Page 74 of Forever Dark
“It’s your rodeo.”
They moved with the crowd.
Near the entrance stood a folding sign painted in red and gold.
MERCY ROAD MINISTRIES
ONE MORE NIGHT OF MERCY
COME AS YOU ARE, LEAVE CHANGED FOREVER
Two volunteers handed out pamphlets and smiled too quickly at everyone who passed.Selena took one, folded it once, and slipped it into her pocket without looking down.Across the fairgrounds, the ministry bus sat where they had seen it from the road, long and polished, cream and blue with gold script catching the tent lights.It looked less like transport than a rolling promise.
Inside, heat gathered under the canvas roof.Rows of metal folding chairs stretched toward a simple wooden platform.The place was nearly full.Voices mingled with the music warming up onstage.Children squirmed.Somebody laughed.Somebody else prayed under their breath with eyes closed and one hand pressed to their chest.
Connor led them up the side aisle far enough to give a clear view without drawing notice.They sat.
From the platform, several musicians took their places at the back, including a few backup singers, a drummer, a keyboardist, and a couple of guitar players.
“I hope they play some death metal,” Connor joked in a murmur.The guitarist with longer hair and a beard leaned toward the microphone.“Good evening, everybody.”
The crowd answered him at once.
“Good evening.”
He smiled modestly, as if embarrassed by the sound of his own voice carrying that far.“We’re glad you’re here tonight.Doesn’t matter what kind of week you had getting here.Doesn’t matter what shape you came in.You’re here now, and that matters.”
A few amens floated up.
“We’re going to sing first,” he said.“Then the one and only Shepherd Croft’s going to bring the word.Hallelujah!”
Keyboard notes filled the tent, then guitar, then a second singer from farther back on the platform joined in.The song was simple enough that the crowd caught on by the second chorus.Voices rose, uneven but earnest.Selena did not sing.She watched.
Every few moments, her eyes went to the crowd instead of the stage.Lauren Gimble had sat in rooms like this.Likely Brenda Colter, too.Easy to see the appeal when you feel life lacks meaning.Easier than Selena wanted to admit.Washington had given her meaning; at least, so she thought.She was beginning to wonder.
When the final chord faded, the guitarist stepped back from the microphone, and the crowd began to clap.
Elias Croft came out from the wing of the platform like a man arriving where he belonged.
He was taller than Selena had expected.Late fifties, maybe.Silver threaded through dark hair.Strong jaw.Expensive smile.Even from halfway back, the control in him was obvious.Not stiff control.Something more practiced.He knew where to place his hands.Knew when to let silence breathe.Knew how long to hold a look on one side of the tent before turning to the other.
A man born for the pulpit, just as the notes had promised.
Croft stood at the center, Bible in one hand, and let the applause roll out before he spoke.
“Tonight,” he said, warm and clear, “I want to talk to the people who think they’ve run out of road.”
The tent quieted.
“I want to talk to the people who think they missed their moment.Blew their chance.Broke too much, lost too much, wasted too much.Folks who think maybe the best part of life already happened, and what’s left is just the bill coming due.”
A murmur moved through the chairs.
Croft turned slightly, one hand open now.“Some of you know that feeling, don’t you?”
“Yes,” a woman called out.
“Yes,” Croft echoed.“I know you do.”
