Chapter Twenty Four

Hep, Scroat, Sarah and Killer woke up early the next morning, and got rolling as quickly as the could. The group arrived in Hope, Arkansas around two thirty in the afternoon, which gave them enough time to find a decent motel, get some lunch and rest up a bit before making their way to the revival.

Hep was a bit anxious about going, since he had bad legs he knew they’d want to drag him up front to be healed. If he wouldn’t go along with it, the preacher would come out to him. It was very annoying, and the reason he avoided such events (well, one of the reasons. The other was that he wasn’t a Christian.).

Scroat, on the other hand, was anxious to get going. If there was one kind of person he liked to fuck with, it was the overbearingly pious types who went to revival meetings.

Sarah was not particularly excited about going one way or the other. She was somewhat curious about the so-called demon, but skeptical. She did not get as much amusement out of baiting the holy rollers as Scroat did, and would just as soon have gone to one of the local bars.

Killer was not going. Sarah didn’t think he needed to deal with that scene.

Soon enough it was time for them to head to the tent set up just outside of town. They caused quite a stir pulling up to park on their motorcycles. Dozens of respectable church ladies, every single one of which wished she’d married a biker, sniffed and tutted at the three of them.

They made their way to the entrance to the tent, where, sure enough, one of the ushers asked Hep what ailed him, and escorted him to a seat down in the front of the stage. As expected. Scroat and Sarah sat next to Hep, and they waited for the revival to begin.
While they waited, the ushers brought several others in wheelchairs and those carrying crutches down to sit in the front.

After what felt like a couple of hours, the worship band took their places, tuned up, and began to play. The house lights dimmed a bit as the stage lights came up, and a few minutes later the first preacher of the evening came out.

His sermon was pretty uninspired, and he left the stage after a quick thirty minutes. The next preacher was a little better, and got good and revved up when he reached the hellfire
and damnation part of his sermon. The crowd was still pretty unexcited at this point, but up next was Reverend Cyrus Evander Milton.

When the preacher introduced Reverend Milton, the crowd went wild, yelling and clapping and carrying on as though they’d been saving their energy for his sermon. Reverend Milton walked out with his hands held wide. He embraced the preacher who had introduced him, and took the microphone from him after exchanging a few pleasantries (they had not seen each other earlier, since Reverend Milton now required his own dressing room).

“Good evening brothers and sisters,” Reverend Milton began, and the crowd went ballistic. He began his sermon talking about the power of belief, and the wonder of redemption.

Hep didn’t really pay attention to the sermon, he was focussed on the weird vibes he was getting from stage left. He couldn’t see anything or anyone, yet, but he could tell something was definitely waiting there. He knew it must be the demon, and wondered what exactly was in store for them.

The audience had been going crazy since Reverend Milton went on stage, and many of the faithful had already started talking in tongues. Scroat looked around and saw two or three people surrounded by a group of others, jabbering away in a nonsense language. He had a wicked idea.

Scroat stood and threw his arms in the air.

“Hoobah-la! Shiittee-doook Mutha-fuckaaaaaarrrgh! COCK-A-TURD DOO WIPE-UH!” he shouted.

Several of the other audience members gathered around him, saying “Hallelujah, brother.”

Sarah watched him, thinking he’d lost his mind. Then she got the joke, and had to fight to keep herself from laughing.
Scroat fell to the floor, helped by the crowd around him, chanting “tuktuktitty-fuckfuckaducka-hoo!” while those around him called “Amen!” and “Hallelujah.”

Soon enough, he “came back to his senses” and the group around him helped him back into his seat and went their own ways again.

A little while after that, it was time for the healings. A woman with crutches was lead to the stage, where Reverend Milton laid his hands on her head and said “Heal this woman’s legs, in Jesus’s name, Hallelujah!” and gave her a shove on the forehead forcing her into the arms of the waiting ushers. Hep was shocked to feel a surge of power as this happened, and sure enough, the woman stood up on her own, and walked around to wild applause from the audience.

An old man wearing an oxygen mask pulling a cart with an oxygen tank was next. Hep felt the surge of power again, and became suspicious as the old man took off his face mask and, believe it or not, did jumping jacks.

Hep was so caught up in this that he didn’t notice the ushers gathering around him until they’d already grabbed his arms and started leading him to the stage.

“Hey, wait, no,” he said, but to no avail. Hep was led up on to the stage, where Reverend Milton looked at him briefly, then did a double take.

He regained his composure, laid his hands on Hep’s head, and said “Heal this man’s legs in Jesus’s name! Hallelujah!” and shoved Hep backwards.

Hep fell, and the ushers behind him toppled over with Hep. They helped him up again. Hep gave Reverend Milton a dirty look, then limped back to his seat. The crowd’s enthusiasm died a little bit, until the next person was miraculously healed. That perked them right back up again.

Eventually, that evening’s service ended, and the crowd all left, until it was only Hep, Scroat and Sarah left in the tent. The three of them made their way to the “dressing rooms” which were RVs a short distance from the tent. They found Reverend Milton’s easily enough - it was the one with the line of young women waiting outside.

They joined the line, and waited for Reverend Milton to appear. After a time, he came out of his RV, and greeted everyone. His face fell, momentarily, when he saw Hep and Scroat, but he regained his composure once again, and spent a few moments talking with everyone outside his RV, and signing autographs. Eventually he managed to shoo away all the young women until it was just him, Hep, Scroat and Sarah standing outside.

“Would you like to come in?” Reverend Milton asked them.
“Yes, I think we would,” Hep said.

They filed into the RV, which wasn’t quite big enough to hold everyone comfortably. The four of them spent a moment looking at each other in an awkward silence, before Cyrus spoke.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you two,” he said, then looked at Sarah. “I should say, you three,” He grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator, and offered some to the rest of them.

“Three?” Hep asked. “You know Sarah already?”

“Sure, she was in my confirmation class. If I remember correctly, she’s the one person from that class I’m not going to have killed when I rule the world. Well, apart from my friend Andrew. One of the two,” Reverend Milton said. “Hi Sarah.”

“Hi Cy,” Sarah said. “I never thought you’d become a priest.”

“And yet I never doubted that you’d end up running around with biker scum,” Cyrus said, and laughed. He looked at Hep then.

“So how come your legs didn’t heal?” Cyrus asked.

The four of them heard a door open, and a deep, cold voice said, “Because he’s from the wrong fucking pantheon, shithead. And because he’s a god. I can’t do much to a fucking god, now can I?”

“What?” Cyrus asked.

“What?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” Hep said. Then, to Cyrus’s surprise, he said “Hey Nubbins.”

“Hey Hephaestus,” Nubbins said with, if possible, even less compassion or warmth than usual.

Cyrus needed a moment to process all of this new information.

“So... you’re a god?” Cyrus asked Hep.

“Yep. Do you think there are many mortal greek guys still named Hephaestus?” Hep said.

Cyrus looked at Scroat then.

“Yes, I’m also a fucking god,” Scroat said. Then he winked at Sarah and said “And a god of fucking.”

“What??” Sarah asked. Up until this point, she’d had no idea that Scroat was in any way divine. She’d thought Hep and Scroat were eccentric, and had unusually high tolerances for liquor, but gods?

“Uh, yeah. Um. Meant to tell you about that,” Scroat said.

Sarah considered this for a moment, then said, “You’d better not knock me up, shithead. I don’t want to spend the rest of eternity showing up on toast, or whatever it is your followers would be likely to see me on.”

“Don’t worry, sweet-ass, I won’t. As if I want to take care of some half-breed bastard god child,” Scroat said.

There was another awkward silence as Hep, Cyrus and Nubbins tried to think of something to say to follow up that discussion.

Hep turned so Cyrus and said, “So, I hear you’re damned.”

Cyrus hung his head, and said, “Yeah, pretty much.”

Nubbins said, “Not just pretty much. You. Are. Damned.”