it says that?’
‘No. If you say so, I believe it.’
Ed nodded. His eyes, a deep and startling shade of green, darted here and there. Then he slowly leaned forward over Ralph, planting one hand on either side of Ralph’s arms. It was as if he meant to kiss him. Ralph could smell sweat, and some sort of aftershave that had almost completely faded away now, and something else – something that smelled like old curdled milk. He wondered if it might be the smell of Ed’s madness.
An ambulance was coming up Harris Avenue, running its flashers but not its siren. It turned into the Red Apple’s parking lot.
‘You better, ’ Ed breathed into his face. ‘You just better believe it.’
His eyes stopped wandering and centered on Ralph’s.
‘They are killing the babies wholesale,’ he said in a low voice which was not quite steady. ‘Ripping them from the wombs of their mothers and carrying them out of town in covered trucks. Flatbeds for the most part. Ask yourself this, Ralph: how many times a week do you see one of those big flatbeds tooling down the road? A flatbed with a tarp stretched across the back? Ever ask yourself what those trucks were carrying? Ever wonder what was under most of those tarps?’
Ed grinned. His eyes rolled.
‘They burn most of the fetuses over in Newport. The sign says landfill, but it’s really a crematorium. They send some of them out of state, though. In trucks, in light planes. Because fetal tissue is extremely valuable. I tell you that not just as a concerned citizen, Ralph, but as an employee of Hawking Laboratories. Fetal tissue is . . . more . . . valu-able . . . than gold.’
He turned his head suddenly and stared at Bill McGovern, who had crept a little closer again in order to hear what Ed was saying.
‘ YEA, MORE VALUABLE THAN GOLD AND MORE PRECIOUS THAN RUBIES ! ’ he screamed, and McGovern leaped back, eyes widening in fear and dismay. ‘ DO YOU KNOW THAT, YOU OLD FAGGOT ? ’
‘Yes,’ McGovern said. ‘I . . . I guess I did.’ He shot a quick glance down the street, where one of the police cars was now backing out of the Red Apple lot and turning in their direction. ‘I might have read it somewhere. In Scientific American, perhaps.’
‘ Scientific American! ’ Ed laughed with gentle contempt and rolled his eyes at Ralph again, as if to say You see what I have to deal with . Then his face grew sober again. ‘Wholesale murder,’ he said, ‘just as in the time of Christ. Only now it’s the murder of the unborn. Not just here, but all over the world. They’ve been slaughtering them by their thousands, Ralph, by their millions, and do you know why? Do you know why we’ve re-entered the Court of the Crimson King in this new age of darkness?’
Ralph knew. It wasn’t that hard to put together, if you had enough pieces to work with. If you had seen Ed with his arm buried in a barrel of chemical fertilizer, fishing around for the dead babies he had been sure he would find.
‘King Herod got a little advance word this time around,’ Ralph said. ‘That’s what you’re telling me, isn’t it? It’s the old Messiah thing, right?’
He sat up, half expecting Ed to shove him down again, almost hoping he would. His anger was coming back. It was surely wrong to critique a madman’s delusional fantasies the way you might a play or a movie – maybe even blasphemous – but Ralph found the idea that Helen had been beaten because of such hackneyed old shit as this infuriating.
Ed didn’t touch him, merely got to his feet and dusted his hands off in businesslike fashion. He seemed to be cooling down again. Radio calls crackled louder as the police cruiser which had backed out of the Red Apple’s lot now glided up to the curb. Ed looked at the cruiser, then back at Ralph, who was getting up himself.
‘You can mock, but it’s true,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s not King Herod, though – it’s the Crimson King. Herod was merely one of his
‘No. If you say so, I believe it.’
Ed nodded. His eyes, a deep and startling shade of green, darted here and there. Then he slowly leaned forward over Ralph, planting one hand on either side of Ralph’s arms. It was as if he meant to kiss him. Ralph could smell sweat, and some sort of aftershave that had almost completely faded away now, and something else – something that smelled like old curdled milk. He wondered if it might be the smell of Ed’s madness.
An ambulance was coming up Harris Avenue, running its flashers but not its siren. It turned into the Red Apple’s parking lot.
‘You better, ’ Ed breathed into his face. ‘You just better believe it.’
His eyes stopped wandering and centered on Ralph’s.
‘They are killing the babies wholesale,’ he said in a low voice which was not quite steady. ‘Ripping them from the wombs of their mothers and carrying them out of town in covered trucks. Flatbeds for the most part. Ask yourself this, Ralph: how many times a week do you see one of those big flatbeds tooling down the road? A flatbed with a tarp stretched across the back? Ever ask yourself what those trucks were carrying? Ever wonder what was under most of those tarps?’
Ed grinned. His eyes rolled.
‘They burn most of the fetuses over in Newport. The sign says landfill, but it’s really a crematorium. They send some of them out of state, though. In trucks, in light planes. Because fetal tissue is extremely valuable. I tell you that not just as a concerned citizen, Ralph, but as an employee of Hawking Laboratories. Fetal tissue is . . . more . . . valu-able . . . than gold.’
He turned his head suddenly and stared at Bill McGovern, who had crept a little closer again in order to hear what Ed was saying.
‘ YEA, MORE VALUABLE THAN GOLD AND MORE PRECIOUS THAN RUBIES ! ’ he screamed, and McGovern leaped back, eyes widening in fear and dismay. ‘ DO YOU KNOW THAT, YOU OLD FAGGOT ? ’
‘Yes,’ McGovern said. ‘I . . . I guess I did.’ He shot a quick glance down the street, where one of the police cars was now backing out of the Red Apple lot and turning in their direction. ‘I might have read it somewhere. In Scientific American, perhaps.’
‘ Scientific American! ’ Ed laughed with gentle contempt and rolled his eyes at Ralph again, as if to say You see what I have to deal with . Then his face grew sober again. ‘Wholesale murder,’ he said, ‘just as in the time of Christ. Only now it’s the murder of the unborn. Not just here, but all over the world. They’ve been slaughtering them by their thousands, Ralph, by their millions, and do you know why? Do you know why we’ve re-entered the Court of the Crimson King in this new age of darkness?’
Ralph knew. It wasn’t that hard to put together, if you had enough pieces to work with. If you had seen Ed with his arm buried in a barrel of chemical fertilizer, fishing around for the dead babies he had been sure he would find.
‘King Herod got a little advance word this time around,’ Ralph said. ‘That’s what you’re telling me, isn’t it? It’s the old Messiah thing, right?’
He sat up, half expecting Ed to shove him down again, almost hoping he would. His anger was coming back. It was surely wrong to critique a madman’s delusional fantasies the way you might a play or a movie – maybe even blasphemous – but Ralph found the idea that Helen had been beaten because of such hackneyed old shit as this infuriating.
Ed didn’t touch him, merely got to his feet and dusted his hands off in businesslike fashion. He seemed to be cooling down again. Radio calls crackled louder as the police cruiser which had backed out of the Red Apple’s lot now glided up to the curb. Ed looked at the cruiser, then back at Ralph, who was getting up himself.
‘You can mock, but it’s true,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s not King Herod, though – it’s the Crimson King. Herod was merely one of his
Similar Books
