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lies and deception—”
    “So now we’re all liars?”
    “Has anyone seen Jesus?” I asked.
    “In the latter days there shall be false christs and false messiahs showing great signs and wonders!” Kyle was preaching by now.
    But Sid heard me. “What?”
    Howard and Andy stopped arguing and looked my way. “What did he say?”
    “In order to deceive, if possible, even the elect! Read your Bible! That’s all I’m saying!” Suddenly Kyle noticed how quiet the room was and how everyone was looking at me. He looked at me.
    Paul asked, “What was that, Travis?”
    I scanned the room, a little jarred by the sudden silence. “I was just wondering, has anyone seen Jesus? That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”
    For a moment, they just looked at each other.
    Morgan offered, “Sally’s ‘angel’ spoke about the answer being on his way.”
    Al said with emphasis, “The pilgrims here are looking for Christ.”
    Bob built on that. “My person said the angel said ‘Jesus’ was coming.”
    Suddenly, to the surprise of everyone, Brett Henchle spoke up. “That’s what an angel said to me!”
    Everyone’s head turned so quickly I thought I heard some neck joints crack.
    “You saw something?” Sid asked.
    “A hitchhiker,” said Brett. He quickly recounted the story and then said, “So there’s one more side to this. It might not be God or the devil or myth. It might be some clever huckster moving in on the town, and he might have some friends in on this with him. Now I’m not here to downplay anyone’s religion, but I’m not looking for some heavenly vision here, I’m looking for a suspect. You tell the people in your churches that if anyone sees these guys again, I’d like to know about it.” He rose from the table. “Thanks for letting me sit in. It was interesting.” Then he walked out, his boots clunking on the linoleum in the hall, his portable radio hissing as he clicked it on.
    “If Jesus shows up, then we’ll really have something to talk about,” I said.
    Silence.
    “Well, if I may change the subject,” said Bob Fisher. “As most of you know, we’re having a week-long revival with Everett Fudd. We expect the Lord to do some great things and we’d appreciate it if you’d pass the word around.”
    “What about the softball team?” asked Paul. “When does that start?”
    EVERYTHING WENT WRONG on the way home. Kyle, emotionally wounded, kept bleeding all over me and making it sound like my fault, and I was sour and brooding about a conversation I’d just had with Bob Fisher.
    “You just sat there!” Kyle huffed as we drove across town. “These are pastors, ministers, people answerable to the Lord for how they lead their flocks and they get off on this stupid, wishy-washy, tolerance stuff—that’s Morgan Elliott’s bag, right? She and that Burton what’s-his-face. She’s some kind of liberal, feminist, radical, politically correct female pastor type, and all the men in there don’t want to stand up to her, right?”
    “She’s a widow, and she made sense.”
    “Not if she thinks the truth doesn’t matter!”
    “I was talking about the people-having-needs thing. She’s concerned about people, and I think that’s commendable.”
    “At the expense of the truth?”
    “That’s an entirely different issue.”
    He really turned on me. “It should bother you!”
    I shrugged. “I’ve already been bothered.”
    He shook his head in dismay and disappointment. “Something’s happened to you, Travis.”
    I muttered, “Sure it has.”
    “What’d you say?”
    “Nothing.”
    “And who in the world is that Armond Harrison character?”
    “He’s a cult leader.”
    Kyle checked for traffic, jammed on the brakes, and pulled over. “What?”
    I did not want to go into it. I didn’t have to go into it. I don’t know why I did go into it. “He came out here from Michigan with about thirty followers, and they have their meetings in his house over on Maple Street. Some of