Page 104 of Brimstone Hollow

“Have a seat,” she says, gesturing at the old leather chair in front of the desk. “You look like hell. I’ll get you some grub.”

“Thanks.”

She disappears and I plop into the chair in front of her desk, lean my head back, and close my eyes. I listen to thetickof Zelda’s ceiling fan, the indecipherable din of noise on the other side of the door.

“Here you go,” Zelda says, suddenly. And I realize I’d drifted off.

“Told you I’d get you some good grub,” she says. “Fried chicken sandwich, coleslaw, and cheddar tots. Plus, a biscuit and honey. Oh, and a sweet tea.”

I sit forward and shift a stack of books and papers from her desk to make room. She sets the food down in front of me along with a wad of napkins from her apron. I reach for the sandwich and take a bite without another word.

Zelda sits behind her desk, leans forward, and filches one of my tots. “Before you go, I thought I’d get Katie’s information from you. If that’s okay. I’d like to call her. Tell her if she comes to town for her dad’srealfuneral, whenever that is, that she can stay with me.”

Swallowing the huge mouthful of fried chicken sandwich, I say, “I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear from you. She’s a tough woman and she’s smart but I know this has been hard on her.”

Zelda nods her understanding and says, “Also, I thought you should know—I took Crystal home today, after Chief Dishman questioned her. Made sure she got in safe and sound. She went straight to bed and was asleep before I left. Her mom’s taking the day off to stay with her.”

I take a big gulp of the sweet tea and ask, “You think she’ll be okay?”

Zelda shrugs.

“She’s pretty torn up. I think she really believed Ezra appeared to her, really believed he’d made her some important part of an even more important story… A lot of people are bad-mouthing her out there.”

“Bad-mouthing?” I ask. “Why?”

“Because the whole mountaintop resurrection was just the latest—and biggest—incident of Crystal saying she’d seen something paranormal. I think they’re more mad at themselves for believing her and trudging up a mountain at the ass crack of dawn, honestly, but they’ll never say that.”

The first bites of food having hit my stomach, I manage to make myselfslow down and actually chew. I scoop up some coleslaw and say, “She told me yesterday that people think she makes stuff up to get attention.”

Zelda winces but then gives a little nod of confirmation.

“Yeah,” she says. “I admit, I’ve always found her sort of annoying but… I don’t know, more so because it bothers me when people like Crystal end up falling for snake oil and slick con men. It was frustrating.”

“You’re talking about Ezra,” I say.

She nods and takes another tot, chews thoughtfully, swallows, and says, “It wasn’tjusthim. A couple years ago she went down a rabbit hole believing a bunch of nonsense some online guru spouted about raw food and charged crystals. That was bad enough, but Ezra waslocal. He was right here. Sitting at the counter listening to her go on about auras and angels and paying her all these compliments.”

She leans back in her chair, knitting her fingers together over her stomach. “I tried to tell her not to fall for his shtick, but Ezra King had charisma, you know? Those eyes and the way he moved and people were always in here talking about his voice, not that I could give a shit about that. But it bothered me. Because Crystal’s not an idiot. She’s a smart girl. She actually had a scholarship to EKU, but she turned it down to stay in town and help take care of her sick dad. Then, a couple years passed and he died and she was just sort of… still here. Stuck in this rut. But she’s not a dope.”

“No,” I say. “She was tricked. You don’t have to be stupid to be taken in by people like Ezra King. All you have to be is lonely or vulnerable or desperate. People like Ezra look for people like Crystal to manipulate and they’re good at what they do.”

Zelda nods and a long few seconds pass while I chomp my chicken sandwich and wash it down with extra sweet tea.

“When I was a teenager…” Zelda frowns down at her fingernails and then gives a little head shake and says, “When I was a teenager and my hearing started to go… this kid at school told me about Ezra King. His faith healing. Hismiracles.”

She pauses, sniffs, meets my eyes.

“I became convinced that I should go to him. That he could heal my ears and I’d be back to normal. I was so terrified of everything changing. Afraid of getting the implants, afraid ofnotgetting them. I begged my dad to take me to Ezra’s church for faith healing.”

“What did he say?”

She belts out a loud bark of a laugh and says, “He saidno. I mean, he was gentle about it. But he sat me down and told me that Ezra wasn’t a real healer. He tried explaining about the placebo effect, but I didn’t really get it. Then he showed me pictures of this place in France—Lourdes? It’s this grotto with a spring that people say was blessed by God with waters that have the power to heal.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve heard of it.”

She nods and says, “People go there andget curedand then the road on the way out is littered with crutches and canes where folks have thrown away their walking aids. Theythinkthey’re healed so their bodies make all this extra dopamine and adrenaline and they feelgreat. The mind can do a lot of wild stuff to convince us our reality is different than it is.”

“You’re not kidding,” I say, thinking of my own nightmares, Katie’s prophetic dreams, Crystal’s vision of Ezra.