Page 38 of Slow Burn

Alton looked ready to raise his hand for the bath-room, but he hopped off his chair and took Pastor Zeke’s hand. Dwayne stepped aside to let Missy go ahead, and took his place last in line. He followed her swinging white robe up three red-carpeted steps to the baptismal tank.

When he looked out into the church, Dwayne went weak. He’d never figured it would happen, but he was scared, scared to death to be standing up in front of all these folks. He knew ’em all—heck, he’d grown up with most of ’em—but suddenly they were a bunch of faces, and not very friendly faces, at that.

Pastor Zeke seemed to be about seven feet tall when he stripped off his powder blue suit coat and tie. He took a white handerkchief out of his pocket, kicked off his shoes, and stepped down in the baptismal tank, right down in the water up to his waist. His hair looked old-testament white, his eyes blue as swords. He gestured to little Alton to join him in the tank, and while the organ continued to play another chorus or two, Alton shook his head and hopped from one foot to another until Pastor Zeke managed to get him to take the first step, then one more.

“Glory Hallelujah!” Pastor Zeke boomed, and the congregation all shouted it back at him. Dwayne wished he had someplace to sit down where people wouldn’t be staring at him. “Lord bless you, son, are you ready to accept the Lord Jesus Christ into your heart as your personal savior?”

Alton said something that not even Dwayne could hear, but it must have been the right answer, because Pastor Zeke crossed the boy’s arms over his chest, put the handkerchief over his face and dunked him backward into the water, quick as you please, held him there for a second, then brought him up sputtering and blinking.

“Brothers and sisters, welcome Brother Alton into the body of Christ and this congregation!” Pastor Zeke said, and the folks in the auditorium sitting on velvet cushions on wooden pews all clapped and said “Praise Jesus!” Little Alton was allowed to escape wet and dripping off to the side, where Zeke’s wife Sister Amalie was waiting with a towel.

No telling if Alton had peed in the water. No telling.

Missy Collier went right in like she was at the neighborhood swimming pool. Her robe ballooned up around her and made her look like the five-hundred-pound lady at the carnival, but she tugged it right down and said, “Yes Pastor,” when he asked her about making Jesus her personal savior. And there she went, under the water, all that careful hair curling and makeup gone for nothing. She came up sputtering, too, mascara streaming down her cheeks, hair stringy over her face. Dwayne barely even noticed that he could see the outline of her lacy bra through the wet robe, because she was squishing off to the side where Amalie was waiting with a fresh towel, and now it was his turn. Everybody was watching him, and Pastor Zeke was waving his hand.

Zeke was working hard at it, all right. There was sweat dripping down his face, and his skin was blushing red at his collar and up over his face.Working on a heart attack, Dwayne thought.Lord, maybe he’ll have one before I have to do this.

He’d been saved some sixteen times in the last twelve years, and every time he’d taken off the robe in the waiting room. Never gotten close enough to see the murky water in the baptismal tank, the dark shadows in the corners, Pastor Zeke’s waiting open hands.

Dwayne froze on the first step down into the cold water.I’ll drown, he thought.I’ll drown and float. I’ll drown and float.

No, no, this was holy. Nobody drowned at the baptism, that was plain stupid.

Everybody was staring. At the organ, Ginger Lee Olmstead was doing a key change into “Shall We Gather At The River,” and Dwayne knew he had to either strip off his robe and run, or take those last two steps down into the water.

Pastor Zeke’s smile looked like it was hurting him.

“Come on, brother,” he coaxed. He sounded like he was short of breath. Oh, Lord, Pastor Zeke was going to pop a vein if he didn’t do it this time, he’d throw him right out of the church with his Momma and brother and Uncle Fisher all watching.

Dwayne took one step down into the water. The cold stroked his thighs.

“That’s it,” Pastor Zeke said. “One more.”

He closed his eyes and took the step. The water gurgled up under his robe, closed over him like a clammy fist. He felt Pastor Zeke folding his arms over his chest and thoughtI knew it, I’m going to die, I’m going to die right here, right now, and not even baptized.

“Dwayne Elias Elliot, do you accept the Lord Jesus Christ into your heart as your personal savior?” Pastor Zeke shouted. His hands felt hot as fire on Dwayne’s shoulders, ready to shove him down—

No!Dwayne thought. “Yes,” he whispered. Something cold and wet settled over his mouth and nose. He sucked in a mouthful of cold cotton. The handkerchief.

Even though he was ready for it, the pull took him by surprise and he couldn’t keep his balance; water swarmed over him, flooded up his nose and into his mouth. He opened his eyes and flailed against the hands that held him down. Roaring in his ears, shouting, screaming. He thrashed.

The hands let him go. He didn’t go up. He went down, away from the light, the air. His thrashing sent the handkerchief floating away, and he banged off the side of the glass tank. Green mold in the corner. He needed to breathe, needed to, had to.

He closed his eyes and saw it again, that face, gray, bloated, the eyes gone, the skin ragged and chewed up, pale muscle poking out, a grin of white bone on the cheek—

His eyes flew open. There was a light up above him. A bright light. An orange light. If he could just get to that light he’d live, he’d live—

He found the bottom of the tank and pushed up. More roaring in his ears. The congregation? Screaming like it was a hometown football game?

He burst up out of the water, choking, gagging, and for a second he couldn’t see because of the water in his eyes. Reverend Zeke was bright, so bright—

Pastor Zeke was on fire.Lord have mercy, Dwayne thought in dumb amazement, tongues of fire, just like at the Pentecost. No wonder people were screaming, they were screaming in tongues—

The flames of the Holy Spirit weren’t supposed to hurt, though. Weren’t supposed to turn skin black and crispy. The pastor flailed desperately from side to side, slapping at his chest. His mouth was wide open and he was making a hiss like a snake, like a demon. His eyes were red and bloody.

Over the screams Dwayne heard the fat on the pastor’s body sizzle and pop like bacon in a pan.

Dwayne finally grabbed Pastor Zeke by his Sansabelt slacks and dunked him backward into the water. Steam and bubbles stung his eyes, and a terrible smell, sulphur and hell and burning flesh and the swampy stink of drowned men and still water. He lunged out of the tank and laid full length on the red carpet, praying as fast as he could think of the words. Some of the deacons rushed over him, and he heard the wet thump of Pastor Zeke being laid down next to him.

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