Intervention

by Rob Mclean

  Her eyes widened when she recognized him, then narrowed. She prodded the Asian girl standing next to her, whose long black hair was held in a tight pony-tail falling to her waist. When she saw John, a twisted smile registered her interest.

  “Didn’t think I’d ever see you here,” Chelsea said. John shrugged.

  “Do you know him?” the Asian girl asked; he felt her scrutiny as her eyes looked him over.

  “Sure. This is the guy I was the telling you about. This is Angela’s new boyfriend.”

  “Hey, the name’s John.”

  “Yeah, I know. This is Christy. She knows all about you.”

  “Right,” John said. He wondered just what that meant. Had they all been talking about him? He shrugged deliberately to show them that he didn’t care.

  “Wow, like this is so amazing…” Christy said. “Are you actually…”

  “Yeah,” Chelsea said even though the question wasn’t to her. “Check out the ring.”

  Christy grabbed John’s hand and studied the purity ring. These people were definitely more touchy-feely than he was used to, but he let her see the ring, so she and all her friends could know that he was for real.

  “Oh… my… God-father,” Christy exclaimed. “It’s true, isn’t it? This is all so… incredible.”

  “Yeah, well, knowing Angie, he won’t last,” Chelsea sneered. “It won’t be long and they’ll be bumping uglies.”

  John felt the hostility in her words. It sure was a change from the woman who had been flirting with him all the other times they had met, but what did she mean by saying that stuff? Was she talking about the same Angela that he knew?

  “You’re sounding like a real green-eyed monster,” Christy said, jabbing her finger into Chelsea’s side.

  A smirk lifted the corner of John’s mouth. “Say ‘hi’ to that brother of yours,” he said by way of dismissal, then went to go.

  “He’s around,” Chelsea said to his back as he walked away. “Say ‘hi’ yourself.”

  He could still hear them sniping at each other in high pitched, tense tones, but he ignored it. Instead he was wondering what Chelsea had said about Angela. Was she just being a bitch or was there more to her insinuations?

  Across the lobby and over the heads of many elderly people, he saw the men’s room. Unlike at the nightclub, where he had to push his way through, these people parted to let him pass. Heads still turned and eyes stared, but it was more discreet and far more polite.

  The toilets looked like they were the originals from the seventies. Navy blue tiles with white grout and a heavy timber trim. Big, white plastic surrounds framed the mirrors, many of which had blistered silver backing. As John did his business, he saw that the whole place, despite being old, had been kept clean; unlike the nightclub where the restrooms were stylish and new, but always filthy. Not much had changed since the place had been originally built, which he decided was not a bad thing. It showed him that money wasn’t the focus of this church.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the loud arrival of a group of guys. They laughed and jostled each other as they came in, but stopped when they saw John turn to face them.

  John assessed the group blocking his exit. Four guys, none of them looked like they ever worked out, let alone knew how to fight. They weren’t much of a threat, he quickly decided as he dried his hands, except maybe the guy with the bleached blonde hair and the try-hard goatie and piercings. He looked like he might be the sort to carry a blade, but John knew how to handle that.

  The group were momentarily silent as he studied their faces. The tall guy with the frizzy hair made for a cubicle. The dribbling red-head kid just stared with his mouth hanging open. The knife guy kept his hands in his pockets and shuffled nervously, but it was then that John saw Zeke coming towards him. John recognized his superior attitude at once. He had his hand out, palm down and took a couple of big steps forward to greet him.

  “Hey man,” Zeke said. He had a big used-car salesman smile, super friendly, hand extended, almost touching him. “You’re new here, right?”

  John regarded him warily. His eyes narrowed as he studied Zeke’s face for any sign of duplicity. Surely Zeke remembered him from the nightclub? It was less than a fortnight ago.

  “Yeah,” John said warily, but shook his hand, “first time.”

  “Excellent, dude,” Zeke said, nodding with enthusiasm. John thought that Zeke was trying a bit too hard and suspected a surprise attack any moment. Still, he thought he’d play along for the moment, at least until he got out the door.

  “Zeke’s the name.” He turned and pointed to the others. “This is Aaron…”

  “Hey,” Aaron said, barely nodding and keeping his hands in his pockets. John acknowledged him with a slight dip of his head.

  “And this is Goober…” Zeke continued.

  The red-haired kid wiped his hand on his front and offered it to John. “Curtis is my real name,” he said with a sidelong look at Zeke.

  “Curtis.” John repeated as he shook the kid’s soft, sweaty hand. It was his way of remembering people’s name. “I’m John.”

  Zeke cut off any reply Curtis was about to make, “And Lochie,” Zeke indicated towards the cubicle, “Well, he’s in the jo…”

  John raised an eyebrow at Zeke.

  “Ah… he’s on the can.” Zeke shrugged an apology. “Anyway, we got this band happening. You know, getting out there,” he waved his hand vaguely about. “You should come along.”

  “Yeah, maybe I should.”

  “Man, we had this gig last night. It was huge. We’re all really stoked about it still.”

  “Yeah, it was awesome, dude,” Lochie chimed in from the cubicle.

  “And we’re all going to this massive protest rally later,” Zeke continued, undaunted by John’s lack of interest. “You know, protesting against the Alien.”

  “The AntiChrist you mean,” John said, searching their faces to see if they detected his sarcasm.

  “That’s right,” Zeke exclaimed. “You’re switched on. You get it, right? This is for real, isn’t it? End Times, you know?”

  “Sure,” John said. He couldn’t believe that Zeke was so caught up in his own world that he still didn’t recognize him.

  “We’ve gotta do something about it, right?” Zeke spoke to everyone. John could see that leadership came naturally to him and assumed that people would follow him. “We can’t let Satan go around doing his evil stuff. This is the time to make our deeds count.”

  There were nods from all, but John cringed inwardly at the way Zeke spoke about Satan as if he were real and not some mythical creature made up to scare people.

  “So how about it, big dude? We could really use someone like you.” Zeke punched him playfully on the shoulder.

  John suppressed a smile. “I’ll have to check my calendar.” He made for the door. “Better get going. Doesn’t the service start soon?”

  “Yeah, later then.” Zeke slapped John on the back as he left.

  Aaron moved aside, hands still in his pockets. John kept an eye on him as he passed.

  Curtis grinned affably. “See ya.” It wasn’t hard to see why they called him Goober, but John thought him harmless enough.

  “Later, Curtis,” John said bringing an even bigger grin to the red-head kid’s face.

  Once the door had closed behind him, John shook his head. Had Zeke been that drunk at the nightclub? Or did he not take any notice of people who weren’t important to him? If someone had slugged him in the guts, John would have memorized him for life.

  On his way back to his seat, John saw Chelsea still talking to Christy and some other girls. He felt he shouldn’t, but on an impulse, he went out of his way to pass by her.

  “Saw your brother just then,” he said leaning in close behind her.

  “What?” she spun around.

  John didn’t stop. “He was as happy as Larry on Prozac to see me,” he said over his shoulder as he kept walking. A smile creased his face at he
r confusion.

  He got back to his seat towards the front to find that they had saved him as seat at the end of the row. Geoff was on one side of him, in the aisle, in his wheelchair. Clarice sat on the other side of John, keeping Angela a respectfully safe distance away.

  “Glad you’re back,” Geoff said. “The girls were beginning to think you had left us to walk home.”

  “What took you so long?” Angela asked. “We were getting worried.”

  “Just met up with some of your friends,” John said trying to sound casual. “Got chatting, you know how it is.”

  Angela’s eyes widened. She sat up straighter and peered around behind her, searching.

  Clarice put her hand on Angela’s shoulder, pulling her back down. “Don’t worry yourself over them now, dear.”

  With a last quick look around, Angela sat back down. She hung her head and fidgeted with her purity ring. “I don’t know…”

  “It’ll be fine,” Clarice gave Angela an encouraging smile and a pat on her leg.

  John watched the exchange with interest. Clearly she was uncomfortable about having him here, despite being her new boyfriend. She should be happy to have him here and should be introducing him to everyone instead of hiding up the front with her parents. ‘Something’s not right,’ his father’s voice echoed his own thoughts.

  If she didn’t want him to be here, then why did she invite him? John didn’t have time to follow his thoughts further as the stage-lights came on, heralding the start of the sermon.

  Pastor Greg made last-minute adjustments to the microphone clipped to his shirt as he walked slowly up to the podium.

  A hush fell across the congregation while he tapped the microphone. When he heard it working, he looked up and blinked a couple of times while he peered into the crowd.

  “Welcome, everyone,” he said spreading his arms wide as though to embrace the whole congregation. “And a special welcome to those who are here for the first time.”

  John had a fleeting fear that they might move the spotlight onto him and call him up onto the stage. He was thankful that the Pastor didn’t look at him, or name him personally, but he did wonder how many other new faces there might be. He suspected that he might be the only one.

  “Well, they say a week is a long time in politics,” Pastor Greg gave them a knowing smile as he launched into his sermon. “But it seems that it is even longer when it’s interstellar politics. One could be forgiven for thinking that nothing else has happened in the last week that hasn’t been related to our visitor.” There were nods and murmurs of agreement John could hear from behind.

  “The drought and the tribal wars in Eastern Africa are still fuelling the famine over there that is killing so many people. The Iranian situation is still brewing and the debt crisis is still crippling Europe and India, but I have heard little if anything about these problems on the news.

  “There is a danger that we, as a race, are too willing to throw our hands up in the air and say that these problems are all too hard. Maybe some people are hoping that our alien visitor will solve all our problems for us; that they will hold our hand and guide us through these difficult times.” The Pastor paused and surveyed the crowd. Besides a gargling baby, whom everyone appeared determined to ignore, not a sound could be heard.

  “Well, I say to you that there is only one person that you should put your trust in. There is only one force in this universe that can lead us to a better world and that, my friends, is the love of our Saviour, Jesus Christ.” The Pastor’s voice came out almost as a whisper as he spoke, so John was startled to hear shouts of ‘hallelujah’ erupt from people nearby.

  “We call the alien emissary a ‘visitor,’ and I, for one, do hope that is all he is. But I ask you; what would you call someone who came into your house uninvited and then told you how you should be doing things? I think ‘visitor’ is the nicest of things that they could be called.” There were strangled, derisive coughs of laughter from the congregation.

  “And what of these miraculous gifts of knowledge they offer? They are incredible gifts of technology that would surely help our troubled world.” He held up his fist and counted off the list.

  “Cold fusion,” his index finger pointed to the roof. “That would generate abundant quantities of pollution-free, radiation-free power that would wean us off our petrochemical dependence and our reliance on Middle-Eastern oil.”

  His middle finger joined his index finger and together they looked like he was giving the crowd a blessing. “Anti-gravity theory would allow us to travel effortlessly throughout the solar system, as our Chinese friends have shown us.”

  The noise levels rose. Dark murmurs came from the congregation, but with his other hand, the Pastor waved them down. “With that technology, vast resources across the whole solar system would become available, not to mention colonizing other planets and moons in our system. Then, of course, they are promising us ‘faster-than-light’ travel at some undetermined future date, presumably when they are happy that we have complied with their conditions.”

  “However, I ask you; if our alien friends are genuine, why are these gifts conditional? Why do we have to renounce our religion in order to access them? For hundreds of years this nation and other western nations have freely given aid to those less fortunate in other countries. We do not make demands on these recipients. We do not make our gifts conditional. If these aliens are truly benevolent, then I can’t see why they wouldn’t similarly give their gifts freely.”

  Murmurs of agreement reverberated throughout the room. John saw that Angela and her family were oblivious to everything except the Pastor’s voice. Their faces, like everyone else he saw, shone in the reflected glow of the stage-light. Like flowers turned towards the sun, all faces followed Pastor Greg on stage.

  The Pastor put up his third, ring finger. “But do we want their gifts?” Someone predictably shouted ‘no.’ Like the Pastor, John suppressed a smile.

  “What about the so-called gift of longevity, possibly even immortality. Wouldn’t that be wonderful, folks? Imagine never having to die.”

  He paused to give the congregation time to ponder the implications of such a gift. John could see that it would vastly alter the dynamics of human culture. If people lived longer, then we would definitely need all the other technologies to sustain all the extra people who would have normally died. He began to wonder what the alien worlds were like. If they all lived forever and flitted about the galaxy at will, then what motivated them to get out of bed in the mornings?

  John’s musings were interrupted by the Pastor as he continued his sermon.

  “I tell you,” he continued, “a life unending, a life without death, is a life devoid of reward. It is only at the end of our Earthly lives that we have the chance of real eternal life, and then only through the grace of our Lord and the sacrifice of his son Jesus.”

  This time, John was ready for the eruption of ‘hallelujahs.’

  “A life without death is a life that thinks it can avoid the punishments of sin. If you don’t die, you can’t suffer the agonies of Hellfire. What is there then that stops you from doing as you pleased for all your long immortal life? So listen carefully folks and be warned; immortality equals immorality.”

  Again he paused while the congregation responded with ‘amens’ and more ‘hallelujahs’ and applause. Although John could follow the logic the Pastor used, he didn’t agree entirely. He knew that most people needed the threat of imminent pain and punishment to behave, but he liked to believe that some people were genuinely good and didn’t need the fear of Hell to force them.

  “So we have to ask ourselves, are the alien visitors really who they say they are? What are their real intentions?”

  Again the Pastor paused briefly for the congregation to digest his rhetorical question.

  “Back in the ancient past, through the dark medieval days of history and right up until the First World War, people of many different cultures across the world believed in
all manner of elves, fairies and their evil cousins, goblins and trolls, or their local equivalents.

  “Stories abound of children being taken from their parents. People were snatched by all varieties of evil creatures back in those days. Their stories became the stuff of folklore and legend. It was almost as if it was all part and parcel of living during those dark ages.

  “Now, things are different, aren’t they? We don’t believe in fairy-tales anymore, do we?” he smiled as he watched his audience.

  “Things have changed alright. It was soon after the Second World War that people started reporting UFO sightings, and soon after, they also began to tell tales of being abducted. Tales of being taken against their will and being subjected to all sorts of unspeakable probing and experiments; that’s if any of their stories were to be believed, and I must say that up until last week, I had dismissed them all as attention seeking loonies.

  “It looks like I might have been wrong about them. It would now appear that they have been the unwilling victims of alien science.”

  The Pastor stepped from behind the podium.

  “Or demons.”

  He let the words sink in for a few moments before continuing, “I put it to you that Satan has always been active; hard at work to seduce the weak and corrupt the vulnerable. I further suggest that the old-school goblins and the current aliens are one and the same.” He sounded like a lawyer summing up a case, except for his fervour and rising intensity.

  John saw that the Pastor’s words were sprayed. He put a lot of effort into projecting his voice. Across the hushed auditorium, his amplified voice boomed.

  “These are demons that have adapted themselves to fit in with the fears, superstitions and expectations of the age. These are Satan’s henchmen, sent to torment the people of the world.”

  “And as for the emissary…” He approached the edge of the stage and his voice dropped to almost a whisper, “I name him for what he is. He is none other than the AntiChrist himself.”

  Pastor Greg turned and strolled back behind the podium, giving the audience time to consider his words.