Strangers

Gerrano interrupted with the news that the call he had just taken on the kitchen phone was from Father Wycazik's "cousin" in Elko, Nevada. Only a few hours ago, one day ahead of schedule, Brendan Cronin had boarded a United flight to Reno, taking advantage of cancellations that had opened up some seats, and intending to use a small commuter airline from Reno to Elko on Monday. At the moment, Brendan was still in the air with United, not yet even as far as Reno and in no position to be calling anyone, so Michael's message intrigued Father Wycazik and instantly pried him loose of the planning session without alerting the visitors that something extraordinary was happening in the lives of their parish clergy.
        Leaving the young priest to conclude matters with the Knights, the rector hurried to the kitchen phone and took the call meant for Brendan. Dominick Corvaisis, with a writer's appreciation for the fantastic, and Stefan, with a priest's appreciation for mystery and mysticism, became increasingly excited and voluble as they spoke to each other. Stefan swapped his knowledge of Brendan's problems and adventures - lost faith, miraculous cures, strange dreams - for Corvaisis' stories of poltergeist phenomena, somnambulism, nyctophobia, lunar obsessions, and suicides.
        Finally, Stefan could not resist asking, "Mr. Corvaisis, do you see any reason for an old unregenerate religious like me to hold out the hope that what is happening to Brendan is somehow divine in nature?"
        "Quite frankly, Father, in spite of the miraculous cures of that police officer and the little girl you mentioned, I don't see the hand of God in this. There are too many indications of human connivery in this to support the interpretation you'd like to put on it."
        Stefan sighed. "I suppose that's true. But I'll still cling to the hope that what Brendan's being called to witness there in Nevada is something meant to bring him back into the hands of Christ. I won't give up on the possibility."
        The writer laughed softly. "Father, just from what I've learned of you during this conversation, I suspect you'd never give up on the possibility of redeeming any soul, anywhere, any time. I'd guess you don't save souls quite the way other priests do - by finesse, by gentle and genteel encouragement. You strike me more as… well, as a blacksmith of the soul, hammering out the salvation of others by the sweat of your brow and the application of plenty of muscle. Please understand: I mean this as a compliment."
        Stefan laughed, too. "How else could I possibly take it? I firmly believe that nothing easy is worth doing. A blacksmith bent over a glowing forge? Yes, I do rather like the image."
        "I'll look forward to Father Cronin's arrival here tomorrow. If he's anything like you, Father, we'll be glad to have him on our side."
        "I'm on your side as well," Father Wycazik said, "and if there's anything I can do to help with your investigation, please call on me. If there's the slightest chance these strange events involve the manifest presence of God, then I do not intend to sit on the sidelines and miss all the action."
        

        
        The next entry on the guest list was for Bruce and Janet Cable of Philadelphia. Neither of them was having trouble of the sort that plagued Dom, Ernie, and the others. However, they were more willing to hear Dom out than Jim Gestron and Harriet Bellot had been, but in the end they were no more swayed by his story.
        The final name on the list was Thornton Wainwright, who had given a New York City address and telephone number. When Dom dialed it, he reached a Mrs. Neil Karpoly, who said the number had been hers for more than fourteen years and that she had never heard of Wainwright. When Dom read the Lexington Avenue address from the registry and inquired if that was where Mrs. Karpoly lived, she asked him to repeat it, then laughed. "No, sir, that's not where I live. And your Mr. Wainwright's not a trustworthy sort if he told you that's my address. Nobody lives there, although I'm sure there are thousands who might enjoy it. I know I enjoyed working there. That's the address of Bloomingdale's."
        Sandy was astonished when Dom reported this news: "Phony name and address? What's that mean? Was he really a guest that night? Or did someone add the name to the registry just to confuse us? Or… what?"
        

        
        Jack Twist possessed