“Lead on,” said Sally, alias Bethany Farrell.
THEY SAT DOWN to a tasty vegetarian lunch. Sally ordered the rice and stir-fried vegetables; Mrs. Denning ordered a large green salad.
“Obviously,” Mrs. Denning continued, not skipping a beat from the entire morning’s lecture, “the goal of education, true education, is not simply teaching generation after generation the same amount of academic content as a preparation for life—just the same old basics, as they say. The human race is evolving too fast for that. What we are more concerned with in education is the facilitation of change. We need to change the upcoming generations to prepare them for a global community. That means a lot of stubborn old ideas about reality are going to have to be cast aside: such notions as nationalism, accountability to some Supreme Being, even the old Judeo-Christian dogma of absolute morality. In their place, we purpose to implant a new worldview, a global scheme of reality in which our children realize that all the earth, all nature, all forces, all consciousness are one huge, interconnected, and interdependent unity. And we’re no longer alone in that goal; even the National Coalition on Education has taken up the cause.”
She continued to munch on her salad like a happy rabbit. “So, we bring all wisdoms of the world to this place, all systems of belief, all mystical traditions, and we bar almost nothing. Through it all, the truth can be found by each person where he finds it.”
“Human potential,” said Sally.
“Oh, yes, that, and spiritual wholeness, universal consciousness, all of the above!” Mrs. Denning laughed with delight. “It’s been such a rewarding time for me . . . well, for many years of my life, actually. I used to teach high school English until six years ago when I came on staff here.”
Sally knew that. Though her memory of Mrs. Denning the English teacher went back nineteen years, she could see it as if it were just yesterday. A scene began playing in her mind. There stood a much younger Mrs. Denning, with more brown hair than gray, scowling at her, angry at being interrupted. Sally was much younger too, a junior in high school with a drab green sweater, a thigh-high skirt, and long, straight, red hair down to her waist.
“Who are you and why?” Mrs. Denning demanded. It was a stock question she always used; she must have thought it was clever. Sally thought it was rude.
Obviously, Mrs. Denning was not feeling well at the moment. She was trying to lead a remedial reading group, and most of the students were the shaggy, acid-dropping, spit-on-the-floor type who couldn’t read and didn’t care if they ever did. Mrs. Denning was definitely not in her element, much less in her best mood.
Sally wasn’t feeling well either. Her mother, whom she hadn’t seen in almost twelve years, had just died, a pitiful alcoholic. Sally felt no remorse, but the event did deepen some attitudes she’d been developing in that high school—attitudes of fatalism, cynicism, and gloom.
Now Sally was only doing her job as an office assistant during fourth period, and trying to bring Mrs. Denning a sign-up sheet on a clipboard, a typical list of participants in an upcoming volunteer whatever-it-was. She didn’t ask to be snapped at. Mrs. Denning’s question hit a lot of raw nerves.
Who am I and why? Good question.
She looked down at the teacher scowling up at her, and answered quite directly, “I don’t know, and you teachers have convinced me that I never will.”
Well, of course Mrs. Denning got irate. “Young lady, I don’t like your attitude!”
At this point in her life, Sally didn’t care what Mrs. Denning liked or didn’t like. “Mrs. Denning, I came into this classroom because Mrs. Bakke would like to get your signature on this sign-up sheet. I’m just doing my job, and I don’t deserve to be treated rudely.”
Mrs. Denning stood to her feet, ready to take up the challenge. “What is your name?”
“Roe. Sally Roe. That’s R-o- . . . Got a pencil?”
Mrs. Denning had a pencil.
“R-o-e. I’m sure you’ll remember it.”
“I’m surprised they let you work in the office. Mrs. Bakke is going to hear about this!”
Sally held the clipboard out. “Will Mrs. Bakke be able to count on you as a volunteer?”
Mrs. Denning grabbed the clipboard and hurriedly signed it. “Now get out of here!”
“Thank you for your time.”
Sally was just reaching the door when Mrs. Denning had some parting words for her. “This will be counted against you, young lady!”
She stopped and looked back at this teacher, this figure of authority. “Well, you’re the teacher; you have the power. Right and wrong are situational and law derives from power, so I guess that makes you right.” Then Sally thought it best to footnote her comments. “Mr. Davis, Humanities 101, sixth period.”
Mrs. Denning meant to report Sally’s behavior, but never did. Something about that brief encounter stuck with her, and no, she did not forget Sally Roe’s name.
Sally’s mind returned to the present, and she chased a mushroom around her plate as Mrs. Denning continued to prattle. Sally had to smile at how different their conversation was compared to their first.
“Of course, I was involved here long before I actually came on staff. I’d be here almost every summer, working on continuing education credits and helping with the Young Potential program.” Sally was just about to ask, but didn’t need to; Mrs. Denning went on to explain what that was. “Several of the teachers acquainted with Omega regularly took part in a program to recruit young people from the various high schools we represented around the country, young people who showed real potential for future leadership, who displayed special ability. I recruited several young people myself from the high school where I taught. These Young Potentials, as we called them, would be a part of our summer program here at the Center, and several came back for intensive training over several summers, even after they started college.”
Sally smiled. She could remember the Mrs. Denning of nineteen years ago, sitting at her desk in her empty classroom during the lunch recess, strangely pleasant.
Sally, still the skinny and stone-faced upstart, had paused outside the classroom door to get her nerves good and steely before she stepped inside. When Mrs. Denning smiled and offered her a chair, she was quite surprised and a little suspicious.
“As you have probably figured out,” she said, “I didn’t report that confrontation we had a few weeks ago.”
Sally said nothing. She was here because Mrs. Denning had asked her to come; let Mrs. Denning carry the conversation.
Mrs. Denning rested her elbows on the desk and folded her hands just under her chin. “I apologize for being so crabby. I considered what you said, and yes, I believe I was rude to you.”
Sally wasn’t feeling talkative yet. “Okay.”
“Sally, I’ve talked to Mr. Davis, and also to Mrs. Bakke and Mr. Pangborn, and we’ve all come to agree that you show great promise; you’ve risen above some real obstacles in your life and excelled academically and intellectually. Now the other teachers tell me you’re asking some incisive questions and digging into the material much more deeply than the courses require.”
“I want it to be about something,” Sally said.
Mrs. Denning was impressed and nodded with a smile. “Yes. The meaning behind it all, isn’t that right?”
Sally was in no mood to waste words. “I’ve excelled. I’ve learned. I’ve kept a consistent 4.0 average. But if I’m nothing more than a cosmic accident, then I don’t see any point in all that I’ve done, and to be honest, I’m getting quite bored with it.”
Mrs. Denning reached for a brochure and handed it to her. “You might be interested in this.”
Sally looked it over as she listened.
“It’s a special summer program for exceptional students. I’ve been involved as a summer advisor for several years now, and I’m always looking for new Young Potentials. I think you would fit the qualifications.”
“What would I learn?”
Mrs. Denning w
as delighted to give such an answer. “The meaning behind it all.”
The meaning behind it all. Now, nineteen years later, Sally couldn’t hold back a bitter smile. Fortunately, Mrs. Denning didn’t notice.
“Would you like any more tea?” the teacher asked.
“Yes, please.”
Mrs. Denning poured the green, herbal concoction into Sally’s cup.
Sally asked, “So how have all these Young Potentials turned out?”
“Marvelous! We’ve had an impressive record, with our Young Potentials going on to become educators, psychologists, doctors, even statespersons. You see, the strength of Omega is in the upcoming generations we educate. When we mold them in their younger years, they then mature to be the future change agents in our culture, bringing all the masses closer and closer to the ultimate goal of world community. It starts in the classroom.
“And that’s what’s so exciting about the changes that have occurred in recent years. Our material and curricula are gaining a much wider acceptance now. Educators and schools all over the country are attending our seminars and signing up for our programs. I think one factor would be the dissolving of the old traditional worldview, the Christian factor, that’s been such an obstacle for so many years. People are starting to wake up to themselves and the need for global community. It’s the only way our race can survive, of course. Now that we’re educating new generations totally free of the old traces of Judeo-Christian bigotry, our success rate is rising exponentially.”
CREE WAS HEARING it all, hiding in the attic of the little cafe. But he was getting edgy; it was getting later all the time, and before too long, more people would start showing up, more teachers, more leaders, more gurus and shamans, and with them, more demons than he or his warriors wanted to face. Worst of all, the prince of this place would be back as well, and he would be most upset to find these saboteurs lurking about.
He heard a special whistle. It was Si, signaling trouble. He shot down the length of the attic, out the end of the building, and into the concealing branches of a large maple.
There was a tiny sparkle of light coming from the trees near the front gate—Si’s signal. He was alerting all the warriors.
And there was the trouble! The demons appeared first, swirling and hovering in a flock of at least a hundred, following about twenty feet above an unseen vehicle. They weren’t too large, probably not front-liners, but deadly nevertheless. Cree had to cringe just looking at those flashing fangs and clicking, razor-sharp talons. Assailing that bunch would best be avoided.
Then the vehicle appeared, a large van, lumbering toward the campus, stirring up the dust. It was full of weekenders—and full of demonic warriors as well.
The window of opportunity was rapidly closing. They had to get Sally out of there!
“SAY,” SAID SALLY, as if she’d just remembered something, “would it be the Omega Center that published that curriculum I saw . . . Finding Me . . . ?”
Mrs. Denning’s eyes brightened. “Finding the Real Me! Yes, that’s a popular curriculum for grades 1–6; we have different programs for every grade, but the easiest implementation so far has been with fourth-graders. You know, we’ve had that curriculum available for about ten years, but never got into the schools until just a few years ago—the old Christian roadblocks again. We’re having great success with it now, however. It still works, and that says a lot for the staff that put it together.”
SI WHISTLED AGAIN, and Cree got the signal. More vehicles were coming up the road: a fifty-passenger bus, full of high schoolers, several cars, another van.
The first van was pulling up in front of the registration office, its escorting cloud of demons beginning to disperse, all cackling and chattering, some roosting in the trees, some alighting on the top of the van, some just flitting about the grounds looking for mischief.
No! Cree hadn’t seen these two yet. From within the van, like huge, hulking dinosaurs, two demon warriors emerged and stood guard, their swords ready at their sides, their yellow eyes darting about with great wariness. They were searching the grounds, the trees, every possible hiding-place, looking for any intruders.
Then a man stepped out of the van and stretched a bit. He was dressed in a navy-blue jogging suit and wore dark sunglasses. He was middle-aged, but obviously a real health enthusiast. His face had a strange, stony expression; the muscles seemed tight.
Cree recognized him immediately.
Steele. The mysterious Mr. Steele, overseer of the Omega Center! No wonder there were such monstrous demon guards along!
Four other men got out of the van, each with at least four demonic escorts clinging to him. These were vicious characters indeed. There was something about these four; Cree could sense that they were something even more insidious and evil than Mr. Steele.
Mr. Steele paused by the registration office to chat with some old friends who had just arrived in the school bus. He waved at all the high schoolers still waiting to pile out.
Cree could no longer signal anyone without being seen. He and his warriors would soon be boxed in.
BOTH LADIES HAD finished their lunch and now sat over their cups of tea, relaxing.
Sally figured the time was right for her next question. She began to pull the neck chain from inside her shirt.
“Say . . . in all your travels, I was just wondering . . . have you ever seen a ring like this?”
She brought the ring out into the open and let Mrs. Denning have a good look at it.
Mrs. Denning put on her reading glasses for a closer look. “Hehhh . . . what is this symbol on here?”
“I’ve always tried to figure that out.”
“Where did you get this?”
“A friend.”
Mrs. Denning turned the ring over, this way and that, studying it. “Well . . . this face could be a gargoyle, but so triangular . . . like a combination of ghoulish face and triangle . . . Fascinating.”
“But you’ve never seen anything like this before?”
“Oh no, not that I know of.”
STEELE WAS HEADING for the cafe. Cree looked across the grounds. His warriors were hiding themselves well—so well that even Cree could not see them. He wasn’t sure where they were, or if they were there at all.
Oh no! Beyond the lake, just over the tops of the trees, a large detachment of demons approached like a swarm of bats, appearing as a long, thin, charcoal smudge across the sky. The Prince of Omega was returning, ready for more evildoing. Soon he and his horde would be right over the lake.
Cree ducked back into the attic of the cafe to check on Sally.
MR. STEELE WENT into the Log Cabin Cafe and immediately greeted Mr. Galvin who stood behind the counter polishing a long row of drinking glasses along the back shelf with a soft white towel.
“Hey, Mr. Steele, you’re back already!”
Mr. Steele didn’t remove his sunglasses, but he did allow a smile to cross his tight lips. “Wanted to be here for the weekend, Joel.”
“What’ll you have?”
“Coffee, please.”
“Got a fresh batch.”
Mrs. Denning heard Mr. Steele’s voice and turned in her seat. “Oh, Mr. Steele! What a surprise!”
He smiled at her and came their way.
Sally looked down at the table immediately, trying to get the horrified expression off her face. Was her heart beating? For a moment she thought it had stopped.
“So how has the week gone, Sybil?” said Mr. Steele.
“Mr. Steele, I’d like you to meet a visitor we have today. This is Bethany Farrell, a traveler from Los Angeles just looking for a change, a little bit of a challenge.”
Mr. Steele removed his sunglasses. Sally looked up at him. Their eyes met.
They knew each other.
CREE DREW HIS sword, trying to concoct a plan. With Sally cornered in the cafe he might have to call for a full assault. In any event, they only had minutes to spare now. Demonic forces were gathering on every hand. What abou
t Si—
ROOAARRR! Cree ducked as the blazing sword slashed right over his head! Teeth! Yellow eyes! Gaping jaws!
Cree’s wings exploded into a brilliant blur. He shot through the attic toward the gable end, the demon’s sword like a shrieking buzz saw at his heels.
YAUGHH! The other demon guard appeared in front of him like a bomb blast, yellow teeth bared. Cree couldn’t stop in time; he whipped his sword in a fiery arc.
The demon’s head and Cree went sailing through the end of the building; the head dissolved, and Cree shot skyward, letting out a desperate shout that echoed over the campus and across the lake.
The remaining demon guard, a hideous monster, grabbed at Cree’s feet. Cree shot upward with another burst of speed. Another demon from above swooped down like a hawk and lunged with its sword. Cree blocked it and sent the demon spinning crazily away.
The guard’s blade came at his midsection full-force. Their swords met in an explosion of fiery sparks, and Cree tumbled into the trees.
Mr. Steele’s lips were even tighter now, and his eyes were piercing. He extended his hand in greeting. “I’m pleased to meet you, uh . . . Bethany.”
Sally took his hand, and he gripped it so tightly it hurt. For the longest time he just wouldn’t let go, but held her hand and gazed at her.
“I’m pleased to meet you,” she said as soon as she could find her voice.
He hasn’t changed at all! He still looks the same!
Mrs. Denning was still her jovial self. “Mr. Steele is the director of the Omega Center. He’s a tremendous man.” Then she told Mr. Steele, “I’ve been showing her around the Center, just acquainting her with what we’re about . . .” She just kept going on and on.
Oh, Mrs. Denning, please shut up. You’re going to get me killed.
Piercing the Darkness Page 21