“This is it,” he told Cheyenne.
“The place we’re staying?” she asked.
“No. Well, at least not tonight.”
He grinned but he sounded serious. They passed the building and continued driving down the road on the outskirts of Tulsa. Cheyenne hadn’t seen any other vehicles in the last ten minutes.
“Good luck trying to hide the Hummer,” she said.
“Nobody’s going to bother us around here. Everything has moved to the center of the city, and the industrial section is on the other side of town. These buildings used to have actual men and women working inside them instead of machines.”
The sinking sun hovered behind a three-story brick apartment building that looked as if it hadn’t been lived in for twenty years. They parked on the side of the road, a couple of blocks away from the warehouse, then walked over the chunks of cracked sidewalk toward the building.
“What are we going to do here?” Cheyenne asked.
“How about you just wait and see?” Jazz suggested.
“I’ve been doing that for the last few days.”
“Then you’re already used to it.”
“Do you think anybody knows where I am? That we’re being followed?”
Jazz stopped for a moment and turned to her. “You’d be in a little room being interrogated if they knew where you were.”
“And what about you?”
“A saved-by-grace rapper isn’t on their priority list for the moment. I haven’t stirred up any commotion. I haven’t gone public by exposing the blood rituals and human sacrifices.”
No sign of sarcasm or banter could be detected.
“Are you talking about the Old Testament again or the current day?” Cheyenne asked.
“Never mind. Just listen up. Forget about me. I want you to be open about what you see and hear inside. Okay? I haven’t met these people, but I have word that they’re good folk.”
“I think I’ve been pretty open about everything, especially hiding in claustrophobic places.”
“Good point.”
2.
The normal Cheyenne would have felt too restless and incredulous to sit on a folding metal chair surrounded by twenty-five strangers as they sang worship songs and then prayed as a group until finally an older man gave an informal talk about Jesus and His disciples. But then again, the old Cheyenne would have never ended up in the back of an abandoned warehouse hiding out in a gathering that someone might have passed off as a recovery meeting.
If only Malek could see me now.
The old Cheyenne, the person she used to be, was gone. She hadn’t gone out and found religion or some cause to follow. It was more like she had been thrown into that volatile concoction, and she was desperate to find her way out of it. So in order to do that, she had to do one thing: find her father.
With the reality of what was happening, with someone like Jazz leading her to this place, Cheyenne could tolerate coming to this makeshift church service. She didn’t feel any kind of surprising, Zen-like peace, but she did feel accepted in this group of people. Whatever they believed and however they felt they needed to express that was fine with her, especially since they weren’t threatening or judging. She had a problem not with Christianity as a religion but with the few radical zealots who had made the government impose such strong regulations in the last few years.
As the preacher or pastor or whatever he was called addressed all of them, not behind a pulpit or on a stage but rather standing in front of them, he spoke about “doubting Thomas.” A quote he said caught Cheyenne’s attention.
“Oswald Chambers said this about faith: ‘Seeing is never believing: we interpret what we see in the light of what we believe. Faith is confidence in God before you see God emerging; therefore the nature of faith is that it must be tried.’ ”
As the story went, Thomas had to see Jesus in order to believe. But faith was believing before one saw Jesus in the first place.
“The nature of faith is that it must be tried.” It was a good quote, at least the last part of it. Faith could come in many ways and could focus on many things. For now, Cheyenne needed to have faith in herself, along with needing to keep going and keep believing there was some light at the end of this tunnel.
3.
“There are only ten of us left from our former church,” Susan Parschauer told Cheyenne and Jazz. The service had ended an hour ago, but most of the people had stayed around to talk and drink coffee. Just like a regular church service.
Or recovery group.
Tom and Susan Parschauer were a sweet couple, probably in their late sixties, who had been leaders at a large Baptist church in Tulsa before it was officially shut down. They shared how government regulations over the years had crippled its finances, making it impossible to keep their facility and scaring off much of the congregation. President Valdez had been secretive about putting the Hate Propagation Law into place, but after Alden Blackwood’s campaign of “We Are One” got him elected as president, the government began acting on “hate crimes” committed by law-abiding Christians.
“They modified US Code Section 249 to include language and speech,” Susan told Cheyenne. “Nobody realized the new law basically made it a crime to share one’s faith publicly if it’s deemed ‘offensive’ in any manner.”
Cheyenne didn’t know much about politics and law, so all of this was news to her. “Were you involved in politics?” she asked.
Susan laughed as she shook her head and looked at her husband. “I’ve always been a pastor’s wife. Still am. But that doesn’t mean I can’t understand what’s happened, even if most Americans don’t know it.”
Tom shared how he had continued to preach the same gospel message he’d been giving his church for the last two decades. Because of that, he ended up actually going to jail. Demonstrations around this time turned violent, scandals emerged, and the entire church body seemed to implode.
“Just as the Enemy wanted it to,” Susan said.
Cheyenne wasn’t sure which enemy Susan was referring to—the government or the locals who wanted to shut them down. Or maybe it was the devil.
They sat around a plastic picnic table sipping instant coffee from paper cups. Surprisingly, the coffee wasn’t as bad as she had imagined. Jazz let the couple share their story with them, asking them questions but never sharing any details about himself or Cheyenne. The only thing the Parschauers knew was they were friends of Reckoner and were “sympathetic to the cause,” as Jazz put it. They also knew Jazz and Cheyenne needed a temporary place to hide from the authorities, something the Parschauers were increasingly helping with.
“So you’ve been meeting here since they closed your church doors?” Cheyenne asked.
“Well, we’ve always believed a church can be anywhere that believers are gathered,” Tom said. “We’ve had to meet in several different locations, always in secret, always trusting God will protect us.”
“Sometimes he fancies himself one of the early disciples, like the ones he spoke about today,” Susan said, her wrinkles surrounding the smile she gave her husband.
Now there was something truly unusual: wrinkles. Most of the older men and women Cheyenne knew had them digitally removed, an expensive procedure but way more natural looking and effective than the surgery or laser jobs in the past. Still, something always looked off whenever Cheyenne saw those wrinkle-free grandfathers and grandmothers. Susan’s appearance was refreshing. Maybe because it looks real.
“I never thought things would get so bad—not in Tulsa of all places. I could understand what happened in Chicago and New York. But to see all those people leave—to disappear when the reality came knocking on their door—was sad. But it’s a wake-up call too.”
“How long after that did you meet Acrobat?” Jazz asked the couple.
Tom looked confused for a
moment and then gave a knowing smile. “Acrobat? Is that what you’re calling him?”
“He hasn’t given me his real name yet,” Jazz said. “And I haven’t been able to find one either. That’s an early name he used.”
“He already has enough aliases and code names, but we call him Scout,” Tom said.
“For Boy Scout,” Susan chimed in.
They both chuckled, an image that was cute to see. It reminded Cheyenne of one of those holiday movies where an elderly couple, still madly in love with each other, were living on a farm and were always dispensing advice to the younger and more idiotic generation. She hadn’t grown up with a set of parents caring or even being around each other. So to see that it really existed outside someone’s imagination inspired the same feeling as Susan’s wrinkles.
“We called him Scout because he knocked on our door one evening like a Boy Scout selling popcorn. The way they used to do it, when they were Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts instead of just the all-purpose Scouts. He showed up and asked to talk about our church, and one thing led to another.”
Tom paused, not saying anything more.
What led to what? She wanted to ask and almost did before Jazz spoke.
“When was the last time you saw Scout?”
Tom and Susan looked at each other.
“A month ago?” he ventured.
“No, longer than that,” she said.
They volleyed back and forth, finally settling on last month.
“He only stayed for a night,” Tom said. “He looked tired, and he was worried he was being followed. But he still managed to talk with us late into the night about everything that was happening. About the good news he had to report.”
“Then he left? Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know,” Tom told Jazz. “He didn’t even tell us he was leaving. We didn’t ask either.”
“So how long have you two been a part of this?” Susan asked, looking at Cheyenne first.
“A part of what?” Cheyenne asked, looking at Jazz for assistance.
“She’s new,” Jazz said. “And I’ve been on the fringes for several years. Hoping to stay there too.”
“We have some families and friends in the Chicago area.” Susan rubbed her discolored and bony hands together, trying to warm them. “We don’t know much, so all we’ve been able to do is warn them that something bad is coming. We’ve told them to prepare for something cataclysmic. Of course, they all think we’re crazy.”
“I’d rather have someone believe I’m insane than pity me,” Tom said.
For someone so unassuming, he sounded fearless. It was obvious he wasn’t full of pride, yet he was proud of what they stood for and what they were doing.
“I’ve grown used to people thinking I’m insane and pitying me,” Jazz said with a glance at Cheyenne. “And, yeah, sometimes I think I really get those disciples. Those brothers had the whole world standing against them. I imagined their isolation when I’d be alone for weeks at a time back in Colorado.”
“Do you know how long you’ll be here in Tulsa?” Susan asked. She quickly added, “Please stay as long as you need to, of course. No pressure at all. Nobody knows about the safe house.”
Cheyenne studied the look on Susan’s face. Was it a look of alarm?
“I’m not sure how long,” Jazz said. “We need to wait and lay low. And, like you talked about, we gotta have faith.”
4.
As the flashing red traffic light outside lit up the room every other second—the narrow window blinds failing at their only job—Cheyenne replayed the night with the Parschauers.
She felt welcomed. And she felt safe. There wasn’t one specific thing that happened to make her feel this way, not a statement or line of thought. The couple had something about them. An attitude and an air that could truly be summed up by the word grace.
They weren’t rushed and weren’t cynical and weren’t overly worried about anything.
Cheyenne couldn’t remember the last time she met someone who wasn’t carrying a ticking clock and who didn’t think he—or she—was being watched. Technology both enabled and eradicated things in one’s life. In the name of convenience, people sacrificed anonymity. In the name of communication and connection, people sacrificed peace of mind. Yet the Parschauers seemed to have that very thing: peace.
Was it all an act? Are they that deluded?
They didn’t talk down to her, nor did they speak as if they were trying to prove something, as if they needed her to believe as they did. They spoke as if they were talking about their family or some other important reality in their lives.
Over a home-cooked meal of lasagna, salad, and bread, Tom shared about his wilder days growing up and how his life was completely shaken up when “God got hold” of him, as he called it. Now, hours later, Cheyenne thought again about what he had said: “I’ve always told people the same thing. Remember the story of the Titanic and its survivors? Don’t you think they spent the rest of their lives talking about being rescued? And that every single day they could still see that massive ship slowly sinking into the dark ocean? I bet they could still feel those cold waters surrounding them. Some had to swim, and others rowed away. But I’m sure every single one of those survivors was not only grateful but spent his or her remaining days speaking about it. That’s how I’ve always viewed coming to faith. This life here on earth is shorter in the grand scheme of eternity than a trip on an ocean cruiser. To know we’ve been spared…” Tom had wiped the tears in his eyes and then smiled at Susan.
Cheyenne knew that even if every single belief they held was for nothing, they were a hundred percent committed. Just like Jazz.
The most amazing thing she witnessed that night was far more simple and subtle. She could still picture it vividly. A simple and brief moment, hidden from view, in the kitchen while the Parschauers cleaned up.
It was truly something remarkable.
Susan walked over and put some plates on the counter next to Tom. Then she put her hand in his as he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek and told her dinner was great.
In all her time growing up and in every relationship she had ever known, both her own and others, she had never witnessed a moment like that. It hadn’t been a husband kissing his wife in hopes of getting some action later in the night, nor was it the passion of a young couple or the common courtesy one might see in public. It was so simple yet profound. The hand held, the peck on the cheek, the affirmation. All without strings, without expectations or baggage, without anything other than one beautiful thing. Love.
They weren’t newlyweds. They were grandparents, a couple who had been married for decades.
There had been a time not long ago when she had believed something like that might be possible. A friendship that seemed to be slowly turning into something deeper. Then suddenly he was gone. Malek had been missing ever since.
She thought about her father, then found herself starting to stumble down an emotional mountain when she thought about her mother. Cheyenne regained her footing like always. That was a place she couldn’t go.
Perhaps she wouldn’t have been so guarded and careful in her life if her parents had stayed together. If she had a mother.
She could think of a thousand ifs.
Forget AI. We all set up our own unconscious algorithms based on history and hurt, and they can take us down dangerous rabbit holes if we’re not careful.
Cheyenne knew this all too well. At least she thought she knew. But this faith thing seemed to disrupt the algorithms in life. She had, after all, seen this firsthand and knew it from research. That’s what Acatour wanted ultimately—to overcome one’s personal faith by using the machinery of deduction and deception.
The Parschauers showed all of that could be tossed aside when there was something bigger in its place. Cheyenne couldn’t fathom that it was
real.
5.
“We need to disappear into thin air for a while,” Jazz said the moment she walked out of the apartment building where they had spent the night.
“So that’s our plan? To remain in hiding?”
“Until I hear more,” he said, looking refreshed and almost giddy. “We’re going to have breakfast with the Parschauers.”
“You obviously slept better than I did,” she said after they climbed into the Hummer.
“Not really. I don’t sleep much. Look. Check this out.”
The screen on the dashboard lit up with news images from a city street.
“Is that Chicago?” Cheyenne asked.
“Yeah. Right along Michigan Avenue. Near the Incen Tower.”
She could see cars that looked as if they had sayings painted on them in bright colors.
“Those are all Autovehs,” she noticed. “Is that the work of—”
“Yeah. Acrobat’s been busy.”
The volume was turned down, so she couldn’t hear what the reporter was saying, but she read words and phrases on the tops and sides of the Autovehs. “ ‘I want everything.’ ‘Death is inevitable.’ ‘Hype hope.’ What is all this?”
Jazz shook his head, laughing as he began to drive down the street to find a coffee shop. “I provided a little help in this. Not in the actual decorating but in coordinating it.”
“ ‘Ambition bites the nails of success’?” she read.
“You know the Acrobat is a big fan of music. No? Well, I guess, how could you? He explained this all to me and showed me old video clips. He got inspired by the band U2.”
“My father loves them.”
“Yeah. They made an album in East Berlin. No, I think they made it in West Berlin when there was an East and a West Berlin, when there was a wall. And the wall went down during this time. He told me that lots of East Berliners drove around in little, poorly made cars called Trabants, so U2 used them in marketing their album and their shows. They painted them. Just like those Autovehs.”
American Omens Page 19