American Omens

by Travis Thrasher

“Will it be worth it?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  He quickly told her goodbye and said he’d connect later. In the car heading down the street in their subdivision, he thought of the departure as he watched snow starting to fall on his windshield. He never used to leave Amy without telling her he loved her. Sometimes over and over again, as if uttering the word made it more real.

  Maybe it does.

  4.

  The lake-effect snow made for slow driving on I-94 as it curved north so close to the shores of Lake Michigan. When he saw the sign for I-196, Tolkien, his artificial friend, warned him in his thick English accent about taking the exit.

  “You should stay on I-94 heading east to avoid the heavier snow,” Tolkien said in his articulate and flowing manner. “You can then take US 131 north to Grand Rapids.”

  Will ignored him and instead thought how incredible it was to have a personal digital assistant who could not only sound like a real human being from history but whose voice actually came directly from the source. The figures had to be famous historical individuals, so one person might have President Barack Obama giving instructions, while others could have Eddie Murphy ranting at them. Will once met a patron at his store whose artificial assistant, Marilyn, sounded like Marilyn Monroe at her most sultry and seductive. In picking specific voices like these, people received their personalities as well.

  “You are driving far above the speed these weatherworn and bare tires can handle,” Tolkien told him, sounding exactly like the linguist and professor. “Tire treads are meant to help whisk the water away—”

  “I know what treads are for, thank you very much. New tires are expensive.”

  “So are funerals.”

  Will laughed. “That’s a good one,” he had to admit.

  “This whiteout will remain for the next ten minutes at this current speed.”

  “You know, I wonder if Hemingway would be lecturing me on tires. I was going to pick him as a digital comrade.”

  “Why did you choose the term comrade?” Tolkien asked. “Most use words like assistant, aide, guide, or partner to describe their artificial helper.”

  “I hate how they were all originally called Life Companions, LCs. Especially since the CEO of the company that makes you guys has been very public with his thoughts on why marriages are ridiculous.”

  “In the Oxford English Dictionary one of the definitions of comrade is ‘a fellow socialist or communist.’ So am I a socialist or a communist?”

  Will shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “Right now I’d say you’re a communist, and I’m very much feeling the Cold War coming. Just let me drive for a while in silence.”

  Half an hour later as Tolkien guided Will on 196 to the restaurant where he would meet Pastor Brian, he also provided an overview of the job market in the Grand Rapids area. “There are two bookstores in the great Grand Rapids area, which includes the southwest towns of Grandville, Wyoming, and—”

  “I don’t need a list of all the communities,” Will interrupted, something he never felt guilty for doing with any kind of AI. “And, please, I’m not looking to start another bookstore.”

  “There would be an above-average opportunity in this market, considering the numbers for Ink the last few years and comparing them to the numbers with—”

  “Tolkien! Even if they had a free building space and were going to pay my rent for a year, I would not open another bookstore!”

  Interrupting was one of Will’s bad habits with the AI, but persisting with an idea Will didn’t like was Tolkien’s.

  “This area still has the highest percentage of churches in the country,” Tolkien said. “That means there would be more patrons receptive to the nature of your products.”

  “Receptive to the nature.” Will laughed. “And what ‘nature’ is that?”

  It was fascinating to hear what an AI said about faith. Will had asked questions like this before, always curious what the answer would be.

  “The dangerous nature of some of your literature. For instance, the work of Dietrich Bonhoeffer.”

  The wipers were going at full speed but still couldn’t keep up with the thick flakes coming down.

  “Oh yeah. Good old Bonhoeffer. He sure got me into trouble, didn’t he?”

  “For you the books were dangerous to keep since the FBI fined you and threatened to prosecute you on grounds of promoting prejudices against others. On the other hand, the books are dangerous to the powers that be because of the message inside them.”

  Interesting, Tolkien. “So what message is that?” Will asked.

  “ ‘Christianity preaches the infinite worth of that which is seemingly worthless and the infinite worthlessness of that which is seemingly so valued.’ A quote from The Bonhoeffer Reader.”

  The wealth of all information was always on the tip of Tolkien’s artificial tongue. The interesting question was not only how the information was selected but also how it was processed.

  “Before you start quoting more of Bonhoeffer, tell me about the jobs you’ve found,” Will said, simply curious after having told his wife he was looking into them.

  Tolkien spent the next ten minutes going through a variety of jobs that were currently listed in the area—ones that might be a good fit or at least a decent fit for Will. As always, Tolkien did get the wrong information on a few of the listings, like the managing editor position.

  “Do you know the magazines that company produces?” Will asked with a big grin.

  Whenever Tolkien paused, it wasn’t because he needed the time to look up something, nor was the time needed for him to process the information. It was the human quality he had built within him, one his algorithms had developed, where he paused out of slight embarrassment.

  “Yes, I guess you would not want to edit journals such as Ladies of the Night and Escort Tales,” Tolkien admitted, sounding as if he was chagrined.

  “Yeah, Amy might not like that.” Will laughed.

  There they were again, those so-called “genetic algorithms” put to use, the kind that the big and mighty Acatour had developed in one of their brainchild divisions.

  None of the job listings sounded even remotely promising.

  “We will arrive at Midpointe Restaurant in six minutes,” Tolkien said. “Do you want me to repeat any of the job postings?”

  “No. I’m not talking to Pastor Brian about them, anyway.”

  “What will your primary topic of conversation be with him?”

  “You’re kinda nosy,” Will joked. “He knows a lot, especially about his faith. He’s a strong believer and really an overall good guy. I need to get some advice. Not smart advice, but the kind that comes from the soul.” A kind that you, my AI friend, won’t ever truly have, no matter how many brilliant algorithms some genius gives you. “I hope Pastor Brian will help me see some meaning in what’s been happening lately,” Will said.

  “As Bonhoeffer said, ‘There is meaning in every journey that is unknown to the traveler.’ ”

  Will felt a wave of goose bumps over his skin.

  Even though Tolkien was a machine, it didn’t mean God couldn’t speak through him. It seemed more and more that God was doing exactly that.

  5.

  Brian Wallace looked the same as he had when Will had last seen him, except with perhaps a little more gray edging out his dark hair. Even though he was more than sixty years old, he was more fit than Will. It probably came with the territory of not only being an athlete himself but also having three sons who were heavily into sports. Six years ago Pastor Wallace had stepped away from his leadership role at the small church he had led, one that was more of a home church than the kind he used to have twenty years ago that filled several thousand seats every Sunday morning.

  Will greeted Pastor Brian at the entrance to the breakfast
place, and things felt as natural as they had four years ago when they had worked together on Brian’s book, Consider This.

  “How’s the book business?” Pastor Brian asked after they had sat down in the booth and caught up on how the families were doing.

  Like so many others Will knew, Will hadn’t told him about the bookstore.

  “I closed shop,” Will said, tightening his lips and giving a whatcha-gonna-do sort of look.

  “Really? That’s surprising.”

  “Yeah.”

  Although it wasn’t, not to Will.

  “Last time we spoke, you said things were going well.”

  “They had been, for a bookstore. But it’s a little like asking a kid how sales are going with a lemonade stand. ‘Going well’ is always a relative term, especially when you’re getting flak for some of the literature you’re promoting.”

  “Did they shut you down?” Brian asked in a voice just above a whisper.

  “Yeah. Now I know a little more of how you must’ve felt when the church closed its doors.”

  “So what are your plans?” Brian asked.

  “Good question. I’m still trying to figure that out.”

  Brian took a sip of his water. “I’m sure our mutual friend has only managed to make things a little more confusing.”

  “You could say that.”

  “I appreciate your coming up here without any reservations.”

  “What do you mean?” Will asked with a grin. “I have a ton of reservations. I just brought them along for the ride.”

  “We needed to talk like this, in person. It’s better this way.”

  Will nodded, knowing what the pastor meant. Realizing that Big Brother was indeed watching in some capacity, especially with any network communication, made them cautious.

  “I couldn’t drive to see you for a variety of reasons,” Brian said. “The same reasons that I can’t explain everything to you right now in this restaurant.”

  Will couldn’t remember a time he had ever seen the man look so grave.

  “But I’ll say this right up front: the work our friend is doing is important. It’s necessary.” He sighed, looked around the restaurant, and then looked back at Will. “It’s God inspired too.”

  “Okay.”

  Their omelets arrived, and the discussion about Hutchence was temporarily paused. All Pastor Brian told him was they would pick it up again somewhere else.

  “I want to show you a new business venture after we eat,” Brian said. “It’s a lot quieter. It’s a great place to talk about books.”

  Is someone listening to this conversation right now?

  “Sure,” Will said. “Always love talking about books.”

  6.

  Will followed Pastor Brian’s car to a large warehouse near the middle of a suburb, close to an old set of abandoned railroad tracks. They parked in the shadows, and Brian unlocked a back door leading to a narrow hallway that they walked down. Will didn’t question where they were going or what they were doing; he knew he could trust the man in front of him.

  The door at the end of the hallway led to an open and airy space with rows of older furniture.

  “The owner of this building sells high-end midcentury modern furniture. Used to operate from Chicago until he got burned out by city regulations and taxes, so he came here.”

  All the items they passed—chairs and tables and sofas—looked minimalistic and featured bright colors.

  “Is this stuff worth a lot of money?” Will asked.

  Pastor Brian slowed down and nodded. “Of course. I don’t know much except what Nadal tells me. But it’s crazy. Like that piece right there. It’s an Eames lounge chair and ottoman. I think he told me it’s priced around thirty thousand dollars.”

  The stylish leather chair looked sleek but not enough to be so expensive.

  “You’re in the furniture business, then?” Will asked.

  Brian laughed. “Hardly.”

  They reached a space where there were dozens of chairs of all sorts lined up in the shape of a half moon. Brian stopped in front of them, right next to a dining table with no chairs.

  “This is my church, where I preach, if that’s what it could be called. Though I prefer to say I’m sharing with others.”

  The hard white light above them was cold and distant, and the furniture looked abandoned and lifeless, regardless of its value. Nothing about this space resembled any church Will had ever gone to.

  “You have meetings here?”

  “Yes. For one reason the owner of this building designed it so that SYNAPSYSes don’t work inside it. They’re blocked from doing anything like recording or communicating with the outside.”

  “Why’d he do that?”

  “He’s part of the privacy movement. You know, those who are speaking up for their privacy.”

  “I hope he’s not one of the more violent protesters,” Will said.

  “He’s not. He just wants to live his life without anybody intruding or looking over his shoulder. Like most of us.”

  “So that’s why you meet in here?”

  “Yes,” Pastor Brian said. “And that’s why I wanted to bring you here. So we can talk. In privacy.”

  “You think someone might have been listening in on us back at the restaurant?”

  Brian nodded and then sat down in an office chair and sighed.

  “People have been spying on me for a long time, long before they shut down my church. I know we used to talk about this, but I realize it now more than ever before. There’s a war going on out there. You know it now from experience—how they forced you to close after selling some Christian materials. It’s gone that far in this country. First you couldn’t speak out about issues like homosexuality or abortion or refugees or a better understanding of racial equality, with everybody on social media slamming those they deemed on the wrong side. The condemnation became so extreme, and now our culture is attacking everything—churches, gatherings, literature, and the arts. Everything. Christianity has been eradicated, and most of the country has sat back and done nothing to stop it.”

  Will listened and nodded but finally asked the question that had caused him to drive three hours to this Michigan city. “What is Hutchence planning to do?”

  “He wants to reveal the truth to this country.”

  “By listing the bad guys who are supposedly in control? The secret society ruling all?”

  “That’s part of it,” Pastor Brian said. “But he’s going to show what they’ve been doing. He’s sending out a warning. But most important, he’s also going to share the gospel of Christ.”

  Will moved over to sit across from Brian on the edge of the sofa. “But how is he supposed to do this? And how are you involved?”

  “There are specifics I don’t know that center on the science and technology related to SYNAPSYSes. They are foreign to me and even in some ways to Hutchence. But he’s been recruiting a group of people throughout the country to help him. To be a faction that is going to fight back against Christian persecution. He wants pastors like me. He says he needs pastors for leadership and wisdom.”

  “You’re sorta a life coach for an underground fanatic,” Will said, partially joking.

  Brian laughed with him, nodding and saying, “I guess in some ways that is my role.”

  “Do you believe the things Hutchence is saying?”

  “Yes,” Brian said without hesitation. “I believe everything.”

  “You believe that God is going to wipe out Chicago? Really?”

  Once again the pastor nodded. “I’ve prayed earnestly and sought to hear from the Lord about this. About this man. Like many others I assumed the days of the prophets were in the past. The true prophets, the ones God raised up to proclaim something, came to tell the Israelites about their sin and what was a
bout to befall them. I believe that’s exactly what Hutchence is doing.”

  Will rubbed the side of his neck that ached. Pastor Brian had never looked more earnest than he did now. Will stood up again and paced the floor for a moment, trying to decide if all this was actually happening.

  “How is he going to expose my father? How is he even going to reach him?”

  “You’re going to, Will. You’re the only one who can.”

  7.

  They spoke for another couple of hours, with Pastor Brian encouraging Will more than giving him advice or preaching to him. This was what Will wanted and needed. He had spent a lifetime without the proper guidance or support from his own father, so he had always desperately craved it from others. The pastor encouraged Will first to pray and ask for God’s guidance, along with asking the big questions. It was what Will needed to hear.

  The main question that had caused him to drive to Grand Rapids was answered.

  Not only did Pastor Brian know Hutchence, but he also believed the man was a prophet. He believed that God was going to judge Chicago and the surrounding area, sending a sign to the rest of the country that they had turned their backs on their Creator and Master. The judgment wasn’t to get their attention but rather to pour out His wrath against the sin and rebellion God so hated. Exactly what this judgment was going to look like was unknown to the pastor, but he believed it was coming.

  After figuring out a way to keep in touch with Pastor Brian off the network and then bidding him goodbye, Will drove back home, wondering how in the world he would even begin to explain this to Amy.

  I still can’t really explain this to myself.

  How could he tell his wife about Hutchence and his plan? About God’s coming wrath on Chicago? She often told him the world was so full of hate and all it really needed was love. Like that Beatles song said.

  The drive felt long and lonely tonight. He thought about what the pastor had told him to do, the thing he often neglected to do: pray. Thinking about prayer made him feel guilty since he seldom had conversations with God anymore. Too many times the guilt made him stay away, knowing he would first have to explain to God why he’d been so busy.