Ted Dekker - The Bride Collector

Rain Man seemed prepared for the comment. “That’s what they told me you would say.”

To calm down, Quinton turned his mind to the seventh favorite. The one who’d rejected him seven years ago this very month. She had come in looking like a wounded dove and he’d fallen madly in love with her during those first few months. He’d treated her like a queen, keeping his loving eyes ever on her, as if he were God himself and she the broken angel.

And when he had finally decided that consummation was in order, he went to her room and dropped his gown to show her his entire magnificent body. But instead of recognizing how precious their union would be, she’d scratched him and hit him, screaming. He’d tied a rag around her mouth as he tried to explain. But the more persuasive he became, the more she resisted until finally he’d lost his senses and hit her hard enough to knock her unconscious.

It was only then that he realized the truth. She was reserved for God, not for him. She was the most beautiful woman alive, created only for God himself. And now he would deliver her to him.

Rain Man had concluded that she was Angel. But he was wrong. If he was one of the good guys, he would know her true identity, wouldn’t he?

“You’re full of yourself, Rain Man.”

“Yes, I know that’s what you think. And you should. But I’ve found you now, and I can say what I was sent to say.”

The audacity of the man. “If you knew who I was, you would know who she is. I’m finished with this ploy.”

But he was now sweating profusely, and his skin was starting to itch.

“You have everything right,” Rain Man said, “except one thing. You’re not delivering the brides to God. You’re killing them.”

“There’s a difference?”

“I’m here to tell you that there is. That you’ve made a mistake.” Now Rain Man’s voice was trembling. “That you are killing God’s favorites, like Hitler killed them, like Nero killed them. Like Lucifer is trying to kill them. That’s the alternative conclusion to your logic, and it’s the truth. You’ve made one mistake, and it’s the deepest offense possible.”

An electric current spread through Quinton’s body. What if what the man said was true?

The buzzards are dive-bombing. The ice cream is melting. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

The buzzing in Quinton’s mind grew and he began to shake. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But what if he did?

“I’m here to tell you that you’re serving the wrong master, Quinton.”

Quinton was on his feet before he could process the statement. He bounded across the blankets and slammed his fist into the man’s head.

“I told you not to call me that!”

Rain Man sagged, lips bleeding. He looked back up, eyes pleading. “That’s what God calls you, and he’s begging you not to kill her.” Tears flooded the man’s eyes. “Please… Don’t kill Paradise.”

And with that one word, seven years of Quinton’s life collapsed in on itself. He knew? Rain Man knew that Paradise was the seventh?

He staggered back, stunned. Was it then possible that he was right about the rest?

You’re a buzzard, boy. You’re a buzzard and you’ve been flying with the demons all along.

“What are you saying?” he stammered.

“I’m saying that you’re right, she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. I see what God has always seen. And you… You’re on a mission from hell.”

Quinton’s mind was snapping. The barn was spinning. The buzzards were screaming, What does that make you, what does that make you, you pathetic, mindless boy?

He said it aloud. “I’m a demon?”

“No, you’re…”

But he didn’t hear the rest. His ears were filled with rushing blood and screaming buzzards. This is the way it had been all along! Paradise was the most beautiful, he’d seen that when she’d first walked into the Center for Wellness and Intelligence. A precious, innocent lamb who walked around the grounds like an angel from heaven. The world saw a wasted life, abused, discarded, but he’d seen her true beauty and he’d tried to make her his own.

She rejected him, not because he was an angel of mercy, but because she’d seen him for what he was, a demon out to kill the most beautiful. And he was back to make things right.

But he was wrong.

He was back to kill her because she’d rejected him.

What Quinton found most confusing in that moment was how this truth had remained hidden from him so long. And yet, he knew why. He’d embraced his delusion. Like a deluded politician, or a tyrant who’d convinced himself that rape was justifiable.

“… if you want, Quinton,” Rain Man was saying.

“I… Please don’t call me that,” he heard himself say.

“You can still change this.”

I’ve killed a million people and I want to kill a million more because I’m a demon and that’s who I am.

“I’m… I’m a demon.”

Rain Man didn’t respond.

Quinton felt himself falling, sinking to the ground. His knees landed on the earth, jolting his mouth shut with a clack of teeth. He began to cry, then sob, then he stretched his jaw wide and he began to wail.

Brad Raines was saying something, but his words were swallowed by Quinton’s rage. He thought his head might explode. Panic beat him in the face and chest and he gripped his temples to contain it. But it grew.

There was only one way to stop it.

BRAD RAINES WATCHED the breakdown with a mixture of dread and relief. He’d gotten through to the Bride Collector, and anything was better than the course they were on before.

But he’d also guessed the bitter truth: Quinton wasn’t using Paradise to lure her sister. He was luring Paradise. All along it had always been about Paradise.

Now the man was screaming and his face was white as he trembled on his knees like a man possessed.

“You can stop it,” Brad said. “You can end all of this.”

The man suddenly stopped screaming and lowered his head, panting.

“Quinton…”

Slowly he came to himself, breathed deep, unsteadily pushed himself to his feet. He stood there, limp. His jaw muscles bunched, relaxed, then bunched again. He finally looked up, face fixed.

“You’re right.”

He turned around, walked to the table, picked up his pistol, returned, and shot Brad from a distance of ten feet.

Boom!

The bullet punched into his chest, knocking the wind from him. He gasped and tried to jerk his arms around, but they were held tight by the restraints.

“God!”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you there.” Quinton walked back to the table, picked up a small bag, and headed for his car, a black Chrysler 300M.

The bullet had missed his heart or he wouldn’t still be breathing. To the right of his chest, most likely through the lungs and out his back. Pain spread down his side in throbbing waves.

“Please… Where are you going?”

Quinton stopped. Then faced him, eyes deadpan.

“I’m going to finish what I should have finished a long time ago. And when I’m finished with her, I’m going to find another one. And I’m not going to stop until they’re all dead because that’s what I do. I kill God’s favorites.”

He turned back around and walked on.

“Enjoy the last few minutes of your life, Mr. Raines.”

PARADISE DIDN’T KNOW how long she’d been in the beauty salon. Two hours, she guessed. At least.

Jessie, the youngest of six hairdressers working today, had taken her by the hand, led her to one of the chairs at the back, and sat her before the mirror. “So, what do you think we should do?”