He would have gone into Rev Theo's office to rest, but he remembered the use it had been put to so recently. He sat down in one of the folding chairs at the back of the sanctuary and closed his eyes.

Whatever possessed him had spoken again. This time Word wasn't taken by surprise, and he was fatalistic about it. Either it would come or it wouldn't. Either he'd be given words to say, or he wouldn't.

But by whom? He didn't like the sense that it was linked to Mack and Yolanda. What went on with them was not from God—he knew that much, at least. So why did the spirit only start working through him when the two of them emerged from their semi-holy tryst? Whatever spirit it was, it still worried him that it might not be the Holy Spirit of God.

If I don't serve Jesus with what I do, then whose service am I in?

All the things I said to people. Were they true? Or did they become true because I said them?

That was what Word had come to believe when he studied psychology as an undergraduate. He came to the conclusion that Freud wasn't discovering things, he was creating them. There were no Oedipus complexes until Freud started telling that story and people started interpreting their own lives through that lens. Like neuralgia or the vapors or UFOs or humors or any of the other weird theories—once the story was out there, people started believing it.

So now, am I doing the same thing? Do I say things, and then they become sort of true because I said them? Or are they already true, and this spirit that possesses me reveals that truth and heals whatever can be healed? Am I giving peace, or creating chaos?

Is any part of this from me, my own wish to make sense of things? Or some even deeper need that I didn't know about—a desire to dominate? Because that's what's happening. The way they look at me. Worshipful. Grateful. It's the look of faith. I've given them something I don't even have myself—certainty. Trust.

"Some sermon tonight," said Theo.

"I don't know when it's going to happen," said Word. "For all I know, this was the last time."

"You doing fine before the spirit come into you tonight."

"You could tell when it came?"

"You turned around and looked back at the door, like you heard the Spirit of God coming up behind you, and then you turn around and tell that woman her son lying to her. I say it don't get much clearer than that."

"I didn't hear the Spirit of God. I heard Mack and Yolanda come out of the church."

"Well now," said Rev Theo. "How did you hear that? So much noise, and the door already open, and they didn't walk heavy."

"I don't know," said Word. "I don't even know if it's the Spirit of God that comes into me."

"It's the spirit of truth. Spirit of healing. Have some faith."

"It falls too close in line with the kind of thing I want and wish for," said Word.

"It's right in line with the ministry of His Majesty King Jesus," said Theo. "He said come follow me, and you doing it, Word. Even your name. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and—"

"Don't finish that," said Word. "Or I'll change my name."

"I ain't saying that last part is about you. But it's a sure thing that Word is with God. Don't you doubt it."

"Rev Theo, I don't trust it."

"If it comes, it comes," said Rev Theo. "When it doesn't, you just tell them, the Holy Spirit comes when he comes, but the words of Jesus are always with us. We not in this to put on a show, Word. We in this to save souls."

"I know that," said Word. "What I don't trust is... I don't know whether it's good or not."

"Oh, it's good, Word."

"In the long run. They worship me, Rev Theo."

"The thing that's inside me—I think it's their worship that it's after."

"Of course it is," said Rev Theo. "Didn't he say, Love the Lord your God with all your—"

"No, Rev Theo. What it wants is for them to worship me. To obey me. To elevate me. To give me power in this world. It wants me to rule over people because they think God is in me. It's lust.

Ambition. Pride."

"If you got those sins, we can work on repentance—"

"I don't have those sins, Rev Theo. Or if I do, I don't have them so bad. It's not my feeling. It's what I get from the thing inside me. It doesn't feel good. It feels malicious."

Rev Theo didn't have a comforting word for him. Not a word at all.

Word opened his eyes. Rev Theo was leaning back, studying him. "You a complicated boy, Word."

"Not so complicated," said Word. "I just want to do good. For good reasons."

"Sometimes people do bad for good reasons, and God forgives them. And sometimes they do good for bad reasons, and God forgives them. And when they do bad for bad reasons, God will forgive them if they repent and come unto him. You got nothing to fear, Word."

Word pretended that this was the answer he needed, because he knew that wise as Rev Theo was, he didn't understand. He hadn't felt that hot hand down his back. He hadn't felt the glee that radiated from it when people wept as they called out: Word, Word, Word.

It's the beast, and I'm the prophet of the beast. I know that now. It's pretending to be the Holy Ghost, but it isn't. So I'm not serving God, even though that's what I meant. I'm serving... someone else. Maybe someone like Bag Man. Except it's not the way Dad said it was for him. Bag Man made him want things he didn't want. This thing inside me doesn't change what I want. I'm still the same person I was.

Word let Rev Theo take him partway home in his rattletrap ministry car, an ancient Volvo that looked like a cardboard box with wheels and rust spots. "Thing that makes me most proud of this car," Rev Theo liked to say, "ain't a mechanic left in LA knows how to fix it. So you know it runs on faith alone."

Rev Theo dropped him at the bus stop and not long after, Word got on the bus that ran down La Brea and dropped him at Coliseum. Word insisted on that—no need for Rev Theo to take him all the way in to Baldwin Hills, it was too far out of his way. Even though it did mean it was nearly midnight by the time Word wound his way into the neighborhood.

Walking up Cloverdale, Word saw Ceese Tucker's patrol car and Yolanda's motorcycle parked in front of Chandresses' house. But the house looked dark, like nobody was there, or at least nobody was up.

A lot of them greeted him, but they didn't volunteer any information and Word didn't ask.

Maybe they could see on his face how distracted and worried he was. Whatever they were doing, Word wasn't part of it.

He got home and Mother was drinking tea in the kitchen. "Your father's in his office and he doesn't want to be disturbed."

"I'm tired myself," said Word. "He still upset about those poems?"

"Actually, he got some complimentary emails today. There are people out there who like the kind of old-fashioned poetry your father has apparently been writing for twenty years without ever giving me or anyone else a hint."

"Well that's good," said Word.

"So his wish came true, I guess," said Mother. "I wouldn't mind a few of my wishes coming true."

Word sat down across the table from her. "What is the wish of your heart, Mom?"

"My children to be happy," she said.

"You're already Miss America to me, Mom," he said, grinning.

"Well, I do want that. But I guess that's not what you meant. I honestly don't know the wish of my heart. Maybe I like my life the way it is. I'm pretty content."

"That's what happy means in this world, Mom."

"Well, aren't you the philosopher."

"Not since I got that C in aesthetics."

He got up and kissed her cheek and left her to her tea and her contentment with life. Maybe she'd feel differently if she knew that a child of her loins had lived in the neighborhood for the past seventeen years, and just tonight slept with a woman at least ten years older than him after a sort of fake marriage. Maybe that would spoil her contentment just a little. Especially the part about not remembering giving birth to the kid.