Sad Eyes, Crooked Crosses (Mage)

The summer I turned 16, we moved to a no-account little town called Gerberville about an hour outside of Lubbock. Dad had been offered a job with an evangelical Christian show which broadcast out of a surprisingly sophisticated studio in an even more lavishly-appointed church which was the dominant feature (and primary employer) of the town. The steeple was visible from 30 miles away on a clear day, and at sunrise the glass roof shone like a sheet of holy fire, which I'm sure was the intended effect. Gold Key Ministries also ran Gerberville's only school and the town library, which effectively meant that my junior year science class was a complete waste of time.

Honestly, it was comfortable, and because GKM was focused on encouraging donations as well as saving souls, Dad had to tone down the threats of hell a fair bit for his live sermons. I could have easily just let the 24/7 indoctrination wash over me, gone to a community college to acquire the skills I'd need to be a suitable "helpmeet" for the nice Aryan seminary student I'd end up marrying and having a pile of children for. You think I'm being facetious, but I assure you that had the seriously bad shit not happened, that's exactly what I'd have done, and probably been completely content doing it, in a not-thinking-about-it-much, cowlike sort of way.

A few weeks before I was due to start senior year, one of the local parishoners called and asked Dad to come out to do a "healing". Mr. Coombe was a well-regarded member of the community and a generous contributor to the ministry, so of course Dad agreed to pay a visit. I went along because I was friends (in that superficial way that high-school kids in a Stepford-esque community are friends) with their daughter, Vivian. When we arrived, though, it was pretty obvious that this wasn't just Mrs. Coombe's arthritis acting up. Mr. Coombe looked like he hadn't slept, and Mrs. Coombe and Viv both had red, puffy eyes like they'd been crying for a long time.

I didn't even know Viv had a brother, but I guess Wayne was going to school at U of T in Austin and had just come home for the weekend. He was acting really weird and scary when he came back, so Mr. Coombe thought he had a demon. Honestly, I don't believe in demons - I figured he was probably on drugs or something. But when Dad went into Wayne's bedroom, he was making these weird animal noises, and it smelled like the time we went on vacation to Yellowstone and Dad accidentally hit a skunk with the camper. He was only in there for a few minutes with Wayne, and when he came out he wouldn't say anything to the Coombes; he just went downstairs and made a few calls, and about half an hour later a bunch of the deacons from Gold Key showed up, looking all grim and severe. Dad asked Mr. Coombe if they could use the garage because he didn't know how long the healing would take, and he didn't want to keep people awake.

The Coombes invited me to stay with them for dinner, and I don't think anyone said more than a dozen words for the next couple of hours. Mrs. Coombe took some sleeping pills and went to bed, and Viv and I stayed up watching TV while her dad pretended to read the Bible, even though he never turned a page from the time he opened it until he went to bed. Then Vivian said she was going to bed, and I was left just sitting by myself in front of the TV. I thought it was kind of strange that none of them acted like they even wanted to go out to the garage to see how things were going, but then maybe they figured that Dad needed privacy to do the Lord's work. Curiosity was just eating me up though, so I turned off all the lights and snuck over to the garage to look in the window.