Jack hesitated, puzzled. What did she want here?

But she looked harmless enough, and he was curious to hear her question or two.

"Sure."

He stepped aside and Olive entered uncertainly, peering into the bathroom as she passed, as if expecting someone to be hiding in there.

"You're alone?"

"Last time I looked."

When she reached the center of the room, she stopped in front of the TV cabinet and turned to him. "Before we speak, will you do something for me?"

"Depends on what it is."

She lifted the silver crucifix that hung from her neck. "Will you hold this for me?"

"Hold it?"

"That's right. Just wrap your fingers around it for the count of ten."

Uh-oh, Jack thought. Loony Tunes times.

But he said okay and gripped the crucifix in his fist, firmly resisting the manic urge to scream in agony and fall writhing to the floor. Very doubtful this audience would find much humor in that.

"Good," she said after a few heartbeats. "You can let go now." She inspected Jack's open palm.

"Looking for scorch marks?" he said.

She gave him a tolerant smile. "Laugh if you will, but at least now I feel I can trust you."

Jack shrugged, thinking, if that's all it takes, you're already way too trusting. He gestured to one of the upholstered chairs by the big plate glass window.

"Have a seat." Jack turned the chair from the writing desk to face her and dropped into it. "What did you want to ask me?"

"Well," she said, adjusting her wide frame into the narrow seat, "if I understand correctly, you were the last one to speak to Melanie Ehler."

"I don't know that for sure. She could have called lots of other people."

"Yes, of course. But I want to know…when she spoke to you, did she mention anything else…did she mention the End Times?"

"No," Jack said. "I'm not familiar—"

"That must be what Melanie learned," Olive said, her voice revving up. "Because everything that's going wrong in the world is evidence of the End Times." She pointed to the night stand between the beds. "There's a Holy Bible in that drawer, and it's all recorded right there in the Book of Revelations."

"Really."

"That glowing figure you saw in the woods? That could have been an angel—the Book of Revelations mentions angels appearing to the Righteous near the End Times. Are you righteous?"

"I sure hope so."

"And that light you saw? Some will claim it was a UFO peopled with aliens. Don't believe them. UFOs are not from outer space—they're the chariots of Satan."

She was working herself up. It was almost as if she were talking to herself. Jack could only watch and listen, fascinated.

"Yes! Satan! For isn't the Dark One, after all, referred to as 'Prince of the Air?' The lights in the skies are proof that Satan is here. He and his forces are at this very moment working to hurl America into anarchy by destroying religious freedoms. That's why there's been so many church burnings recently—and don't forget Waco! But he'll also try to undermine from within by striking at us through our children! Even now his minions are teaching those innocent minds about evolution and life on other planets, trying to convince them that science proves the Bible wrong! And it's working, trust me, it's working. And what is Satan's purpose? Just before the End Times, he is going to join the USA and Canada into a single government and install the Antichrist as overall leader."

Jack listened raptly. He loved this stuff.

"Any idea who this Antichrist is?" he said when she took a breath. He could think of a few politicians who fit the description.

"No. Not yet. We'll know soon enough, though. But not all of us are going to sit around and just let this happen. The Righteous Faithful will resist to the end. The Devil is going to mark his billions of followers with a special microchip. It will run at six hundred and sixty-six megahertz—six-six-six is the Number of the Beast, you know. His followers, those who have the chip, will be able to buy food and roam free; the Righteous who refuse the chip and stay faithful to God will starve or be rounded up and put into camps."

Got to make sure I get me one of those chips, Jack thought.

"It will be a terrible time," she said, shaking her head as she wound down and her voice softened. "A terrible, terrible time."

"How did you learn all this?" Jack said.

"I told you: it's right here in the Bible, and in the papers every day!"

"Right. Of course." He knew she hadn't been born like this. He wondered when she'd gone off the deep end. And he wanted to know if she was far enough gone to make a move against Melanie Ehler. "But when did you first begin putting it all together?"

Olive leaned forward. "I can tell you the exact date I became aware of Satan's evil hand in world affairs. Up till that time I was just like everybody else, blithely going about my business, thinking everything was fine—well, I had a bad weight problem and couldn't seem to do anything about it. But I had no idea my obesity was related to Satan."

Jack couldn't resist. "The Devil made you eat?"

"Are you mocking me, Mr. Shelby? Because if—"

"Call me Jack, and no, I wasn't mocking you." Had to tread softly here. "Go on."

"All right. As I was saying, I was getting nowhere with my weight until I went to this wonderful therapist. She took one look at me and said, 'You were abused as a child—that's why you're overweight. Your mind has forced you to build up that layer of fat as symbolic insulation against further abuse.'"

"She made the diagnosis first, before she started interviewing you? Isn't it usually the other way around?"

"She's an exceptional woman. At first, of course, I thought she was crazy, but she convinced me to go through memory recovery therapy. And, to my everlasting horror, I found she was right. I recovered memories of Satanic ritual abuse when I was a child."

Jack said nothing. He'd read an article in the Times about memory recovery therapy and how it tended to create more memories than it supposedly recovered.

Olive pulled a tissue from the pocket of her flowered vest and dabbed at her eyes. "My parents denied it all till their dying days, so I couldn't find out if they'd implanted one of those 666 chips in me."

"What makes you think—?"

"Because they hurt me!" she said, her eyes puddling up again. "I remember that! I can see those black robed figures standing over me—you hear about men in black, and there was that so-called comedy movie about them, but these were the real men in black, and believe me, there was nothing funny about them!"

"Easy, Olive," Jack said, fearing she was about to lose it. "It's all right."

"It's not all right! These Satanic cults sacrifice most of their victims, and so for a while I thought I was lucky because I'd survived. And then I started thinking maybe I was allowed to live for a reason. Maybe I'd been implanted with the 666 chip. If that's true, it will control me during the End Times. I'll be marked as unfaithful. I'll miss the Rapture and suffer the Tribulation."

"A simple X ray ought to—"

"They don't show up on X rays! I've had countless pelvic exams, plus CAT scans and ultrasounds and MRIs, but they all supposedly come back negative."

"Supposedly?"

"I'm beginning to suspect that the medical profession is in league with the CIA and Satan, implanting these chips in everyone they can. That's why I've got to know when the End Times are coming…so I can prepare myself…purify myself. If you hear from Melanie again, ask her about the End Times, will you? Please? I've got to know."

Jack's sense of derisive amusement with Olive melted away in the face of her genuine anguish. Her fears were whacked out, but the deeply troubled woman before him was real, and she was hurting. He would have liked a few minutes with the so-called therapist who got her started down this road.