They

by J. F. Gonzalez

  “The point is that she wises up. She sees them for what they are. Religious fanatics. And during her brief period of rationality, she plans her escape and makes good on it. She takes me in the dead of night, when dad is out of town, and whisks me away. I have vague memories of traveling with her through Arizona, New Mexico, maybe Texas. We were on the road for a long time. Next thing I know, we’re in New York. We move to Buffalo. Mom finds us a small motel room and a few days later she tells me we’re changing our names. She asks me what I want to be called. I’d always hated my name so it was no wonder I almost forgotten about it until you called me that day. I picked Vince as my new name. So my mom had our names changed. I’m guessing that she got us genuine fake identifications, with new birth certificates. Whatever it was she did, it worked for twenty-five years. We lived under our new names, moved to Toronto, mom got really religious, and that was all I knew from then on. We came to Lititz in 1983, when I was sixteen turning seventeen. By then I’d almost forgotten about my early life.

  “The point is this.” Vince hunkered down, sitting in a chair. “During this time the group, the Children, they were freaking out. They probably embarked on this huge search for me, but mom was so good at changing our identities, she eluded them for twenty-five years.”

  “One would think that if there really were a devil, he never would have allowed you or anybody else to escape the cult,” Frank said. “I can dig what you’re saying. They’re religious nuts. They’re not working with reality. They may be great at skip tracing and eventually tracking people down and getting rid of them, but they never would have been able to anticipate you and your mom’s defection.”

  “Exactly! They’re just people. They’re not supernatural bogeymen. But regardless, they’re as fanatical about the devil as Jerry Falwell is about God. They’re also as fanatical as this other group is. This group I’m alluding to, the one that tried killing us this morning and tried to kill me Sunday afternoon. Sometime during the period The Children of the Night was looking for me, this other group found out about me. It is this group, which I am using fictitiously now, which is trying to kill me. Maybe they started off as a genuine church group. Maybe they were already comprised of fringe members of the Christian far right. Who knows? What matters is they somehow found out about not only me, but also The Children of the Night. Maybe it was an ex-member.”

  Mike spoke up. “It could be possible. There have been defectors, although most of them usually die in so-called accidents, or disappear.”

  Frank rubbed his chin. “Let’s suppose somebody does defect though. It’s possible they could have remained hidden very much the way Maggie did. Maybe they started this other church and their sole purpose was finding you,” he nodded at Vince, “and, once finding you, killing you.”

  “See?” Vince exclaimed. “How many times do I have to spell things out before you start believing me?”

  “Granted, it’s a good theory,” Mike said. Now Mike was pacing the room. He went to the window and peeked out between the blinds. He was silent for a moment. “It’s possible. The more I think about it, the more plausible it sounds.”

  Frank appeared to be accepting the theory more, too. “Whoever this group is, they wouldn’t have to be very big. It could be as little as half a dozen members.”

  “And they wouldn’t necessarily have to have been together for very long,” Vince said. “Just long enough for whoever knew enough about The Children to preach Children theology to his new congregation, and come up with some kind of tactical plan in finding me.”

  “Do you think it’s possible that if this is true, that this renegade member might be a member of both sides?” Frank asked Mike. “You know, a member of The Children of the Night and a secret member of this other group?”

  “I don’t know,” Mike said, shaking his head. “I find that hard to believe, but anything’s possible.”

  They were silent for a moment, Mike returning to the other bed. Frank remained reclining against his bed, Vince in his chair. Finally, Mike broke the silence. “Let’s see what the news says.” He reached for the television remote control and turned it on.

  He flipped through the channels. It was closing in on ten p.m., and they had to endure another ten minutes of Law and Order before the local news came on. When the broadcast started, the shoot-out in Lititz was one of the top stories.

  They watched spell-bounded as the facts were revealed. There were four dead, with another—Reverend Powell—listed in critical condition. Only one of the dead had been positively identified—Lititz Borough patrolman Tom Hoffman. Vince felt a stab of guilt as he learned this, then quickly fought to push the emotion down. Dozens of people had witnessed the gunfight, which erupted shortly before the lunchtime rush. Three of the gunmen had gotten away and were being sought. Police sketches came across the screen and Vince fought the urge to laugh. Frank did laugh. “What a joke! How the fuck do they expect to find people with sketches like that?”

  The sketches in question were rendered with stiff brushstrokes of heavy pencil. Even though the caricatures didn’t resemble any of them remotely, Vince was able to pick out who was supposed to be who. Frank was easy to pick out—his sketch showed a longhaired man with a puffy face and squinty eyes and a stubbled beard. Good thing they’d all gotten haircuts. As far as a puffy face went, Frank never had one to begin with. So much for witness descriptions.

  Mike and Vince’s sketches were crude, and if presented side by side with their actual photographs, one would be hard pressed to find any resemblances. The one Vince guessed represented Mike’s depicted a guy with less hair than Mike really had, also with squinty eyes. Vince’s own sketch revealed a guy that looked like Timothy McVeigh; stony-faced, cold, emotionless.

  The broadcaster finished by saying that the State Police and the FBI had been brought into the case and that a manhunt was now underway. And, of course, anybody seeing anybody resembling the sketches was urged to call a special hotline that had been set up.

  Mike turned to Vince and Frank. “Good thing we parked our first rental car in a public parking garage. Let’s leave it there. We’ll drive the other one to Pittsburgh and turn it in and catch the first plane we can get tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Frank said.

  “You think that’ll be enough to throw them off?” Vince asked.

  “You don’t see them breaking down the doors to get to us now, do you?”

  “No.” That wasn’t the point, though. There was still the possibility the authorities would eventually catch up with them.

  “We’ll see what’s in the paper tomorrow,” Mike said. “And check out the news on the major networks. That should give us some clue as to how the investigation is progressing. Maybe they’ll ID the other guys by then. For now, I think we should get some sleep.”

  That was easier said than done. They shed their clothes for T-shirts and boxers, and they all took turns in the shower. They flipped a quarter for the sole bed and Mike won. Vince lay down beside Frank in one of the beds, facing the window, thinking about all that had happened and wondering when the nightmare was going to end.

  EVERYTHING WENT SMOOTHLY the following morning, Friday. After waking up, they washed up, brushed their teeth, dressed into the suits they’d purchased the day before, packed their things, and exited the room. Mike turned the TV on while they changed, hoping for more news on the shoot-out but there was nothing else forthcoming. They meandered downstairs to check out. Mike signed the bill and they were off.

  Vince was nervous as they headed through the hotel’s parking garage to the vehicle Mike and Frank secured yesterday. He kept expecting federal agents to pop out from behind cars and black SUV’s brandishing weapons yelling, “Freeze! You’re under arrest!” Or, worse, another assassin popping out from behind a parked car and letting loose with more automatic gunfire.

  Of course they were armed again, but Vince didn’t feel any safer. Mike unlocked the car—an Audi—and they stowed their luggage in the
trunk and Vince slid into the front seat. Mike drove. Vince watched to see if they were being followed as they exited the garage and headed up Broad Street. “We aren’t being followed,” Frank said fifteen minutes later as Mike headed west out of the city limits.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know. I’ve been on alert like this for a year now. I’d know if we were being followed.”

  Vince almost responded with, if you’re so good at telling if we’re being followed, how come you didn’t know we were followed to the Family Cupboard yesterday? That only would have sparked a fight and he didn’t want to fight with Frank.

  They made the drive to Pittsburgh in silence. Vince fiddled with the radio, then stopped at a rock station playing the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Mike turned the air conditioner on, and Vince sat back and watched the scenery flash by.

  It was a four-hour drive. Once they got to the Pittsburgh city limits, Mike pulled over to a gas station to fill up the car’s tank. Frank went into the station’s kiosk and emerged with bottled water, sodas, and a map. They consulted the map over their refreshments after the gas tank was filled up and ready to go. “Pittsburgh Airport looks to be a twenty minute drive,” Mike said. “Let’s go.”

  Thirty minutes later they were at the Pittsburgh Airport parking garage. Mike turned to Frank. “Let’s get these in the suitcases,” he said, taking out his gun and the spare clips from his coat pocket. They packed the weapons securely in the suitcases then, carrying their luggage and looking very much like normal, upper-middle class businessmen, they made their way to the rental car agency where they turned in the keys to the Audi. Mike led the way to a United Airlines terminal. He walked to the ticket counter and talked with the agent for fifteen minutes. When he came back he was holding three tickets. “I got us stand-by seats on a flight that leaves in two hours,” he said. “Let’s go to the gate and hang out.”

  They walked leisurely through airport security, then past various gates. Frank nodded toward a newsstand. “Let’s see if there’s anything in the paper about us.” Vince and Mike followed him.

  Vince spotted the New York Times with a headline story about the shoot-out. “Here we go,” he said, picking it up. One of the sub-titles read Victims Identified.

  Frank paid for the paper and they sat down near one of the gates, passing the paper around. Most of the article covered what they already knew. What was new to them were the identities of the three dead assassins: they were being identified as Matt Newberry, Hank Warner, and Andy Duncan, members of an apocalyptic Christian church called Soldiers of Christ. Information on the group was sketchy and a church spokesman, speaking on a condition of anonymity, said the church had no statement other than the three dead men were acting alone and that they had no knowledge of their criminal intentions.

  “This is proof,” Vince said. “Soldiers of Christ. On a mission to wipe out the Anti-Christ. Me.”

  Mike folded the paper. His features were stern. “When we get back to California we’ll do some research on the Soldiers of Christ.”

  “Don’t worry, bro,” Frank said, patting Vince’s shoulder. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Vince tried to take assurance that Frank and Mike would take care of things, that now that the proof had been presented to them they would have to take extra precautionary measures. When he read that the gunmen were members of the Soldiers of Christ he’d experienced a feeling of immense dread as his fears were confirmed. “We might not need to do anything,” he said. “I’ll bet right now a bunch of journalists are all over this and by tomorrow, information about these guys will be all over the news wires.”

  Mike didn’t say anything and Frank nodded. Vince checked his watch. “Guess we should head to our gate.” They stood up and began walking down the gateway, and even when Vince was strapped in his seat in the DC-10 two hours later he still didn’t feel calmed by the knowledge that he now knew who it was that was trying to kill him. If anything, it only made him feel more in fear for his own life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  WHEN THEY EXITED the plane at Los Angeles International Airport, Vince couldn’t help but be nervous. He kept expecting to be arrested by cops waiting for them to get off the plane. He scanned a sea of faces that didn’t acknowledge him as he, Frank, and Mike set off down the terminal. There were no plainclothes detectives lying in wait to ambush them. In short, they’d made it home undetected.

  It was almost seven p.m. in Los Angeles; they’d had to wait for over three hours in Pittsburgh and by the time they’d taken off it was four p.m. The flight had been unremarkable and they managed to take seats near each other. They’d spent the five-hour flight in silence, reading magazines and newspapers, pausing only occasionally to talk about things unrelated as to why they’d really been in Pennsylvania. Once they reached Mike’s car in the parking structure they let their guards down as Mike unlocked the door and they slipped inside.

  Vince sighed in relief as he set his bag down on the floor by his feet. “God, I’m glad that’s over with. I kept expecting somebody to pop out behind a car with a gun.”

  “I gotta admit, I was kinda nervous, too,” Frank said. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

  Mike started the car. “We haven’t talked about what we’re going to do next. Any ideas?”

  “Not yet,” Frank said. “But we definitely need to stay on this.”

  “We do,” Mike said, letting the car warm up. “I’ve got to get home and see how things are there. Carol’s probably worrying to death. I think we should use tonight to tie up whatever loose ends we may have and then reconvene late tomorrow morning at Vince’s.” He looked back at Vince. “That sounds okay to you?”

  “Fine.” Vince’s mind was racing; maybe he could see Tracy tonight and have her out of the house before Mike and Frank came over.

  “We’ll meet tomorrow morning at Vince’s to talk more strategy,” Mike said. “Say ten-thirty?”

  Frank and Vince nodded that ten-thirty was fine with them.

  “Where are you going to go?” Vince asked Frank as Mike backed out of the parking space.

  “After Mike drops us off at your house, I’ll get myself a motel room,” Frank said. “I gotta call my agent and see how Brandy and the kids are doing.”

  “Whatever we do, we lay low,” Mike said as he steered the car down the parking garage toward the tollgates. “I’ll try to get some information on the shootout in Lititz and give you all an update tomorrow morning. If I hear of anything vital, I’ll call you.”

  “Think you can hold off calling your girlfriend for another day or so?” Frank’s question was directed at Vince but he didn’t look at him. He was looking out the window at the passing scenery of South-Central Los Angeles as Mike drove down Century Boulevard toward the 405 Freeway.

  “Oh, I think so,” Vince said, playing casual. “I’m so damn horny though, I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”

  “If you behave tonight and all goes well tomorrow, maybe you can see her tomorrow night,” Mike said. “How’s that sound? I’d like to meet her.”

  “Yeah, me too,” Frank said. He turned to Vince, his features impassive.

  Vince shrugged. “Sure.”

  They made the rest of the drive to Orange County lost in their own thoughts.

  VINCE WASTED NO time. The minute he walked in his front door he headed to the phone in the living room and dialed Tracy’s phone number at home.

  Tracy picked up on the third ring. “Hello.”

  “Tracy, it’s me. Vince.”

  “Vince!”

  Hearing her voice again melted his heart. Knowing that she was so close now, merely blocks away, added to his growing need to see her. “I’m home,” he said. “And I don’t know how much longer I’ll be home. We’re supposed to get together again tomorrow. Can you come over?”

  “I’m leaving in five minutes,” Tracy said.

  She arrived thirty minutes later.

&n
bsp; When he opened the front door she rushed into his arms. They held each other close; Vince kissed her and when Tracy kissed him back he felt tingles run up and down his spine. He closed the door and took her hand. “God, I missed you,” he said.

  “Not now,” she said, melting in his arms and kissing him again.

  Somehow, they made it to the bedroom.

  AFTERWARD, VINCE TOLD Tracy everything.

  He’d already told her what happened in Lititz while he was holed up in the Marriot at Harrisburg last night. Understandably, she’d been shocked. Now he filled in the details, as well as what Mike and Frank found out last night and his own discoveries and feelings as he read newspaper accounts and learned the identity of the men involved. “Soldiers of Christ,” he said, leaning against the pillow. “Ever heard of ’em?”

  “No,” Tracy said, her mouth set in scowl. “Should I?”

  Vince shook his head. “I guess not. I surely never heard of them until today.”

  Tracy was reflective. “So you really think that…because these guys were part of a cult called the Soldiers of Christ that they were trying to kill you?”