by Glenn Kleier
Ariel folded her arms on her chest. “No thanks, I like things just as they are.”
She wasn’t leaving her journal lying around for prying eyes.
Chapter 82
Friday, October 24, 6:45 am
Endicott, Percy & Moore Communications
Kassandra Kraft sat in her new private office behind a real wood desk and a computer screen bigger than her TV at home. A small, windowless office, yet a huge leap in status. For the first time since she’d started here, her male associates appreciated her for other than her looks. And that slime mold, Bobby Driscoll? Sulking in his little cubicle, all but conceding.
Except now, her coup was in jeopardy. Yesterday, she’d left work early, determined to meet with Butterfield and nail down a date and time for a Shackleton/Prophet rendezvous. After forcing her way past the annoying roadblock in front of her apartment building, however, she hit another inside. Butterfield answered her knock to inform her that his “angel” had nixed the Shackleton meeting and ordered him to steer clear of politics and politicians altogether.
Kassandra was devastated. She’d pressed him hard, to no avail, retreating to her apartment, frantic. Only to be stunned minutes later by an announcement on Hawk News from Penbrook Thornton. Butterfield was traveling to the City of God this weekend as his guest. Thornton. Roger Filby’s crony shill. So much for Butterfield steering clear of politics!
Storming back across the hall to confront him again, Kassandra was told his trip was “a spiritual mission only.” As if the far-right media and religious zealots would buy that. Butterfield wouldn’t give up any specifics, and Kassandra took another swing at a Shackleton meeting, again striking out—
Suddenly Shonda burst into her office, snapping, “Why didn’t you take my calls last night?”
Kassandra didn’t dare reveal her predicament. “I was with Butterfield,” she said. “Negotiations are at a delicate stage.”
“Delicate, my ass. He’s going off to Tennessee to hobnob with Penbrook Thornton. Percy’s breathing down my neck, and the DNC is apoplectic.”
“No cause for alarm,” Kassandra assured. “It’s a spiritual retreat, nothing more.”
Shonda’s tone went knife sharp. “I’ll hand it to you, Kraft, your stunt in the conference room took balls. You’re Wonder Woman. For now. But make no mistake. Screw this up, I’ll see to it there isn’t a PR firm in the country that’ll have you.”
And she blew back out, slamming the door.
Kassandra’s heart pounded. There had to be a way to change Butterfield’s mind. She didn’t need him to commit to a full-on sit-down, a simple meet-and-greet would do. Just enough for a photo op that EP&M could spin. Something, anything to bail her out of this looming catastrophe.
Chapter 83
Friday, October 24, 9:59 am, Queens
Scotty sat with Ivy at his computer, awaiting Ariel’s appearance. Ivy seemed to have recovered from her Shackleton disappointment, and Scotty was feeling better about things, too. They’d both warmed to the idea of visiting the City of God. As Ivy had said, they’d never ventured beyond Greater New York, or flown before. And the Homecoming festivities would be a welcomed diversion from all the pressure they’d been under.
Ivy asked, “Who’ll watch Homer while we’re gone? You ever leave him overnight before?”
“No, but it’s just twenty-four hours. I’ll put out extra food and water. He’ll be fine.”
That was the least of Scotty’s worries about this trip. He and Ivy were both concerned that the Prophet’s fraternizing with Thornton would imply support for Filby, sending voters the wrong signal. Not to mention, the mysterious purpose of this Mission. Scotty had no clue yet what it entailed, but hopefully he was about to find out.
Rumble and whine announced the coming of the Paraclete, and once more, Ariel materialized.
“Good morning,” she greeted them with a furrowed brow. “I trust you have good news.”
“Yes,” Scotty said. “The Reverend’s flying us down to the City this weekend.”
“Us?”
“Ivy and me. There’s a festival Saturday, and we’re invited to attend and spend the night.”
Ariel looked anxious, glancing at Ivy, off screen, back to Scotty. “The meeting’s between you and the Reverend, alone. It requires your undivided attention. Ivy and the rest are a distraction.”
Ivy leaned forward to say, “We’ve both been trapped in this building forever. The only time we leave is to do the Lord’s bidding. We’ve earned some R&R.”
Scotty added, “If the Lord wants my help, those are my terms.”
He felt Ivy squeeze his hand.
The angel seemed rattled, glancing away again, and Ivy blurted, “Is someone else there with you? Is it the Lord? Can we meet Him?”
Ariel froze. “Uh, the Lord is everywhere, but, but He can’t be seen by mortals.”
“He can speak, can’t He? Why won’t He speak to us?”
Ariel brushed her off. “I’m sending you instructions for the meeting; what to do, what not to do. We’ll discuss it this afternoon, at which time the Lord will decide your requests.”
An epistle appeared on Scotty’s screen, and he acknowledged it.
“Read it carefully. I’ll have more details and answer any questions at our two o’clock.”
And the screen went black.
Ivy huffed, “Couldn’t get rid of us fast enough. Why the big deal about the trip? It’s not like they have to pay our expenses!”
Scotty opened the new epistle from Ariel. A long one. They read it together, and Scotty said when finished, “My role in the Lord’s Great Mission is to fetch a videotape?”
The email didn’t say what was on the tape, one of those “details” Ariel would discuss this afternoon, presumably. It went on to warn against getting chummy with Thornton, or revealing information about Ariel and the Lord, or speaking with the media. It also advised how to avoid complications and handle unexpected situations. And it ended reminding Scotty not to forget his shepherd’s staff.
Ivy saw something odd in the text, pointing to it. “What’s this?”
Scotty had missed it. The word your, where the context called for you’re. Their written instructions were always letter-perfect before.
“…A grammatical error? I thought the Lord was infallible.”
Chapter 84
October 24, 10:37 am, Talawanda
“Not good,” Max growled as the team retired to the living room to ponder the latest complication. “Who the hell does he think he is, giving the Lord terms?”
Butterfield had insisted his sister accompany him on his trip to the City, and that they both attend a festival, and overnight there.
Stan said, “We’re at a critical stage, we can’t be out of touch with Butterfield that long. It’s setting him loose in a minefield. And if he hits one, we’ve no way to know, or advise him.”
It reminded Ariel of the old Apollo space missions where astronauts would lose contact with Earth as they attempted to round the far side of the moon—tense moments during a do-or-die maneuver, world helplessly awaiting their fate.
Max said, “The sister is trouble. I don’t trust her down there.”
“Forget it,” Tia said. “You heard Butterfield, his mind’s made up. Force a confrontation, we could lose everything.”
She got no argument. But Max continued to grumble, and Ariel assured him, “If I know the Reverend, he’ll be so grateful for his secretary he’ll hand the tape over in a heartbeat.”
Ariel felt she knew Thornton’s heart. He’d expressed it from the pulpit countless Sundays.
Max told her, “I don’t trust Thornton, either. The election’s too important to him.”
“Yes,” Stan said. “We need more leverage. An insurance policy.”
“A generous donation to his Church?” Tia suggested.
“Money won’t move him,” Ariel said. “Think theologically.”
Max snapped his fingers. “No. Think poli
tically. If Thornton proves stubborn, the Prophet will make him a deal he can’t refuse.” He grinned. “Give up the tape, and the Lord will guarantee Filby the election. Refuse, and Filby loses.” He turned to Ariel. “What do you call a pact between God and man?”
“A Covenant.”
“Yes. A Covenant.”
A Covenant the Lord would ultimately renege on.
Stan said, “His sister’s not going to like it.”
Everyone had seen Ivy in a Shackleton T-shirt.
“Then we can’t let her know,” Max said. “Only Butterfield. He can keep the Covenant in his hip pocket, use it only if Thornton needs some persuading.”
Two o’clock arrived, and the team took their stations. The noises came and went, and the Butterfields appeared on Ariel’s screen once more. She greeted them asking, “Is your visit with Thornton proceeding as planned?”
“Yes,” Scott replied. “We leave first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Very well. The Lord’s decided to grant your requests. You may attend the festival and remain overnight, and Ivy may go with you.”
They both smiled, and Ariel told Scott, “But there’s a private matter about your Mission that you and I must discuss. Alone.”
Ivy’s smile faded. She turned to Scott, he shrugged, and she stood, looking betrayed. Giving Ariel a pout, she exhaled and exited the screen. Ariel heard stamping and a door open and close.
“Ivy is gone?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for that, but what I’m about to tell you is for you and Reverend Thornton only. Do I have your word?”
Scotty shrugged again. “Yes.”
“Have you read the Lord’s instructions I sent?”
He nodded. “Pick up a secret videotape from the Reverend and bring it back.”
“I trust it will be that simple. Reverend Thornton will know what tape the Lord seeks, he should give it up gladly after his recent blessings. But if not, the Lord is entrusting you with a sacred Covenant to present in exchange. You are aware of the coming presidential election?”
Scott blinked. “Of course.”
Unable to look him in the eye, Ariel said, “As the election now stands, Shackleton will win. But if Reverend Thornton gives up the tape, the Lord will grant victory to Roger Filby instead.”
Scott’s jaw dropped. “That is the Lord’s sacred Covenant?”
“Yes. But you’re to present it to Thornton only if refuses you the tape. The Covenant is your ace in the hole. Assuming he accepts, he must keep the Covenant to himself, alone, or the deal is off.”
Scott clenched. “You’d steal the election from Shackleton over a tape? That’s…ungodly.”
“The Lord has His reasons, you must trust Him. All will be well, if you return with the tape.”
A pause, and Scott asked, “You say Thornton will know what tape the Lord wants. What if he doesn’t? I should at least know how to describe it to him.”
Glancing offscreen to blank faces, Ariel replied, “You may call it ‘the Shackleton tape.’ That’s all you need to know. You’re forbidden to view it, or let the Reverend divulge its contents to you. Make certain you get every copy, if there are more. And keep their existence to yourself.”
“But Ivy knows about the tape. She read your instructions, too.”
“Uh, Ivy’s forbidden tell anyone, either. You must see to that.”
Scott screwed up his face. “Wait a minute. If the Lord knows everything, why doesn’t He know if there are more copies?”
Ariel hesitated. “Well, the Lord knows all, yes. But then, He’s given man free will, you see? He has to allow for that variable.”
By his expression, Scott didn’t see, and Ariel hurried to wrap up.
“If you’ve no more questions, all that remains is for you to make certain you return home with the tape for our session Sunday morning. That’s very important. Do you understand?”
“Be home with the tape by 10:00, Sunday.”
That last stipulation was Max’s idea. In order for Scott to make the morning session in his apartment, he and Ivy would have to leave the City by dawn. Which would hopefully compel them to retire early the night before and limit their time with Thornton.
“We’ll talk again Sunday at 10:00,” Ariel said, “and that will complete your final Mission for the Lord. Until then, don’t forget your instructions. Godspeed, and good luck.” And she logged off.
Chapter 85
October 24, 2:45 pm, Talawanda
After her session with Scott Butterfield, Ariel retired to her room, exhausted and demoralized. She locked her door and lay on the bed with her laptop, took an anxious breath, and clicked on the file Tia had sent her, marked Private. She’d put it off long enough. Time to peek behind the curtain of her stepfather’s mysterious Institute—a psychiatric asylum that Ariel feared was at the heart of the grave problems the City faced with its youth. The file opened, and she read:
Therapy Evaluations and Notations
Dr. Philip K. Neuhoffer, PhD
Director of Psychological Services
Christian Family Research Institute
What followed was a document with jpeg and mpeg attachments, labeled:
#F-393
L, Nicole
Patient Evaluation/Therapy Assessment
Feb 5–Mar 23 (case terminated*)
The asterisk gave Ariel concern. But seeing no answer to it, she took another breath and clicked on a jpeg. A mug shot appeared, and Ariel winced to see a face she once knew, the girl’s prettiness diminished by a scowl. Dark hair pulled back, dark eyes, ankh neck tattoo. Evidence of piercings in ears and nose. Every inch the rebel Ariel recalled, a poster child of the City’s woes.
There were more photos, but Ariel was too skittish. And recalling Tia’s warning about the video attachment, she skirted that as well. What followed were notes Neuhoffer had taken during Nicole’s course of “treatment” a decade ago.
Ariel scanned, skipping over nondescript sections, slowing periodically for key points.
Feb 8:
Patient F-393, Nicole L. 16-yr old female Caucasian, junior at Tabernacle High, admitted to Institute after repeated incidents of poor comportment and attitude.
Diagnosis: Social maladjustment with associated anxieties, anger issues and suicidal ideation. Substance abuse suspected.
Feb. 13:
Further evaluation confirms homosexual proclivity. Seeking to determine cause, beginning regimen of reorientation therapy.
Feb. 19:
Subject stubbornly resistant to treatment. During morning session, struck attendant with chair, tried to escape. Subdued, sedated, placed in isolation, introduced to recorded devotional sermons. Subject later observed stuffing scraps of clothing in mouth in apparent attempt at self-suffocation. Clothing, bed sheeting removed, 24-hr surveillance.
Ariel had to blot her eyes before continuing.
Feb 28:
Patient F-393 persists in belligerent, defiant attitude. Initiating program of behavioral modification/corporal discipline.
Mar 5:
No improvement. Patient remains uncooperative, incommunicative, defiant. Refuses food, force-fed, may require intravenous supplement. Remains under physical restraints, particularly during reorientation therapy.
Ariel shoved aside her laptop as if it were contaminated, staggered to the bathroom, and vomited. After a time, she pulled herself together. Wherever this story ended, she had to know. And returning to her stepfather’s notes, she jumped to his final entry.
Mar 8:
Most unfortunate development. Approximately 8:30 last evening, F-393 escaped solitary and accosted female member of cleaning staff with shiv, locking her in janitorial closet stripped of uniform, bound and gagged. Search of grounds and surrounding areas to no avail.
*Update. After one year, patient F-393 remains unaccounted for.
Ariel trembled again. With relief.
Chapter 86
Saturday, October 25, 6:15 am,
Queens
“Safe travels,” Mrs. Steiner wished Scott and Ivy, seeing them off to their cab from her door. It had been storming all morning. She watched them push out the front entrance with a screech, police rushing to hold back the crowd. They looked so nice, Ivy in a pretty yellow dress, Scott in a button-down shirt and tie, hair combed, leaving on their first trip away from the city.
What strange days these were! Over scones and coffee earlier, Ivy and Scott had opened up about some extraordinary developments—as much as their secretive angel would allow them. Mrs. Steiner was still trying to sort it out. She’d never given much credence to the divine, but how else to explain all this? Messages from the Lord? Prophecies? Lifesaving interventions?
Exciting, confusing. And worrisome. Mrs. Steiner recalled childhood lessons of the Talmud where man’s encounters with God didn’t always end well. Sodom and Gomorrah, for one.
Hardly had she shut her door than she heard another screech, reopening to see three men in the foyer. Two had their backs to her, their hair and shoulders wet. One man was tall and gray in a rumpled jacket, the other short, in a dress coat. They faced a cop in a rain slicker who said, “I told you, you just missed them.”
The tall, gray-haired man snarled, “Where’d they go?”
The cop replied, “Don’t you watch the news?”
“TV’s busted.”
“They’re out of town till tomorrow. Go home.”
The man in the dress coat placed a hand on the other’s back, saying, “Come on, Joe, nothing more we can do today.”
Joe shook him off. “Not leavin’ till the storm breaks.”
“Suit yourself,” the cop said, and he and the short man exited.
Joe spun and barreled into the hall swearing, and Mrs. Steiner closed her door as footsteps passed. She heard him continue up the stairs, and seconds later there came a pounding and a doorknob jiggling. More pounding and jiggling and swearing. Then the footsteps reversed, down the stairs, only to cease midway.
Mrs. Steiner opened her door, peeking around to see Joe sitting in a ball on the steps, head down, fingers laced behind it, elbows on knees. She asked softly, “You’re Scott’s dad, aren’t you?”