up both hands in surrender. “If you stay in the vehicle with the others, you can come.”

I go and knock at the room door. Candace has finished braiding Stacy’s long brown hair into two pigtails that reach down to her breasts. She’s blushing and looks ten years younger. She bats her eyes at me.

Candace looks loads better. She’s smiling at her friend’s antics. I want to hug them both.

“Uh, road trip?” I say instead.

We’re on our way back down the hall to leave when I hear a familiar voice from behind.

“Uh, should you be letting folks out of interrogation?”

I turn and see Officer Arthur Rigby there with an uncertain expression, halfway between a smile and suspicion. He’s in uniform. A quick bit of math tells me that he’s probably just off suspension.

Tyler says, “He’s fetching them for us.”

“I work for them now,” I say. “Ben Walker, FBI. Consultant.”

“And you tell them what?” says Rigby with a smirk. “How to get in trouble?”

I scratch my head. “Hey, if you’re good at something, you should get paid for it.”

“Paraphrasing the Joker?” says Rigby. “In a police station?”

“What can I do for you, officer?” says Tyler.

“Reporting in, ma’am,” says Rigby. He nods toward the sheriff’s desk. “My duty weapon's in his desk.”

Monica is looking Rigby up and down. He’s about six-two, brown hair cropped short, all-American handsome, I guess. Broad of shoulder, firm of chin, bulky of torso.

“We need him,” says Monica.

Tyler nods once. “You’re with us, Officer Rigby,” she says. “Get your weapon.”

Rigby jumps to go get it. He goes right to the sheriff’s desk drawer, pulls his .9 mm out, and is still tucking it in his holster when he gets back to us. “Right, do we know what’s going on at the school?”

Tyler turns and motions for us all to follow. “We’re headed someplace else,” she says.

“Ma’am, I was ordered to the school,” says Rigby, his steps faltering.

She turns, stops, and considers Rigby. “I’m placing you in a difficult position, I know, and I’m not giving you a choice but countermanding Sheriff Abernathy’s direct instructions to you. I take full responsibility and I’m sorry. We have reason to believe that the real event is taking place at Good Friends of Our Savior Church just outside town and that time is short.”

"So'm I." Monica slaps him on his upper arm. “Besides, they got plenty of people already,” she says. “We’re more fun anyway. We have a Recreational Vehicle.”

Amir says, “I’m pretty sure it’s a motorhome.”

“Shut up, Amir,” says Monica.

Soon we’re all in my motorhome, Monica, Tyler, Rigby, and I are all wearing our vests. I’ve got my knives strapped on, my slingshot in my pocket, and its ammo in their pouches. I should really color code those. Or maybe not? Maybe I’d do better not know what I’m reaching for?

Monica’s driving with Tyler in the passenger seat. I’m sitting in the love seat by Whately, trying not to crowd the big man but there’s only so much space. Rigby is sitting beside Candace in the dinette booth with Stacy. Amir is lounging around up in the cabover and I can hear him clacking away on Monica’s laptop.

Rigby says, “You have a lovely home, Ben.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Stacy says, “How long have you been a deputy, Officer Rigby?”

“Seven years,” says Rigby with a shrug.

“Let me ask you something,” I say. “Has the sheriff been acting odd recently?”

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“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know exactly what I mean,” I say. “Just not like he usually acts, I guess.”

“Maybe?” says Rigby. “He does seem to be in a bad mood lately. Maybe a little more out of central casting? Some of us have noticed it.”

So, nothing definitive then. I don’t know what I was expecting. Sure, Ben, you know I thought it odd that he up and started sacrificing goats to the Dark Lord every Sunday morning on his front lawn but we all thought it was because his wife was going through menopause? Oh well. I’m new at this.

“You really think it’s at the church?” says Rigby.

I explain to him about the plus sign and the cross and the marks under their ears.

“A bit thin,” he says. “But it makes sense to check it out. I hope that Agent Tyler can explain things to the sheriff though. I just got off suspension, for Pete’s sake.”

“Agent Tyler has let me down precisely zero times,” I say.

“Mark under the ears?” says Whately. He shakes his head. “I didn’t see anything like that on that kidnapping fuck that blew me up. Thing about him was the smell. Like socks, bread, and desperation.”

“Bread?” I say.

“Yeah,” says Whately. “Maybe he held up a bakery before he grabbed that little boy.”

“Abernathy smells like bread,” I say.

Rigby says, “Yeah, I noticed that too. More yeasty than the finished product maybe, but yeah.”

Amir says, “The M.E. said something like that on his observations too. About the dead ones.”

“What?” I say.

“Bread,” Amir says. “Yeast. Whatever.”

“What the fuck?”

“Bread?” says Monica.

“Yeah,” I say. “All of them. The sheriff, the kidnapper, the bank robbers.”

“We’ll have to ask them when we see them,” says Tyler. She holds up her hand to me like she’s offering me some pills. She drops two pairs of ear buds into my palm. “Coms,” she says. “Also provides ear protection from gunfire and other loud noises. If you suddenly can’t hear, duck. We’ll be able to talk to each other, even if we whisper. Hand a pair to Rigby, please.”

“We’re coming up on the church,” says Monica. “What do you want me to do?”

The church sits alone on a wooded hill with too big of a parking lot surrounding it. The building itself is a behemoth done in concrete and stained glass. It looks a little like a swollen, unadorned, minimalist version of Notre Dame from Paris if somebody shaved off all the pointy bits and over-inflated it. It somehow looks like it should have a neon sign, a valet, and delivery vehicles outside with lit up signs stuck on their roofs. It’s faith you can sell but can’t really experience, I guess.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Rigby looking out at our destination through the windshield.

He says, “The church has called to complain about RVs and buses using their lot sometimes. Happens maybe once a month on average? Travelers do that sometimes. They’ll park in one of these big lots thinking the store or whatever can spare the space and detach their cars they’re pulling along to go into town and get stuff. A lot easier to tool around in a Toyota than one of these monsters.”

Tyler says, “You heard the man. Park out at the far end of the lot. We’ll wait a bit and then take a look.”

“How do you want to do it?” asks Rigby.

“What I mean is that we’ll circle around the building,” says Tyler. She looks at me. “We don’t have a warrant and can’t get one with what we’ve got, so we’ll walk around the building and see what we can see. If we find anything, we call for backup and wait.”

“Kinda like if a cop sees drugs or something it stops being a traffic ticket and ends up a drug bust?” I say.

“Yep,” says Monica. “My guess is they see us if they’re looking. All they have to do is nothing at all and we won’t legally be able to do a thing. They’ve got to give us cause.”

“Maybe if I push?” I say.

“We’ll try it the normal way first,” says Tyler. “Please.”

They get up and join us in the back. Rigby and I put our ear pieces in. They’re comfortable and come with little clips so they don’t fall out.

Tyler says, “We’re going to circle the building on foot. It’ll be me and Ben going left, Mo and Rigby going right. Call out anything you see.” She points at the other four. “You guys stay here. I want two of you in the cab at all times. If you see anything, honk the horn once. If there’s trouble, honk three times while somebody else calls nine one one and we’ll come running. This thing’s been reinforced by practitioners. It’s a tank and a home. You’re safe inside so stay inside. Do not leave for any reason. Understood?”

She waits for Amir, Whately, Candace, and Stacy each to nod, watching them closely to make sure they know she’s not kidding around.

“What if you need help?” says Whately.

“Mr. Whately,” says Tyler. “One of us will run to get you.”

“What if you all need help?” says Whately.

“Then we’re fucked,” says Monica.

So, we go left while Monica and Rigby go right.

We get grass and tasteful landscaping where the parking lot ends. There’s a small, garden-like area with a couple of park benches even and a grill, all of it speckled with bird shit like they’ve never been used.

Monica and Rigby get a curving driveway that descends to the rear of the building. I watch them go, worrying.

The night is cool and moonless though the stars are out. To me, it feels darker than it really is as the negative aethings continue to crowd out the positive. I don’t know about the others, but the tension is palpable, something I can feel vibrating in my chest and belly. Something’s wrong and getting worse. I know this is the place now.

“This has got to be it,” I say so low I can barely hear myself.

“Agreed,” says Monica over my ear piece. The tone of her voice is formal all the sudden. “We are at the corner of the building, looking into the rear lot. This is Agent Monica Ochoa, recording. It is eight thirty-six pm on October 27th. With me are Agent Calliope Tyler of the Paranormal Assessment Unit, FBI consultant Ben Walker, and Officer Arthur Rigby of the Willamette Sheriff’s Department. I am observing a female armed with an AR-style rifle slung over her back. She appears to be working on some sort of security panel beside a rear entrance. The door is currently open. I propose that, given that this is a likely location for a mass human sacrifice event conducted by unknown practitioners named as Exploders in our reports, and that the execution of this event is imminent, this is grounds for probable cause to detain this woman and make entry.”

“Concur,” says Tyler. “Do you need assistance?” We have stopped three quarters of the way down the side of the church, peering into windows which are mostly stained glass strips a foot wide and having no luck.

“Negative,” says Monica. “There’s only one of them. Standby.”

Monica goes quiet. After too long a time, we hear something brush the microphone on Monica’s end and then nothing.

“Clear,” says Monica.

I start breathing again.

“I have the subject handcuffed and unconscious. I used a sleeper hold to put her out,” says Monica.

We hear Rigby snort. “Had to bend her way back though,” he says and I can hear his smile.

“Not everybody is freakishly tall,” says Monica. “There’s a shed back here for the groundskeepers. I’m going to tuck her in there.”

“Quickly, please,” says Tyler, echoing my thoughts. “We don’t know what sets them off or why.”

“Copy,” says Monica. “Please note, subject does have a discoloration under her left ear which,” I hear her sniff, “Smells of yeast.”

“Copy,” says Tyler.”

“We are go to make entry in the rear of the building. Rigby has caught the door to keep it open. Looks like the school in the basement,” says Monica. “Lights are off but there are security lights along the floor.”

“Ben and I will go back and go in through the front,” says Tyler.

We will?

We start heading that way so it looks like we will. Straight up to the front door.