Dark Channel

by Ray Garton

  Hester didn’t move; she continued to smile at Lizzie but listened intently to Orrin. His tone always became furious whenever he spoke of the Great Lie—monotheistic beliefs—but now there was a new urgency in his words, a tone that was almost manic.

  Be wary of her and believe nothing she says.

  Hester broke away from the spell of Orrin’s voice in her head and saw that Lizzie’s hand was still waiting to be shaken. Hester leaned forward, took Lizzie’s hand and—

  —something exploded silently in her head, something that gave off the light of a thousand atomic bombs and a fear like she’d never known spread through her body, dragging rusty fish hooks beneath her skin and her knees began to melt and she felt something overhead, something enormous, vast, bigger than her, bigger than the whole planet, and she was in its shadow which was growing fast as the thing plummeted straight down directly above her and she wanted to look up but the fear was so thick in her chest that she couldn’t breathe and she knew that, in seconds, she would be lying in a heap on the ground screaming for mercy, begging for it, and she gave Lizzie’s hand a curt pump then dropped it and—

  —it was gone.

  Hester didn’t know if she still had a voice, but she tried: “Yes. Yes, it has been a long time, Lizzie. What brings you here?”

  “I came to see you, of course.”

  “Well, we have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Get away from her. Quickly. Do something about her.

  “Are you coming to the breakfast?” Hester asked. “I’ve eaten. But I’ll be there.”

  “Then we’ll get together. It’s so good to see you, Lizzie.” She reached out to squeeze Lizzie’s shoulder affectionately to authenticate the facade, but—

  —No! Don’t touch her, she is a lie, a vile and dangerous lie and she is the enemy!—

  —instead, she simply said, “I’ll see you at the hotel, then,” as she backed away, and the voice continued—

  —vile, she is vile and you must take measures to protect the truth from her, hold her back, render her useless until I come.

  Hester turned and walked away, heading for the sidewalk with the two men close behind. She tossed a couple of glances over her shoulder, then walked briskly down the sidewalk. The men moved forward and walked on either side of her. Hester jerked a thumb toward the man on her left and said, “I want at least two people on that woman at all times. Until further notice, I want to know where she is and what she’s doing every second of this festival. And I want to know as much as you can possibly find out about her, right down to what kind of toothpaste she uses, and I want to know fast, do you understand?”

  “Yes, Ms. Thorne.”

  She jerked a thumb toward the man on her right. “The man with her is Bill Coogan. He runs a gas station here in town. I want someone to keep an eye on him, too. Find out what he’s doing with her. His daughter, Paula, is a member. I want her in my office in five minutes, do you understand?” She held out a hand with all fingers splayed stiffly. “Five minutes.”

  “Yes. Ms. Thorne.”

  She headed for the car.

  “Seemed friendly enough,” Coogan said without conviction.

  Lizzie watched her hurry down the sidewalk. “You didn’t believe it, did you?”

  “Nope, afraid not. Didn’t seem to enjoy shaking hands.”

  “I noticed. And did you see the expression on her face when I told her my name?”

  “Yeah. Kinda weird. Her eyes looked funny, sort of unfocused, like … well, like maybe she was listening to something far away.”

  “She was, Coogan. I’m sure she was.”

  2.

  Hester eased into the chair behind her enormous oak desk with a sigh, willing herself to relax. Meditation would help, she knew, but there was no time for that right now. Orrin’s voice was too insistent, too urgent to ignore, even for a moment. But she needed to relax so badly. …

  What happened out there? She asked herself again and again.

  She had felt something foreign to her, something to which she’d thought she was immune, something that she had not felt in a very long time: fear. Fear scared her. It was a weakness, anathema to a leader, particularly a leader such as Hester Thorne, who held the absolute truth in her hands and would change the world, a leader who had nothing to fear.

  So how could someone as monumentally insignificant as Lizzie Dayton cause her fear?

  To that question, Orrin had no answer. He remained silent.

  So what had brought Lizzie Dayton here? Why would she suddenly pop up after all these years? And what did she have in mind?

  She is an agent of the Great Lie, the familiar voice inside her said.

  “An agent,” Hester whispered, sitting forward and putting her elbows on the desktop, her face in her hands. “You said the Great Lie was just … a lie,” she muttered into her palms. “So Lizzie Dayton is an agent of nothing.”

  Forces … the Great Lie has great forces and you must always be wary of them. I have told you that, as it is and always shall be.

  She leaned back in the chair again and closed her eyes, whispering, “You’re right. As always. I’m sorry for questioning you.”

  There was a cautious tap at the door. “Yes?”

  Her secretary, Roy, entered the office and said, “Paula Coogan is here. Would you like her to come in?”

  Hester nodded and Roy led the woman in, then left and closed the door.

  Paula Coogan stood just inside the door, hands clasped at her waist, her weight shifting nervously from one foot to the other.

  In spite of her pale, drawn face, she looked rather girlish in her sleeveless yellow shirt and tan shorts.

  Hester displayed her most generous smile. “Come in, Paula. Don’t be shy.” She stood, walked around to the front of the desk and leaned her hips on its edge, crossing her ankles. She nodded at the large leather-upholstered chair in front of her and said, “Please take a seat. I hope I didn’t take you away from anything important.”

  “Oh no, no, of course not, Ms. Thorne.”

  Paula was frightened, that was obvious; with her wide eyes and tense lips, she reminded Hester of a small, frightened animal paralyzed in the headlights of an oncoming semi. She probably thought she was about to be disciplined for something, about to have some privileges revoked or be moved to less savory quarters.

  “We haven’t spoken in some time, have we, Paula?”

  “Uh, no, ma’am. It’s b-been a little while.” She fidgeted in the chair, making the leather creak.

  “That’s too bad. We should get together more often.”

  A nervous smile flitted across her face. “Oh, I-I’d like that, Ms. Thorne.”

  “Tell you what, Paula. Why don’t you call me Hester. I think we’d both be more comfortable.” “Okay. Um, sure.”

  “Good. So tell me, Paula, how is your dad?”

  Bitterness darkened her eyes for a moment and she shrugged. “Still the same. He’s … stubborn. He doesn’t approve of, um …”

  “Of your beliefs?”

  Paula nodded.

  “That’s a pity. But you’re not alone. Many of our members have the same problem. It tests one’s patience sometimes, but it’s to be expected. There will always be those who refuse to even look at the truth, let alone accept it. We just have to continue to love them and not hold their blindness against them. Bitterness and resentment only fill up places inside us better left open for more important things.” She said nothing for some time, stroking her lower lip with a thumb, giving Paula a long thoughtful pause. Then: “Of course, people like that can stand in the way of the truth, keep it from spreading and reaching others. Sometimes.” Hester left it at that, giving Paula something to think about.

  Paula nodded slowly.

  The Inner Circle, Orrin murmured. She craves entrance to the Inner Circle.r />
  “You’ve shown some interest in the Inner Circle, haven’t you, Paula?”

  Her face brightened then and she sat up straighter. “Yes, Ms.—um, Hester. Yes, I have.”

  “You would like to join?”

  She leaned forward. “Oh, yes, I’ve tried, I’ve tried so hard, but—” A pathetic smile. “—I just haven’t been … valuable enough.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t think of it that way, Paula. You see, we—”

  “If you give me another week—just a week, is all—I’m sure I can get my mother’s jewels. They’re really old and there’s a big box full of them that are—”

  “No, no, Paula, no. You’ve misunderstood the requirements.” As she spoke, she walked slowly around the chair until she was standing behind Paula. “You can’t buy your way into the Inner Circle. You must be able to serve us—serve Orrin—in some way, some special way. You must be of some specific value to Orrin and the Alliance. And Paula …” She reached over the back of the chair, put her hands on Paula’s shoulders and massaged them lightly. “… I think you can be of far more value to us than any box of jewels. …”

  3.

  The parking lot at the Sleeping Woman Inn was overfull and cars were parked at the curbs up and down the long paved driveway. White-suited attendants directed cars through the lot to large patches of grassy land beyond and a white van bearing the Alliance emblem picked up those who had chosen to park on the road outside the gates and drove them to the hotel.

  Once Marvin had parked his car outside the entrance, everyone agreed to forego the ride and walk up the long drive.

  “So, did you talk to Fiske?” Marvin asked. Coogan, Lauren and Lizzie walked a few feet ahead of them, talking amongst themselves.

  “No,” Jordan replied. “I called twice and talked to the answering service, but the best I could do was leave a message. He won’t be available until later today.”

  “Well, you did your best.”

  “I also caught something interesting on the tap.” He told Marvin about the brief conversation he’d heard between Hester and the unidentified male voice.

  “Did you get it on tape?”

  “No, but I turned the recorders on when I left. They’ll pick up any calls that take place while we’re gone.”

  “Well, like I said. You’ve done your best.”

  “I don’t know. This whole thing’s starting to worry me. It started with just you and me, but now …” He nodded toward the others. “And we’re not exactly inconspicuous; I’ve got a big lump on my head and a pretty good scratch on my face, and Lauren and Coogan are pretty shaken up, walking around like zombies. And now we’re going to this pancake thing with Lizzie, who’s already introduced herself to Hester, so we’re gonna stick out like nuns in a whorehouse.”

  “I don’t know, Jordy, this might be interesting. And if not, at least we get a free breakfast. I’m starving.”

  The crowd was gathered behind the hotel where the pond in the center of the green was flanked by long buffet tables; people stood in lines that ran the length of the tables and all the way back to the hotel, moving at a steady pace as plates were filled. Behind each table were long grills where cooks flipped pancakes with a flourish and filled the air with the aroma of eggs, bacon and sausage.

  While Jordan and Marvin got in line, Lauren waited by one of the trees with Lizzie and Coogan; she had no appetite. They spoke little, but when they did, it was about trivial things, silly things that would not normally come up in their conversations, things that kept their minds off their situation.

  Lizzie could see the fear and pain in their eyes and ached to do or say something that would ease their minds, but there was nothing she could do, and since they chose to remain silent, she decided to say nothing. Instead, she gave a silent prayer for them and participated in their small talk.

  “Miss Dayton?”

  Lizzie started and spun around to see one of the white-suited young men smiling at her and holding a round silver tray with a fluted champagne glass of orange juice on it. She returned his smile and said, “Well, that’s my maiden name, yes.”

  “Ms. Thorne would like you to have this mimosa with her compliments.”

  Lizzie stared at the drink for a moment, thinking how good it would taste, how good it would feel. It was even free. But to her surprise, there was no struggle involved this time; she simply did not need it.

  “Tell Hester I said I appreciate it very much, but I don’t drink.”

  “Oh. All right.” He walked away, still smiling.

  Lizzie turned back to two pairs of raised eyebrows.

  “What was that all about?” Coogan asked.

  Lizzie shrugged. “Maybe a little poke in the ribs. I’m an alcoholic, see, and maybe Hester knows that somehow and wanted to play a cruel little joke. It’s something she would do.”

  “Good for you,” Lauren said a bit timidly. “For not taking the drink, I mean.”

  “It’s not easy, and the urge never really goes away. It does one good thing, though: teaches you to pray like a pro.”

  Coogan smiled and gave her a friendly wink, but Lauren turned away, watching the breakfast lines move.

  “Last night, you mentioned your husband was addicted to cocaine, didn’t you Lauren?” Lizzie asked. “How did he beat it?”

  “Therapy.”

  “I see.” Then, hesitantly: “Your family had no spiritual beliefs to turn to?”

  Lauren nodded toward the two busy tables and the people surrounding them and spat quietly, “Not until Mark found this.”

  Lizzie moved a little closer to her. “I’m sure that, under normal circumstances, he would have rejected whatever attraction the Alliance held for him.”

  “Maybe so, but that doesn’t get my son back. For all I know—” Her voice wavered, “—he’s already dead.”

  Lizzie started to lift her hand to place it on Lauren’s back as a show of support and sympathy, but stopped; she opened her mouth and took in a breath to say something comforting, but didn’t. She was searching for something to say—praying for something to say—when a hand touched her shoulder and Hester said, “Don’t you like mimosas, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie turned. “I don’t drink.”

  “Oh, no?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Ah, I see. Well, what do you say we take a little walk and chat a while?” To Lauren and Coogan. “Do you mind if I borrow her? We’re old friends.”

  Lauren turned away abruptly, her lips pressed together; Coogan forced a smile and nodded once.

  They walked away from the crowd and around the side of the hotel to the front where, as they spoke, Hester led Lizzie to a winding path that branched off of the parking lot and into the woods.

  “Who are your friends?” Hester asked.

  “Oh, just some people I met.”

  “I see. So what do you think, Lizzie?”

  “Of your hotel? Your place here? I think it’s beautiful. You picked a lovely spot. It must’ve been terribly expensive.”

  “It was. It is. But it doesn’t belong to me alone, you know. It’s shared by all of us. Each Alliance member who chooses to come live with us shared in its acquisition and they share in its upkeep.”

  Lizzie held back the smirk she felt coming to her lips; Hester was quoting, almost verbatim, one of her own pamphlets. “Then would it be fair to call this a commune?”

  “I suppose. Technically. But I prefer community. The word commune conjures images of loose sex, no bathing, men with food in their beards and women with thick patches of hair under their arms, know what I mean?” she laughed. “This isn’t that kind of place.”

  The path wound into a tunnel of tall pines that blocked the sun; the air cooled and Lizzie could hear small animals skittering through the woods around her.

  “What are you doing with yourself t
hese days, Lizzie?”

  “Oh, I’m busy. I’m running a chapel and shelter center off Interstate 5 just outside of Irving.”

  “Really? That sounds interesting.” There was no interest in her voice.

  “Well, it’s never boring.”

  “But how do you live? I mean, it doesn’t sound very lucrative.”

  “Is this?” Lizzie asked, spreading her arms expansively to include her surroundings. She knew it was a stupid question—it was obviously very lucrative—but she wanted to hear Hester’s response.

  “Yes. Very lucrative. We adjust our fees according to how much each person or family can afford, but it’s not free. I provide a great service here, lives are changed here.”

  There’s no doubt about that, Lizzie thought.

  “The truth,” Hester said, “is never free.”

  “Oh? You don’t think so?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then the truth can only be obtained by those who can afford it.”

  “As I said, we adjust our fees.”

  “A good portion of the people I deal with have no money. None. In the world. We provide food, a place to stay and the truth. The same truth that was handed down by god and, later, Jesus Christ. They didn’t charge a cent; neither do we.”

  “That must explain why evangelists drive huge cars and own private jets and why television preachers and their wives wear expensive jewels and live in mansions.”

  “Some of the people who say they’re doing god’s work are mistaken. Others are simply lying.”

  Hester stopped and faced Lizzie. She looked uncomfortable, tense. “Is that why you came here, Lizzie? To convert me, or something?”

  “Certainly not. I was just answering your questions. What I do is not lucrative, not in a monetary sense, but our financial needs are met by people who support what we do and can afford to help out with donations.”

  “Well. That’s awfully Samaritan-like.” She folded her arms over her breasts. “I suppose that, in light of what you do, all this looks rather business-like. Rather worldly and selfish, hm?”