The Bride Collector

28
THE BUZZ WAS back with a ferocity that unnerved Quinton, truly bothered him, for the first time since he’d been sent by God to find the bride. For half an hour he’d let Rain Man talk, methodically weaving his tale of alternative theories. What if, what it, what if, what if… Like a demon trying to seed doubt.
It was all madness. Quinton had learned a long time ago that one man’s madness was another man’s sanity. What most in the world saw as twisted might not be twisted at all, but profound truth. Or vice versa.
Wasn’t that the tale of every great prophet? Wasn’t that why the world had killed the Messiah? Wasn’t that why the assassin had pulled the trigger on Gandhi? Wasn’t that Martin Luther King’s downfall? In each case, someone believed each man to be dangerously mad. Yet the so-called madness proved to be an alternative sanity of the highest order, a better way of looking at the world that went against the grain but was, in fact, truth.
Likewise, the beautiful truth that Quinton bore was the product of a profound enlightenment.
Buzz, buzz, buzz…
A drop of sweat leaked down Quinton’s temple. “The problem with your theory, Rain Man, is it presupposes that I’m the mad one. Rather presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“Who said anything about mental illness?” Brad asked with an involuntary tinge of smugness. He’d slid back down to his seat and now looked up at his captor with steady eyes, which also bothered Quinton. If he didn’t still need the man alive, Quinton would be tempted to blow a hole in his head right now, at this very moment. Thankfully, he had more self-control than most.
“I don’t know why I’m bothering to listen to you.” He glanced at his phone again, begging it to vibrate in his hand with the call from Paradise.
Buzz, buzz, buzz…
“I’m only saying that a small part of your thinking may be flawed,” Rain Man said. “That there might be an alternative.”
“You finished?” He couldn’t ignore the buzzing, and he couldn’t ignore the man’s logic, and he was aware of the sweat gathering on his brow. It all bothered him, and now he was agitated by the fact that he was bothered. He’d dismissed Nikki’s pathetic attempt at reason. Why would Rain Man’s words—and he must remember that they were mere words—bother him?
“No, Quinton, I’m not finished.”
“I don’t have to listen to this.”
“No, but you’re not like the rest. Shutting your ears to an argument isn’t your way. Only fools do that.”
The man was using Quinton’s own arguments against him.
He sat down in the chair and crossed one leg over the other, willing the phone in his hand to buzz before the buzzing in his head turned him senseless. He had the time and he had a brain. Buzzards were flying low and dive-bombing the world with demonic spirits. The boy was on the pier. Fishing. Eating ice cream. While angels plotted the death of all politicians.
His mind was jumping.
Too active. Too manic. And it was hurting.
Take your medication like a good boy, Quinton. There you go, you worthless piece of buzzard meat.
“Are you okay?”
Quinton blinked. Who was this man to ask him such an absurd question? He was the one tied to the pole. For the buzzards.
“What’s your point?” Quinton asked.
“My point is that you’re right. An infinite God can have multiple favorites. His love for every human is… how did you put it?”
Quinton frowned. “Inexhaustible,” he said.
“Yes. Infinite love, which is by definition the greatest kind. If he has the greatest love for every single human, he can’t have a lesser love for one of them. They are all his favorite, so to speak. Some would say that favorite means to favor one over the other, but used loosely it helps us understand that his full and utter devotion is fixed completely on each one, in the same way one would think of a favorite. That’s quite insightful.”
“Very good, Rain Man. So you think the fact that you’ve seen what is obvious should earn you some favor, is that it?”
“No. Not for me.”
“Oh, that’s right. This is about Paradise. You haven’t proven that you aren’t who I think you are. You’ve been running at the mouth making points that are as plain as the dirt. You’re trying to stall to give your friends more time to find us. And now I’m getting bored with it.”
Rain Man drilled him with that smug stare, and Quinton suppressed a ferocious urge to hit him in the head with something.
“I’m getting to that, Quinton—”
“Stop calling me that!”
“What would you like me to call you?”
“Anything closer to how you really feel about me. How about Devil? Or Demon. I’m not your personal little Quinton. As you speak, the buzzards are being dropped by demons.”
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
He knew his thinking was fracturing, and for the first time in many years he’d betrayed that fragmentation in front of someone. Maybe he would have to kill this man after all.
Rain Man didn’t seem put off. “My point is that I share your logic. That I’m on the right side. Your side. I’ve been looking for you for months, and I knew that when I finally found you I would need to persuade you that I was one of the good guys.”
The man wasn’t making sense. Quinton’s head was throbbing. Dive-bombing.
“I’m one of the good guys,” he said. “And you’re trying to stop me.”
Rain Man seemed prepared for the comment. “That’s what they told me you would say.”
To calm down, Quinton turned his mind to the seventh favorite. The one who’d rejected him seven years ago this very month. She had come in looking like a wounded dove and he’d fallen madly in love with her during those first few months. He’d treated her like a queen, keeping his loving eyes ever on her, as if he were God himself and she the broken angel.
And when he had finally decided that consummation was in order, he went to her room and dropped his gown to show her his entire magnificent body. But instead of recognizing how precious their union would be, she’d scratched him and hit him, screaming. He’d tied a rag around her mouth as he tried to explain. But the more persuasive he became, the more she resisted until finally he’d lost his senses and hit her hard enough to knock her unconscious.
It was only then that he realized the truth. She was reserved for God, not for him. She was the most beautiful woman alive, created only for God himself. And now he would deliver her to him.
Rain Man had concluded that she was Angel. But he was wrong. If he was one of the good guys, he would know her true identity, wouldn’t he?
“You’re full of yourself, Rain Man.”
“Yes, I know that’s what you think. And you should. But I’ve found you now, and I can say what I was sent to say.”
The audacity of the man. “If you knew who I was, you would know who she is. I’m finished with this ploy.”
But he was now sweating profusely, and his skin was starting to itch.
“You have everything right,” Rain Man said, “except one thing. You’re not delivering the brides to God. You’re killing them.”
“There’s a difference?”
“I’m here to tell you that there is. That you’ve made a mistake.” Now Rain Man’s voice was trembling. “That you are killing God’s favorites, like Hitler killed them, like Nero killed them. Like Lucifer is trying to kill them. That’s the alternative conclusion to your logic, and it’s the truth. You’ve made one mistake, and it’s the deepest offense possible.”
An electric current spread through Quinton’s body. What if what the man said was true?
The buzzards are dive-bombing. The ice cream is melting. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.
The buzzing in Quinton’s mind grew and he began to shake. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But what if he did?
“I’m here to tell you that you’re serving the wrong master, Quinton.”
Quinton was on his feet before he could process the statement. He bounded across the blankets and slammed his fist into the man’s head.
“I told you not to call me that!”
Rain Man sagged, lips bleeding. He looked back up, eyes pleading. “That’s what God calls you, and he’s begging you not to kill her.” Tears flooded the man’s eyes. “Please… Don’t kill Paradise.”
And with that one word, seven years of Quinton’s life collapsed in on itself. He knew? Rain Man knew that Paradise was the seventh?
He staggered back, stunned. Was it then possible that he was right about the rest?
You’re a buzzard, boy. You’re a buzzard and you’ve been flying with the demons all along.
“What are you saying?” he stammered.
“I’m saying that you’re right, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. I see what God has always seen. And you… You’re on a mission from hell.”
Quinton’s mind was snapping. The barn was spinning. The buzzards were screaming, What does that make you, what does that make you, you pathetic, mindless boy?
He said it aloud. “I’m a demon?”
“No, you’re…”
But he didn’t hear the rest. His ears were filled with rushing blood and screaming buzzards. This is the way it had been all along! Paradise was the most beautiful, he’d seen that when she’d first walked into the Center for Wellness and Intelligence. A precious, innocent lamb who walked around the grounds like an angel from heaven. The world saw a wasted life, abused, discarded, but he’d seen her true beauty and he’d tried to make her his own.
She rejected him, not because he was an angel of mercy, but because she’d seen him for what he was, a demon out to kill the most beautiful. And he was back to make things right.
But he was wrong.
He was back to kill her because she’d rejected him.
What Quinton found most confusing in that moment was how this truth had remained hidden from him so long. And yet, he knew why. He’d embraced his delusion. Like a deluded politician, or a tyrant who’d convinced himself that rape was justifiable.
“… if you want, Quinton,” Rain Man was saying.
“I… Please don’t call me that,” he heard himself say.
“You can still change this.”
I’ve killed a million people and I want to kill a million more because I’m a demon and that’s who I am.
“I’m… I’m a demon.”
Rain Man didn’t respond.
Quinton felt himself falling, sinking to the ground. His knees landed on the earth, jolting his mouth shut with a clack of teeth. He began to cry, then sob, then he stretched his jaw wide and he began to wail.
Brad Raines was saying something, but his words were swallowed by Quinton’s rage. He thought his head might explode. Panic beat him in the face and chest and he gripped his temples to contain it. But it grew.
There was only one way to stop it.

BRAD RAINES WATCHED the breakdown with a mixture of dread and relief. He’d gotten through to the Bride Collector, and anything was better than the course they were on before.
But he’d also guessed the bitter truth: Quinton wasn’t using Paradise to lure her sister. He was luring Paradise. All along it had always been about Paradise.
Now the man was screaming and his face was white as he trembled on his knees like a man possessed.
“You can stop it,” Brad said. “You can end all of this.”
The man suddenly stopped screaming and lowered his head, panting.
“Quinton…”
Slowly he came to himself, breathed deep, unsteadily pushed himself to his feet. He stood there, limp. His jaw muscles bunched, relaxed, then bunched again. He finally looked up, face fixed.
“You’re right.”
He turned around, walked to the table, picked up his pistol, returned, and shot Brad from a distance of ten feet.
Boom!
The bullet punched into his chest, knocking the wind from him. He gasped and tried to jerk his arms around, but they were held tight by the restraints.
“God!”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help you there.” Quinton walked back to the table, picked up a small bag, and headed for his car, a black Chrysler 300M.
The bullet had missed his heart or he wouldn’t still be breathing. To the right of his chest, most likely through the lungs and out his back. Pain spread down his side in throbbing waves.
“Please… Where are you going?”
Quinton stopped. Then faced him, eyes deadpan.
“I’m going to finish what I should have finished a long time ago. And when I’m finished with her, I’m going to find another one. And I’m not going to stop until they’re all dead because that’s what I do. I kill God’s favorites.”
He turned back around and walked on.
“Enjoy the last few minutes of your life, Mr. Raines.”