Free The Turning by Davis Bunn Page A

ogres and aliens. Their actions were so frantic and illogical they looked insane, borderline violent. The police whistles were joined by a massive mash-up from drums and wind instruments of every conceivable variety.
    The crowd waved thousands of identical signs and banners. The sea of waving placards all carried the same three words:
    Hope Is Dead
.
    And at that instant, the electric signs surrounding Time Square all went blank.
    The sight was shocking. The brilliant displays were so constant, most scarcely saw them at all. Until now, that is, when they were absolutely black.
    And then in unison they all flashed up the same three silver words, emblazoned upon screens of midnight blue.
    Hope Is Dead
.
    The crowd went completely and utterly berserk. They broke free of the guard rails, flying into the traffic, clambering upon the roofs of cars and trucks, dancing with a dark glee that was just one step away from rage.
    The police and the cars and the other pedestrians froze in shock, totally engulfed within a scene of bedlam. By now the whole conference room was fastened against the panes, as frozen as the spectators below.
    Four hundred thousand dollars had bought Trent ten minutes and a promise that it would happen upon his command.
    Trent pulled his gaze from the scene he had created and glanced at the others around and behind him. All of them, including their boss, were locked on the thousands and thousands of ghouls linked in jubilant frenzy.
    Then another gaze pulled away. The daughter of Barry Mundrose backed up slightly, so she could look down the length of the boardroom. Edlyn’s green eyes were as hard as emeralds, but Trent thought he saw a hint of something else there. An electric current that shot down the room, and set his body vibrating. Then she turned back to the window.
    Beyond the glass, the crowd began shouting the words and dancing in time, until the entire square was filled with the ragged chant roared from thirty thousand throats.
    Hope Is Dead
.

9
     
    “Come near to God …”
     
    NEW YORK CITY
     
    A lisha sat by the hotel lobby window and cradled the phone in  her lap. She wasn’t dreading this call. Not really. It was all so far beyond what she wanted and how she thought, such things as pride really didn’t matter anymore. Well, it did. She was still human, after all. But what she had just witnessed downstairs was so big, her heart was so full, she just had to put all that pride aside. Even when it hurt. Because it did. This was
her
choir. And it was a lot more besides. Alisha could see her reflection in the phone’s darkened screen. She studied her round features and strong determined gaze. And she also saw the hurt. The choir was her way of making things right with the world. And doing it her way.
    As she punched the numbers, the phone seemed alive in her hands. When the pastor’s wife answered, Alisha said, “Hello, Celeste. Do you have a minute?”
    “Of course I do.” Her tone hardened a notch. Alisha heard it because she had been hearing it ever since the woman had arrived at church with her husband. “Where are you at, Alisha?”
    “Still in New York.”
    “People have been asking about you, what with the event this weekend. How much longer does this meeting last?”
    “Another day and a half.” Alisha rose from her chair and faced out the window. Down below scurried people from all over the world. Rushing around, caught up in making their plans happen. She wished God had taken the time to actually speak to her. Just lay it out in black-and-white. But the divine silence didn’t change anything. “I just saw a miracle.”
    “You what?”
    “A real one. The hand of God and everything. And it showed me clear as day—” She took a big breath, like the one she had needed before ringing her sister’s front bell. And in that moment, she knew what she was doing was right. Being difficult didn’t change a thing. “Those children of yours are going to sing.”
    There was a long