Whoever left the Bible open had underlined several passages. The motel pen lay on the motel stationary, where they'd scribbled to be sure the pen worked before marking up the Good Book:

10 There shall not be found among youany onethat maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire,orthat useth divination,oran observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch, 11 Or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer. 12 For all that do these thingsarean abomination unto the LORD: and because of these abominations the LORD thy God doth drive them out from before thee.

Color flushed his cheeks. He went to the bathroom door, a twinge of fear gnawing at him. "Tish?" Water was running inside. He thought of Leviticus's "unclean woman" as he rapped on the door.

"Just having a li'l warsh!" Her Pennsylvania accent made him wince, like when she told him she'd "redded up" the previous hotel room instead of tidied.

"Did you move the Gideon's?"

"The what?"

"The Bible."

"Why would I move the Gideon's?" she said over the pattering water.

He returned to the dresser. Picked the phone and dialed for the front desk.

"Firefly Motor Court," a cheery male voice said. "How can I direct your call?"

"Yeah, hi, it's Martin Savage from room 6." There was a jitter in his voice he didn't like. "This might sound weird, but, uh... the Bible is open on the dresser and somebody's marked it all up."

"Oh dear." The desk clerk sounded considerably less cheery.

"Yeah. So I'm wondering if maybe the cleaning staff—?"

"Oh no, Mr. Savage, it's against company policy for our chambermaids to touch or remove anything which may belong to our guests 'til they've checked out. Besides that, Candy hasn't done your room yet this morning. Said you left the Do Not Disturb sign on your door."

"Well, somebody did it, and it wasn't me—"

Barclay.

An ice-cold sliver of fear ran up his spine. The hand holding the phone to his ear felt clammy, his arm suddenly very heavy. He wanted nothing more than to be done with this call, curl up in bed with the warm bottle of Heaven Hill. He fumbled with the receiver, the front desk clerk apologizing until he finally hung up.

Tish stepped out of the bathroom just then, making him jump. She wore a towel around her torso and a smaller one twisted on her head. "Who walked over your grave?"

He pointed to the Bible. The bottle sloshed in his hand.

She bent at the hips to look. She read the passages, mouthing the words. When she'd finished, she said, "Think it was him?"

He swallowed a swig from the bottle, grimacing as it burned its way down his throat. "Who else would it be?"

"Motel staff?"

"Front desk said nobody's come through."

"Some prankster then."

He shook his head with an annoyed huff.

"Well, I don't know, Marty, jeez—"

"Don't call me that, okay? I hate it when people call me that."