He drove on the dark roads, screaming into the night. "Oh yeah old man oh yeah!" He drove rough and was banging up the car quite a bit as he took the turns way too fast.

He sprayed sparks every time he hit a bump or dip, only flooring it in response-- taking those bumps and dips as hard as he could. It was one of the best drunken rides he'd ever taken. He must've been capable of blowing a .25 BAC. Hit the fucking road Jack! We are out in the country taking a fucking joyride!

And the old half standing Kurtz church came upon him as he rounded a turn. It was a good place to stop-- the turns were getting tougher and tougher to take as the tires got hotter and his BAC kept on rising. The B&B was beginning to hit him hard and the adrenaline was draining (used!) from his system. It was real quiet here; the moon passed through the clouds.

He lit a smoke and looked around at the crime scene tape that bordered the property.

"Mark? Is that you Mark?" called a vaguely familiar voice from the shadows. It was Uncle Eugene's voice, almost. "Come back here, I won't harm you," the voice called from inside the treeline. "I can't come out, it's an agreement. Once one of us shows ourselves in your world, the Revelations Wars are guaranteed to begin. Nobody wants that, not yet. I sat here today and listened to that freak torture and kill that boy in the name of one God. There's nothing we can do; if the wars started tomorrow, we'd be crushed in 6 months. I listened to what that Cat'lic maniac did to Tommy's poor boy after he was dead and could do nothing. That's what the Cat'lics are about?"

"What in the hell are the Revelations Wars?"

"The dead come back for starters. But the time is not ripe to talk too much about that. Your job is to enjoy your life, enjoy Maureen's company. Go inside the church and listen. We'll meet again; come back here 20 years from tonight come back and look for me. Don't waste your time before that. Don't concern yourself with the murder of my lawyer's boy-- It's being taken care of. Goodbye, Mark. Tell Maureen I love her."

He walked into what was left of the church and sat in one of the rotting pews-- sipping from the B&B bottle. Uncle Eugene's speeches and sermons begin echoing and reverberating. Sermons and the sounds of a 70 pound boy (or maybe a sack of potatoes) being tossed around the church.

Uncle Eugene's echoing voice: "We now find ourselves riding wave upon wave of blood infected with incurable diseases. This is our punishment. We must repent by sending back our purest, our youngest. But our sacrificial lambs have grown malignant and diseased and they have sickened our lord. Long live our lord who shall return. She shall return and our land will breathe once again!

And then the voices began (intercut with Mark "touching" the scene of the crime, utilizing his gift): "You know what kind of boys smoke cigarettes, Johnny?"

"No reverend."

"That's father Johnny."

Mark felt himself heading toward the world of the passout so he took another sip of ambrosia. He stood up and looked at the broken altar, offering the Sacred One a toast.

"Thank you Uncle Eugene. Thank you for the bar and thank you for your daughter."

He stumbled backward, twisting his ankle and losing his balance.

He slammed his head against a pew and it all faded to black after an explosion of blue.

*****************************