BISENTIENT, page 3
“Must be hard, not seeing the boys.”
“I see them about once, maybe twice a year, but there’s always Facebook and I chat to them online a fair bit, Skype, that sort of thing. They even try and get me to play their online games, but I’m no good at them. They’re okay, their mum loves them and old Victor seems to look after them too. Just bought Rick a new car for his birthday, worth more than mine.”
As Plater turned back to the laptop bright lights began dancing across his vision. The screen was lost behind the twinkling blues and greens and reds and yellows. He suddenly felt quite sick and went to stand up to make for the bathroom. His balance was gone, and he collapsed sideways to the floor, knocking his beer bottle after him.
“Mason!” shrieked Molly, crouching and supporting his head. “Mason…are you ok? What’s wrong?”
“My head…hurts…lights…just need to lie down, I’ll be ok in a minute, just need to lie down.”
Molly helped Plater onto the sofa and lifted his legs so he could lie along the length of it. She propped his head on a cushion. His eyes stayed closed, his forehead slightly wrinkled and tense.
“I should call a doctor.” said Molly.
“No!” said Plater sternly. “I’ll be fine in a minute or two, this has happened before”
“Has this just started since the filming?”
“Yes.”
“My god.”
Molly checked Plater’s forehead but he was not feverish. She found a roll of kitchen towels and mopped up the beer as best she could. Plater was silent, although she didn’t think he was asleep. Molly checked the refrigerator. As she walked into the sitting room Plater was trying to sit up.
“Take it easy.” said Molly, helping him rearrange himself to a sitting position, “Are you feeling better?”
“No lights anymore.” he said. “But still a dull ache, but I don’t feel like throwing up now.”
“That’s good. When was the last time you ate something?”
It had been two pieces of toast that morning.
“A while ago.” said Plater.
“Okay, you relax there and I’ll fix a little snack. Whatever this thing is starving yourself isn’t going to help.”
“No, it’s okay…”
“Just sit tight, it won't be anything great.”
An hour, an omelette and two glasses of water later, Plater felt much better.
“Thanks.” he said.
“Glad I could help, listen I’d better get going but I’ll call the hospital again tomorrow and see if I can find out more about that government thing. I’ll call you later, ok? No don’t get up I can find my own way out. You need to rest.”
As Plater heard the door close his eyelids felt very heavy. Perhaps tonight would be different, perhaps he could sleep without dreaming of Gail Hartston, perhaps he could sleep without dreaming at all.
CHAPTER FIVE
“GOOD EVENING REVEREND Daniels. Recently critics of your Church have called it a cult and questioned whether your standing for the vacant Senate seat is just a publicity stunt to get more members. What do you have to say to those folks ?”
Erik Nordstrom could still hear the old, battered TV above the general bar buzz and peered at the smiling, clean-cut face that filled the screen. Somehow the three whiskeys and four beers still weren’t enough for him to escape the relentlessly pious Reverend Ethan Daniels. Four men at the far end of the bar raised their voices as if arguing. Erik felt he’d have just one more for the road. He had a big day tomorrow and he needed to have his wits.
“….and my Church has never supported any political party, but we feel that the nation is losing its way, from a moral standpoint. Our Founding Fathers were strongly righteous and followed the teachings of the Lord. In these difficult times we seem to have lost sight of that very compass of wisdom, compassion and faith that can navigate us through these dark and dangerous waters….”
Reverend Daniels’ increasingly earnest tones were replaced by the glow of floodlights. The Texas Rangers were in the bottom of the seventh inning and cruising at 4-0 against Boston. A cheer erupted from the far end of the bar as they noticed the score.
Erik got another whiskey and pulled a crumpled note from his jeans. He took his phone out and was about to dial the number on the paper. He wanted to tell her that it would be alright. Trouble is he didn’t know it would be alright. He put the phone on the bar by his drink.
Kathleen Moran reminded him of his favourite aunt, Karita, who was Swedish, as his mother had been. She would always have a kind word if things were going badly. She could always see the good in people and would always give them the chance to show it. She had a certain social wisdom that many Swedes seem to have. Able to cope with personal and emotional stresses with a stoic inner strength. Kathleen Moran had certainly surprised him. Her family had collapsed around her but still she maintained her humanity and dignity. Erik wanted badly to help this woman.
He scooped the phone off the bar, downed his drink, added another $20 to the small stack on the bar and waved at the barman. In the car park he found his old pickup. He was well over the limit but from the outskirts of Fort Worth to where he lived he’d be lucky to see another living thing, let alone the Highway Patrol. Before he turned the key in the ignition he called Kathleen Moran.
“Hallo.”
“Kathleen, it’s Erik.”
“Hi.”
“How is Dawn?” asked Erik.
“Sleeping, I think.”
“That’s best right now, she needs her rest, these past few days will have taken it out of her.”
There was a pause.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you in the morning then, around ten?” said Erik.
“Thank you Erik.” Kathleen sounded close to tears.
“Now you get some rest too now.”
“You’re a good man Erik.”
“In the morning then, goodnight Kathleen.”
Before he started the old Dodge Ram he beat his fist on the dashboard.
The next morning was crystal clear with wide blue skies as Erik pointed the old pickup towards Fort Worth. A little over twenty minutes later he was parking outside a nondescript single-story house in a tired suburb of the city. Three Mexican children were kicking a ball around in the road nearby. Erik pulled open the screen door and knocked. A small Mexican woman answered. Seeing Erik she smiled and he went in. Kathleen Moran was in the kitchen.
“Morning Kathleen.” said Erik. “Thank you, Carla.”
The Mexican woman disappeared down the hall.
“How are you managing? Do you need anything, you know, food or clothes or?”
“No.” said Kathleen. “Carla has been wonderful. Coffee?”
Erik half smiled and nodded. The coffee was a rich Columbian blend, not the sort to be found in most Texas supermarkets.
“Is Dawn awake?” asked Erik.
“I took her breakfast this morning, about an hour and a half ago. I tried to talk to her but she didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t go in?”
“No, you said…”
“That’s right, it’s too dangerous for now.”
Kathleen was absently turning her wedding ring round on her finger, her gaze not focused.
“I spoke to Liam yesterday.” began Erik. “And he told me that there has been no Police report so far. It’s important we keep out of sight though. It’s gonna be okay.”
He reached across the kitchen table and placed his hand over Kathleen’s.
Kathleen looked up and Erik saw tears forming in her eyes. Her hands turned over and grasped Eriks’ tight. They stayed that way for what seemed a long time until Erik said:
“I should probably get started.”
“Yes, of course.” said Kathleen wiping her hand across her eyes and busying herself clearing the coffee cups.
Erik slipped out of the kitchen and opened a door that seemed to be in the outside wall of the house, but actually led to a staircase going down. From the outside it looked like a cupboard had been built out of the side of the house. It had been there two years and the paint was starting to blend with the rest of the house’s tired exterior. Paint didn’t look good for long in the scorching summers and icy winters of Texas.
The cellar covered almost half the area of the house. It was full height and a dusty single bulb illuminated the bottom of the stairs. There was a small room with a table against one wall and a heavy door built into another. Light in the room was controlled by computer to follow the natural cycles so the room was well lit as it was now mid-morning. As Erik came in the figure on the bed was motionless. He picked a chair from around the table spun it round and straddled it beside the bed.
“Dawn?” he began. “It’s Erik. We need to talk. You haven’t eaten the breakfast your mother gave you. You need to eat, you’ve had a difficult few days.”
Erik thought he noticed one of Dawn’s hands clenched a little tighter but otherwise she didn’t move at all.
“Please, can’t we talk about this?” said Erik. “We just need to talk this through and then you can get out of here.”
The figure on the bed began to uncurl.
“I’ve got nothing to say to you.” said Dawn Moran, sitting up on the bed and sweeping her long auburn hair off her face. “You kidnapped me.”
“Actions need to be seen in the proper context, Dawn.”
“You grabbed me off the street and drove me off in a van, what’s the proper context for that?”
“Your mother and I felt that you weren’t able to make your own decisions.”
“So you decided to make some for me?”
“Your mother loves you and only wants what’s best for you. She felt you were being used. Lied to and made to do things against your will.”
Dawn laughed.
“That’s rich. So what does my loving mother do? Hires some thugs to kidnap me and keep me prisoner. What’s the difference?”
“That’s exactly why we need to talk.” said Erik, maintaining his calm tone and eye contact. “Why don’t you tell me how you came to join the Church of the Reclamation?”
“What’s the point?”
“I want to understand. I want to hear from you what the Church is like. Why you left home to join it and why you never contact your mother or father.”
“You don’t want to understand. It’s just another trick. They told me you’d say this stuff. You just want to trick me with more lies. You don’t understand what the Church is trying to do.”
“Help me then.” said Erik, “Help me to understand what the Church is trying to do.”
Dawn fell silent. Nothing Erik said could elicit a response. It was as if a switch inside Dawn had been turned off.
“Kathleen?” called Nordstrom, as he closed the door to the underground floor.
“In the front Erik.” called Kathleen.
She was sitting on the plain wooden armed sofa cradling a cup of coffee and gazing onto the street through the tired net curtains.
“Dawn’s resting now.” said Nordstrom. “We made a little progress but it’s still early.”
He tried to sound positive but didn’t think he’d succeeded.
“What’s going to happen to Dawn?” asked Kathleen. “Am I ever going to get my little girl back?”
“It will take time.”
“Why?” Kathleen wondered. “Why do these people do this?”
Nordstrom didn’t know what to say.
“I really don’t know Kathleen.” he said “A need for power and to control people. Some actually believe in something. Some are functioning sociopaths or psychopaths.”
Kathleen turned to Erik and met his gaze.
“How did you get into all this?” she asked.
Nordstrom considered making something up but decided Kathleen deserved the truth.
“It was by accident. While I was at university, my friend Marco’s sister, Laura, had been on holiday in San Francisco with two other friends. Her friends came home but she stayed behind after meeting some people in the city who took her to their community in the Napa Valley. For two months we didn’t hear nothin’. Marco planned to go to California and find his sister. I went with him. We had no idea what we’d do if we found her. It didn’t take long to get directions to the community. We hired a car and drove out there. It was almost dark when we found the place. There were three men with rifles at the dirt road that led to the community.
“We asked to see Laura but they said that wasn’t possible. We asked to speak to the person in charge, but they said he was not available. So, we said we’d be back in the morning.
“We couldn’t wait ‘til the morning so we circled round, ditched the car and went back on foot. The community was half a dozen shacks round a fenced enclosure that had pigs and chickens. There was a faint engine noise which we guessed was a generator powering some dim lights strung off the shacks.
“One shack was a little bigger than the rest and had more lights; it also had lights on inside, so we headed for that one. Inside we could just make out there seemed to be some sort of meeting. The windows were filthy. Folks sat on the floor and those that couldn’t sit stood around them. At one end a small oriental man sat in a chair, slightly raised on a small stage. On either side of him were two men with rifles. The man had to be Kwai Chun Li. He was the leader of this alternative community and according to local newspapers believed that the sins of the world were due to bring about visitation from an intelligent species from space.
“A while before this guy appeared on local television and ended the interview shouting at the presenter and telling her that the aliens were recording all broadcasts from Earth and that her ridiculing of his beliefs would only further convince them that humanity must be cleansed from the planet.
“We heard a vehicle approaching from behind us so we went and hid in the trees. It was the three men from the gate. Instead of going into the meeting they began patrolling outside. After about half an hour they met at the door, kinda hugged each other and went into the meeting. We waited to see if they came out again. After a minute or two the door burst open and someone ran out. Just behind them one of the guards from the gate leveled his rifle and fired twice. The running figure never made it to the tree line.
“We argued about what we should do. Should we get the sheriff or try something ourselves? We stayed but there was no more shooting. After what seemed like ages but couldn’t have been more than five minutes or so we crept up to the window again.”
Nordstrom stopped speaking. Kathleen touched his hand.
“Go on.” she whispered.
“We saw all the people. They were all piled up. In a sort of pyramid in the middle of the room. There was no-one standing anymore, they were all in the pile. We ran in and tried to find Laura, we was just dragging bodies off the pile and tossing them aside but then we found her. She was about halfway down. I still remember her face. She looked like she was asleep. She was still warm. Marco, he tried mouth to mouth and CPR but it was no good. We didn’t know it then but there had been poison in their food that night.”
“I’m so sorry.” said Kathleen, taking Nordstrom’s hand in hers.
“About four weeks later they sent Laura’s stuff to her mom and dad, once it ceased being evidence. There was a diary that Laura had kept while she was in the community. She must have hidden it because it would never have been allowed. When I read that I decided. I decided that I had to try and stop this from happening again. They had inquests and such and I went along. The judge said the members had committed suicide, well all except that one poor guy who tried to run.”
Nordstrom and Kathleen sat in silence.
CHAPTER SIX
THE SMELL OF the mountainous fresh cut flower arrangement in the Church of the Reclamation’s headquarters in Dallas was almost overpowering. Warren Gatts had been waiting for more than half an hour, he consulted his watch for the third time before crossing to the receptionist’s desk.
“Miss, I have been waiting for some time now, could you check with Reverend Daniels please? We did have an appointment.”
The receptionist, an impeccably dressed woman in her late forties with the air of a headmistress glanced up from her screen and fixed Gatts with a look bordering on contempt.
“Mr. Gatts, I have informed the Reverend that you are waiting. He is running a little late, as I told you when you arrived. You will understand that the Reverend is a very busy man and I’m sure he will be with you as soon as he can. Now if you will take a seat, please.”
Returning her gaze to the screen, Gatts was left in no doubt what his next move should be and he retreated to the same seat. He looked again at his watch, although he knew exactly what the time was. He cleared his throat noisily and snatched up the Dallas Morning News that he’d discarded next to him ten minutes before.
Gatts had hardly reached the end of the first article when the large door to his right opened and a conversation spilled into the vestibule.
“Thank you Reverend, we look forward to your visit and you can count on us.” said a small man who was almost scurrying out of the office pursued by the unmistakable figure of the Reverend Ethan Daniels, all six feet seven inches of him.
“No, thank you George, the Church is most grateful for your support and I look forward to coming down and sampling some of that fine sweet potato your dear wife makes!”
Gatts was almost physically offended by the naked politicking but nonetheless, thrust aside the newspaper in anticipation.
“Mr. Gatts.” said Rev. Daniels, closing the distance to Gatts in two giant strides, “It’s good to finally meet you”
Rev. Daniels held out a massive hand and swallowed Gatts’ in a vice-like grip. Although his Texas State football days were well behind him his physical power remained. Gatts trailed Daniels back to his paneled office.
