The Reverend checked his watch, then the weather outside. “I wouldn’t want to drive from Buckeye Lake in this weather.”

“Yeah, well, Grant’s funny that way,” said Jackson. “He’ll go out of his way for someone without a second thought. Hell, during the divorce, he and you were about the only people I had to talk to.”

The Reverend nodded his head, then gave the place a quick once-over to make sure everyone was doing all right. “Sam and I are going to make another Popsicle run. Can I impose on you to hang around for another hour?”

“Everybody knows I’m here,” said Jackson. “But if there’s an emergency, I’ll have to leave.”

“You got my cell number, right?”

“I’ll call and let you know.”

The Reverend squeezed Jackson’s shoulder. “You’re a really good friend, Ted.”

“Don’t spread that around. I have a non-reputation to protect.”

The Reverend turned to me. “You get all the sandwiches and coffee refilled?”

“All packed up.”

“Let’s go, then.”

Back in the van, the Reverend turned on the radio as we pulled out. Someone was playing Bob Dylan’s “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.”

“Oddly enough,” said the Reverend, “not my favorite Dylan tune.” He punched a button and switched to a different station.

This next station was also playing “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door.”

“That’s an odd coincidence,” I said.

The Reverend said nothing, only looked at the radio, then back out at the night.

“I want you to do me a favor, Sam.”

“Sure thing.”

He looked at me. “Pay attention to where the song is when I change the station, okay?”

“Okay…?”

He punched another button, going to a third, different station.

Not only was this one also playing the same song, but we’d come in to it at the exact spot where it had been when the Reverend changed stations.

This time, I punched a button. Different station, same song, same spot where it had been before.

“Maybe something’s wrong with the radio,” I said, switching it over to AM.

Same song, same place.

The Reverend and I looked at each other.

“I told you something was going on tonight,” he said to me.

For the next ten minutes, we changed stations, changed bands, reset selected stations manually, and it didn’t matter a damn; AM or FM, pre-set station or random scroll, every station we found was playing “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door,” and each time the song was at the same spot where it had been before we switched. Over and over for ten minutes, same thing each time.

“Maybe something happened to Dylan and everyone’s playing this,” I said.

The Reverend looked at me and shook his head. “First of all, if anything had happened to Bob Dylan, it would have been all over the news, which it wasn’t. Secondly, even if that were the case and I somehow missed out on hearing it, I sincerely doubt that—” he checked the current station setting “—the Power Wad 106 would be playing this song. The Wad specializes in thrash metal. If this were the Guns ‘n’ Roses cover, I might buy your explanation, but we’ve got…” His words cut off as he looked up and saw someone standing in the light fog at the pickup point.