In Laymon's Terms

And almost every night he had the beautiful Beth with him. Just thinking about her—the way her face lit up when she laughed, the way she nestled up beside him when they watched television, the way her mouth tasted when he kissed her—made him dizzy with desire.

One night, in his new king-sized bed, she curled up against him, her fine white skin smooth as silk, and said, “Have you ever heard of Paul Swann?”

“What?” he said absently. His hand was tangled in her fiery red hair, and he breathed in her fragrance. He really didn’t feel like talking.

“Paul Swann, the evangelist. He’s on TV early in the morning.” Suddenly the memory of that fateful decision six weeks ago came rushing back. The hair on the back of Ernie’s neck prickled.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”

“He’s coining to the Civic Arena tomorrow night. I have tickets for us.”

“Bethy, I can think of better things to do tomorrow night than go and see some TV preacher. Like maybe we could look at a couple of houses.” He slid his hand down her smooth, flat belly. “Besides, how do you know about this guy? He’s on at three-thirty in the morning. Sometimes, anyway. I’d think you’d be getting your beauty sleep at that hour.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“Please, Ernie. I really think we should go.” Her full lips pouted prettily even as her legs parted under his touch.

He felt a twinge of guilt. As much as he wanted to deny it, part of him suspected that if it weren’t for Swann, he would not have Beth, or the job, or the car. The world would still be ignoring him, even the goddamn security guard—except for Witkowski, of course. That asshole would still be torturing him. The least he could do would be to go with Beth, maybe give the guy some more money. He could certainly afford to.

“Oh, all right. For you, honey.” He buried his face against her breasts, kissing her perfect pink nipples. His fingers found her hot, velvety center further down. He moaned in delight, wanting nothing more than Beth...Beth all the time. He kissed his way down her belly, and she stretched out like a cat on the rumpled sheets.

“Mmmmm,” she said, purring like a feral animal.

Ernie looked around the Civic Arena. The place was filled to capacity.

“Wow, there’s a shitload of insomniacs in this town,” he muttered.

“What’s that, honey?” Beth looked over at him. Her face glowed with excitement, and Ernie decided that she was more gorgeous than ever.

“I said, are you having fun yet?”

The crowd burst into wild applause when Paul Swann swept onto the stage and strode over to the microphone. He was handsome and elegantly dressed, his white hair perfectly arranged. A few of the women in the audience screamed as though he were a rock star.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” He leaned forward, scanning the crowd. “Are we ready to have our prayers answered?”

“Yes!” came a responsive roar.

As the Reverend Swann charmed the crowd with his promises of hopes realized and dreams made real, Ernie watched the crowd fall under the spell of the seductive voice that had convinced him to part with a thousand dollars. He glanced at Beth. She was on the edge of her seat, completely in Swann’s thrall. Her lips parted, and her eyes shone when Swann’s voice boomed, “I will personally deliver your prayers to Him, and I guarantee an answer.”

Ernie was struck by something. Not once had Swann said the words “God,” or “Lord Jesus,” like the other TV preachers did. It was always “Him,” or “The Mighty One.” Ernie looked at the crowd, their faces utterly and intensely focused on Swann.

If he told them to jump off a cliff, they would, he thought.

Suddenly it occurred to him that he was probably the only person in the arena not affected by Swann, and that things were getting way too creepy. Maybe he should leave before someone noticed.

“Hey, Beth, I’m going outside for some air,” he whispered, trying to sound casual.

“No, honey. You have to stay here with me,” she whispered fiercely. Ernie was taken aback at the commanding tone of her voice.

Just then Swann looked up, right at him. His eyes met Ernie’s. Swann paused for a moment, and then his voice boomed out, “Ernie Davis, come down and bear witness to the power of the Mighty One.”

“Oh, Ernie, he’s called you!” Beth said, her voice filled with delight.

“Beth, I...” His voice trailed off. The urge to get out of this place, to run away, was overwhelming.

“Ernie Davis, come down!”

Ernie’s eyes locked with Swann’s. Every face in the crowd was turned toward him, staring expectantly.

“Ernie, go to him,” Beth hissed. Her eyes were narrowed with anger, and Ernie thought they looked yellow and strange. He blinked at her stupidly.

“He’s called you to witness, to tell everyone all the things he’s done for you. Now GO!” she said, her voice rising. She shoved at his arm.

Ernie found his own voice. “No way,” he said.