by Sarah Lotz
We read quite far, and I was a bit nervous when we came to the bit where Aslan, the talking lion, gives himself up to the evil queen to be slaughtered. Stephen told me that when he read this to the girls last year, they’d sobbed and sobbed and Polly had even had nightmares.
But this time around, Jess was dry-eyed. ‘Why would Aslan do that? It’s just stupid, isn’t it, Uncle Paul?’
I decided not to explain that Aslan’s death is a Christian allegory, Jesus dying for all our sins and all that bollocks, so I said something like, ‘Well, Edmund has betrayed the others, and the evil queen says she’s going to kill him. Aslan says that he will take Edmund’s place because he’s good and kind.’
‘It’s still stupid. But I’m glad. I like Edmund.’
If you remember, Mandi, Edmund is the selfish spoiled lying bastard child. ‘Why?’
And she said: ‘He’s the only one of the children who isn’t a fucking pussy.’
Christ, I didn’t know whether to tell her off or laugh. Remember I told you she’d picked up a slew of bad language when she was in hospital? It must’ve been from the porters or cleaners because I can’t imagine Dr K or the nurses effing and blinding around her.
‘You shouldn’t say things like that, Jess,’ I said.
‘Like what?’ And then she goes: ‘It doesn’t work like that. A fucking wardrobe. As if, Uncle Paul.’ This thought seemed to amuse her, and she fell asleep soon after that.
I suppose I should be grateful that she’s talking and communicating at all. She doesn’t get visibly upset when I mention Stephen and Shelly and Polly, but it’s early days. Dr K says I should prepare myself for some emotional fallout, but so far so good. We’re still a ways from sending her back to school–the last thing we need is for the kids there to tell her what’s being said about her–but we’re inching towards making a normal life.
So what else? Oh yeah, tomorrow Darren from Social Services is coming to check ‘that I’m coping’. Did I tell you about him? Darren’s okay, a bit beardy and sandals and granola, but he’s on my side, I can tell. I might need to think about getting an au pair or something like that, although that old busy-body from next door, Mrs Ellington-Burn (how’s that for a name!), keeps nagging me to let her look after Jess. Mel and Geoff say they’re also happy to babysit. What a pair of troopers. Thinking you could say something like: ‘Mel and Geoff continued to be my backbone, while I struggled with my new single father status.’ Too arsey? Well, we can work on it. You did a great job with the first chapters, so I’m sure it will be cool.
Hang on, let me get my tea. Fuck! Shit. Spilled it. Ow. That’s hot. Okay…
No nutters phoned today, thank God. The group who are convinced Jess is an alien stopped after I asked the police to give them a warning, so that just leaves the God squad and the press. Gerry can handle the movie people. He still thinks we should wait a while and auction Jess’s story. Seems a bit greedy, specially with the insurance money, but Jess might thank me when she’s older if I set her up financially for life. Hard call. Can’t imagine how that American kid is coping, the attention must be insane. I really feel for his grandmother, although at least she’s in New York and not one of those Bible Belt states. I suppose it will all die down eventually. I told you another chat show in the States is trying to get The Three together, right? One of the big ones this time. They wanted to fly Jess and me to New York, but there’s no way she’s up to that. Then they suggested a Skype interview, but it all fell through when the father of the Japanese boy and Bobby’s gran said no way. There’s plenty of time for all that. I wish I could turn the bloody phone off some days, but I need to be available for Social Services and other important calls. Oh! Did I tell you I’m booked on Morning Chat with Randy and Margaret next week? Do watch it and tell me what you think. I only agreed because the booker just would not give up! And Gerry says it’s a chance to set the record straight after all that crap about me in the Mail on Sunday.
(The sound of a ring tone–the theme to Dr Zhivago)
Hold on.
Fucking Marilyn again. At this time of night! Not answering that. Thank you Caller ID. They’ll only harangue me about when I’m going to bring Jess round to see them. I can’t put them off forever as they’ll only run to their favourite Sun hack and blab, but I’m still holding out for an apology for that Chat magazine exposé about me being a basket-case. I hope you’re not taking all that crap seriously, Mandi. Do you think we should say more about it in the book? Gerry says we should play it down. There’s not much to tell, to be honest. Had a little slip-up, ten years ago, big deal. And I haven’t been tempted to have another drink since the day I got the news.
(Yawns)
That should do for now. Nighty night. I’m going to bed.
3.30 a.m.
Okay. Okay. It’s cool. Breathe.
Something fucked-up has just happened. Mandi… I…
Deep breath, Paul. It’s just in your head. It’s just in your fucking head.
Talk it out. Yeah. Fuck. Why not. I can delete this, can’t I? Narrative psychology, Dr K would be proud.
(Laughs shakily)
Christ, I’m soaked through with sweat. Sopping. It’s fading now, but this is what I remember.
I woke up suddenly, and I could feel there was someone sitting on the end of the bed–the mattress was sagging slightly as if there was a weight on it. I sat up, felt this huge wash of dread. I guess I knew instinctively that whoever it was was too heavy to be Jess.
I think I said something like, ‘Who’s there?’
My eyes adjusted to the dark and then I saw a shape at the end of the bed.
I froze. I’ve never felt fear like it. It… fuck, think, Paul. Jesus. It felt like… like a load of cement had been injected into my veins. I stared at it for ages. It was sitting slumped, motionless, looking down at its hands.
And then it spoke. ‘What have you done, Paul? How could you let that thing in here?’
It was Stephen. I knew immediately from his voice it was him, but his shape looked different. Warped. More hunched, the head slightly too big. But it was so real, Mandi. Despite the panic, for a second I was absolutely convinced that he was actually there, and I felt a huge surge of joy and relief. ‘Stephen!’ I think I yelled. I reached out to grab him, but he’d gone.
5.45 a.m.
God. I’ve just played that back. It’s so strange, isn’t it, how dreams can seem so real at the time, but fade so quickly? Must be my subconscious telling me something. I wish it would hurry up and get light though. I can’t decide if I should send this to you or not. I don’t want to come across as a nutter, not with all the stories going around about me as it is.
And what did he mean, ‘How could you let that thing in?’
PART FOUR
CONSPIRACY
FEBRUARY–MARCH
This is the second account from Reba Louise Neilson, Pamela May Donald’s ‘closest friend’.
Stephenie said she almost had a conniption when she heard Pastor Len’s show about Pamela’s message. He always discussed what he was going to say on his radio show with his inner circle after Bible study, but that time he just flat came out with it. I barely slept after I heard it. Couldn’t figure why he wouldn’t have shared something so important with his church first. Later he said the truth had come to him just that day and he felt called to spread the news as soon as he was able. Stephenie and I both agreed that those children couldn’t have survived something like that without God’s guiding hand, and those colours on the planes matching John’s vision in Revelation, well, how could that be a coincidence? But when Pastor Len started saying that Pam was a prophet, like Paul and John, well, I found that hard to take, and I wasn’t the only one.
Now, I know the Lord has a plan for us all that we can’t always make sense of, but Pamela May Donald, a prophet? Plain old Pam who’d get her panties in a knot if she burned the brownies for the Christmas fundraiser? I kept my doubts to myself, and it was only when Stephenie brought
it up when she was visiting with me that I even aired my views on the subject. We both had all the respect in the world for Pastor Len back then, we really did, and we decided not to breathe a word about how we felt to him or Kendra.
Not that we saw much of Pastor Len in the days directly after that show aired. I don’t know when he found the time to sleep! He wasn’t even there for Bible study that Wednesday; in fact he called me up and asked me to head up the meeting. Said he was driving down to San Antonio to meet with a website designer, wanted to start his own Internet forum to discuss what he called ‘the truth about Pam’, and would only be back late.
I asked him, ‘Pastor Len, you sure you should be messing with the Internet, isn’t it the devil’s work?’
‘We need to save as many as possible, Reba,’ he said. ‘We need to get that message out there however we can.’ And then he quoted from Revelation: ‘ “When Christ returns, every eye shall see Him.” ’
Well, how could I argue with that?
My daughter Dayna showed me the website when it was up a couple of days later: ‘pamelaprophet.com’ it was called! There was this huge photograph of Pam on the main page. Must have been from years before as she looked a good decade younger and at least thirty pounds lighter. Stephenie said that she’d heard that Pastor Len was even on that Twitter and that he was already getting emails and messages from all over.
Well, a week or so after the website was up and running, the first of what Stephenie and I privately called the ‘Lookie-Loos’ started showing up. At first, they were mostly from the neighbouring counties, but when Pastor Len’s message went ‘viral’ (which is what Dayna says it’s called), Lookie-Loos from as far away as Lubbock arrived. Congregation just about doubled overnight. That should have made my heart sing, so many being called to the Lord! But I will admit, I still felt a sense of doubt, especially when Pastor Len got a banner made up for outside the church, ‘Sannah County, Home of Pamela May Donald,’ and started calling his flock the Pamelists.
A lot of the Lookie-Loo folks also wanted to see Pamela’s house, and Pastor Len was talking to Jim about charging an entrance fee, so that he could use the money to ‘advertise the message far and wide’. Not one of us thought that was a good idea, and I felt it was my duty to take Pastor Len aside and air my concerns. Jim may have taken Jesus into his heart, but he was drinking more than ever. Sheriff Beaumont was forced to give him a warning for DUI once or twice, and whenever I drove over to fix him something to eat, he stank like he’d been bathing in whiskey. I knew Jim wouldn’t be able to cope with strangers bothering him day and night. I was mightily relieved when Pastor Len agreed with me. ‘You’re right, Reba,’ he said. ‘I thank Jesus every day that I can always count on you to be my good right hand.’ And then he said we should keep a closer eye on Jim, as ‘he was still struggling with his demons’. Me and Stephenie and the rest of the inner circle drew up a rota so we could make sure he was eating and check that the house didn’t fall into disrepair while he went through his mourning period. Pastor Len was keen to get Pam’s ashes flown back to the US as soon as they’d finished their investigations, so that we could hold a proper memorial service for her, and asked me to find out when Joanie was going to send them. Jim wouldn’t even hear me out on this matter. I can’t be sure–he wasn’t one to tell you anything, even when he wasn’t under the influence of alcohol–but I don’t think he’d even spoken to his daughter. You could see plain as day that he’d just given up. Folks would bring him meals and fresh milk, but a lot of the time he just left them to rot; didn’t bother putting them in the refrigerator.
It truly was a whirlwind couple of weeks, Elspeth!
After he set up that website, Pastor Len would call me or Stephenie up almost every day, saying how the signs he’d predicted were coming thick and fast. ‘You see on the news, Reba?’ he’d say. ‘There’s that foot and mouth disease in the UK. That’s a sign that the faithless and ungodly are being stricken with famine.’ Then there was that virus that hit all the cruise ships–the one that spread to Florida and California–which had to mean that plague was rearing its ugly head. And of course as far as war was concerned, well, there’s always plenty of that, what with those Islamofascists our poor brave marines have to contend with and those deranged North Koreans. ‘And that’s not all, Reba,’ Pastor Len said to me. ‘I been thinking… how about the families those three children are living with? Why would the Lord choose to place his messengers within such households?’ I had to admit there was something in what he was saying. Not only was Bobby Small living in a Jewish household (although I know the Jews have their place in God’s plan) but Stephenie said she’d read in the Inquirer that he was one of those test-tube babies. ‘Not born of man,’ she said. ‘Unnatural.’ Then there were those stories about the English girl being made to live with one of those homosexuals in London, and the Jap boy’s father making those android abominations. Dayna showed me a clip of one of them on that YouTube; I was shocked to my very core! It looked just like a real person, and what did the Lord say about making false idols? There was also all that ungodly talk about evil spirits living in that forest where Pam’s plane crashed. I did feel sorry for Pam, dying in such a horrible place. They do believe strange things in Asia, don’t they? Like those Hindus with all those false gods that look like animals with too many arms. Enough to give you nightmares. Pastor Len put all of this up on his website, of course.
I can’t quite recall exactly how long it was after Pastor Len’s message started going viral that Stephenie and I went over to the ranch to visit with Kendra. She’d taken Snookie home with her, and Stephenie said it was our Christian duty to check that Kendra was coping. We both knew she had problems with her nerves and both of us had discussed at length how she seemed to be getting worse lately, what with all the Lookie-Loos flooding into town. Stephenie took along one of her pies, but to be honest, Kendra didn’t look that pleased to see us. She’d just given that dog a bath, so it didn’t stink too bad, and she’d even tied a red ribbon round its neck like it was one of those celebrities’ pets. All the time we were there, Kendra barely took any notice of us. Just kept fussing with that dog as if it was a baby. Didn’t even offer us a Coke.
We were just about to leave when Pastor Len came roaring up in his pick-up. He sprinted into the house, and I’ve never seen anyone looking as pleased with themselves as he did that day.
He greeted us, then said, ‘I’ve done it, Kendra. I’ve done it!’
Kendra barely took any notice, so it was up to me and Stephenie to ask him what he meant.
‘I just got a call from Dr Lund! He’s invited me to talk at his conference in Houston!’
Stephenie and I couldn’t believe our ears! We both watched Dr Theodore Lund’s show every Sunday, of course, and Pam had been real jealous of me when Lorne bought me a signed copy of Sherry Lund’s Family Favourites recipe book for my birthday.
‘You know what this means, don’t you, hon?’ Pastor Len said to Kendra.
Kendra stopped fussing with that dog and said, ‘What now?’
And Pastor Len grinned fit to burst and said, ‘I’ll tell you what now–I’m finally gonna be playing with the big boys.’
The following article, by British journalist and documentary filmmaker Malcolm Adelstein, was originally published in Switch Online magazine on 21 February 2012.
I’m standing in the gargantuan lobby of the Houston Conference Centre, where the annual End Times Bible Prophecy Convention is taking place, clutching a Bible with a fly-fisherman on the cover, and waiting for a man with the unlikely name of Flexible Sandy to finish publicising his latest novel. Despite an entrance fee of five thousand dollars, the conference attracts thousands of attendees from all over Texas and beyond, and the parking lot is filled with Winnebagos and SUVs sporting number plates from as far afield as Tennessee and Kentucky. I also seem to be the youngest person here by a good couple of decades–a sea of grey hair undulates around me. It’s safe to say I’m more than a bit
out of my comfort zone.
Felix ‘Flexible’ Sandy has a colourful background. Before his conversion to evangelical Christianity in the early seventies, he’d enjoyed a successful career as a contortionist, trapeze artist, and circus impresario–a fire and brimstone Southern version of P.T. Barnum. After Flexible’s biography, A High-Wire to Jesus, was a bestseller in the seventies, the legend is that rising Bible Prophecy star Dr Theodore Lund approached him to write the first in a series of fictional End Times themed books. Written in fast-paced Dan Brown-style prose, the series details what will happen after the Rapture occurs and the world’s saved literally disappear in the blink of an eye, leaving the earth-bound non-believers to contend with the Antichrist–a character who has an uncanny resemblance to former UK prime minister Tony Blair. Nine bestselling books later (it is estimated that over 70 million copies have been sold), Flexible Sandy is still going strong. He also recently launched his own website: ‘rapturesacoming.com’, a site that tracks global and national disasters in order to let members know (for a small fee of course) how close, on any given day, we might be to Armageddon. With his wiry frame and perma-tanned skin, eighty-year-old Flexible exudes the vigour of someone half his age. As he deals with the snaking line of devoted fans that stretches in front of him, his smile doesn’t slip one iota. I’m hoping to persuade Flexible to take part in a documentary series I’m producing about the rise of the American End Times Movement. For the last few months I’ve been emailing his publicist–a brittle, efficient woman who has been eyeing me distrustfully since I arrived–to set up a meeting. Last week she hinted that I might get a chance if I turned up in Houston at the conference where he would be launching his latest book.