by Ren Hamilton
“Me too Joey,” he lied.
As if summoned, Kelinda came flowing into the kitchen wearing a black Lycra jumpsuit with hot pink butterflies on it. She went to the refrigerator and didn’t seem to notice Patrick. She stood with her back to them, fumbling around with a carton of yogurt. Her once long silken hair was a festival of hot pink spikes. Patrick couldn’t believe the change in her.
Joey glanced back, watching Kelinda struggle with the lid of her yogurt. “Kelinda?”
“What the fuck do you want, Joey?” she said without turning around.
Joey grinned at Patrick and winked. “Oh Kelinda, pumpkin? Look who’s here, sweetie.”
Kelinda turned to him with a tired sneer. Her jaw dropped when she saw Patrick, as well as the yogurt she was holding. It fell to the floor with a splat, thick gobs of blueberry goop shooting out in sticky streaks all over the tile.
Patrick offered her a mechanical wave. “Hi.”
Her eyes turned to Joey. “What’s he doing here?”
“Visiting. Aren’t you happy to see him? Pumpkin?”
Kelinda sighed, shaking her head at Patrick. “You should have stayed away,” she said, looking strangely sad. Her gaze shifted to Joey. “I hate you.”
“I know you do,” Joey said, yawning.
Kelinda abruptly left the room. Patrick heard the front door slam as she went outside.
Joey smiled at Patrick. “She’s overcome with emotion.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Shep took Patrick out through the back yard and into the fields with the purpose of familiarizing him with operations. They hadn’t gotten twenty yards and Patrick was already awestruck. Everything was different. He’d spent time on this property years ago while Joey’s parents were still alive. Charles and Marie Duvaine had allowed Joey to spend weekends in the guesthouse with his friends. Now that same guesthouse was surrounded by a herd of tents and a flurry of activity as people went in and out, hauling supplies.
They busied themselves like ants, crawling here and there across what was once an empty stretch of rolling green fields. Patrick remembered looking out onto those same fields when he was still a student and thinking how lucky Joey’s family was to have such an abundance of untouched land and natural forest. The fields were no longer vacant. Stalks of tall plants the color of red clay swayed gracefully in the breeze, bending rows of bushy heads as far as the eye could see. He gazed ahead at the sea of plants, trying to see something ominous in them.
He walked alongside Shep, taking in the spring air, which held an unusual scent. It was the plants. They smelled vaguely like burning rubber. Shep’s curls blew wildly in the wind, whipping against his suntanned skin as he led Patrick over to the guesthouse. Patrick wanted to ask him about the plants and a thousand other things, but he was on sensory overload. His head twisted in all directions as he took in the sights.
There were strangers everywhere. They greeted Shep enthusiastically as he came upon each section. Shep exchanged witty repartee or gave instructions as he went. Patrick couldn’t count how many people there were. Shep had said there were under a hundred, but they were so spread out it seemed like more. Looking off into the distant expanse of crop fields, Patrick saw silhouettes of bodies moving amongst the rows.
They stopped in at the guesthouse, which looked nothing like the cozy cottage style flop Patrick remembered from his early twenties. All the furniture had been cleared out, replaced with rows of bunk beds. Aside from the fleet of beds, there didn’t seem to be much of anything but boxes of food supplies and farming equipment. They left the guesthouse and continued their stroll, making their way farther back into the fields.
A stretch of open lawn past the guesthouse was being utilized as a makeshift parking lot, where a fleet of large white box trucks sat in rows. They each had the words “Arcania Quality” printed along the side in dark green lettering, with a little drawing of a sprout as a logo. Patrick felt his stomach tighten, remembering his conversations with Agent Litner.
The crops were divided into sections that were manned by a group of six followers. Of this group, four people scurried around within the rows of crop, prodding the earth or examining the bushy heads of the plants with gloved hands. The other two of the company stood guard, one on either side of the field. These people were armed, wearing menacing looking guns in shoulder holsters over their light clothing. Patrick could hold his tongue no longer. He turned to Shep, who was busy pulling his windblown curls back into a red bandana. “Shep, what the hell is this stuff, and why are you growing so much of it?”
“It’s grain, part of an investment project Joey’s entered.”
“What kind of investment?” Patrick asked.
“Have you heard of a company called Arcania Foods? They distribute wheat and grain products to food manufacturers.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Patrick said cautiously.
“Well, Joey owns the company now. It had proven extremely lucrative for Charles, so Joey thought it would be a good investment. They used to be a fairly small distributor, but their client list has grown considerably in the past five years. They have clients all around the world now.”
Patrick looked back over his shoulder at the fleet of white trucks growing smaller the farther out they trekked. What didn’t make sense was why Joey would go to the trouble to actually grow crops on his own land for this company. “But, Arcania has been around for a while, Shep. Don’t they have their own grain farms?”
“Oh, sure they do. All this product is supplemental.”
“Supplemental for what?” Patrick asked.
“The crop you see here is going to provide a surplus for Arcania. This is all for charity.”
Patrick did a double take at Shep, who was smiling and waving at the field workers as they passed. “Charity? You? Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I kid you not. It was Joey’s idea. Hell, combined, we’ve got more money than God now. We wanted to do some good. Give back. Is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, yes, actually,” Patrick said.
Shep stopped dead and stared at Patrick. He looked genuinely hurt. “We’re not the monsters you think we are.”
Patrick glanced over at one of the young men who wore a gun strapped to his body. The security measures seemed awfully tight for a crop of grain that was not even going to fetch a price, and he said so to Shepherd.
“The guns aren’t to protect the plants!” Shep said. “They’re to protect Joey! Someone tried to shoot him recently. If you were a sniper and you wanted to sneak onto the property, what would be the best way to hide yourself?”
Patrick saw what he was getting at. “In the crop fields.”
“Exactly. We need to protect Joey and ourselves from any and all potential threats. There are a lot of weirdoes out there, Obrien. You can’t be too careful.”
Yes, Patrick thought. There are also a lot of weirdoes in here. Patrick’s fingers reached out to brush the head of one of the plants. Shep grabbed his hand roughly before it made contact. “Don’t touch that please. The oils in your hand could contaminate it.”
Patrick pulled his hand back and glanced again at the gun-toting follower who stood guard. The man gazed at Patrick suspiciously, then saw that he was with Shep and turned away. Getting a sample of this stuff wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d thought.
Shep periodically stopped along their surveillance walk to chat with followers and introduce them to Patrick. After each encounter, Shep would give Patrick a short profile of the person he’d just met, including what they’d done for a career before joining Forest Bluffs. To Patrick’s amazement, there were doctors, artists, mechanics, and a wide variety of other intelligent, seemingly normal folk. They did not appear to be missing their former lives. They’d given themselves over to a hippie style, wearing mostly loose cotton clothing with a lot of tie-dye. It was like living in Shepville.
A little pixie of a brunette with a hea
d of short brown hair came leaping forward to greet Shep. Patrick went cold. It was the girl from the cave, the one who’d administered painkillers to the wounded Klee. “Shepherd! I solved the water problem in the third sector, and I found that box of supplies you were looking for last week.”
“Thank you, love. Patrick, this is Brin-Marie. Brin has been quite an asset to our little group out here.” The girl beamed proudly at the compliment. She looked like she was waiting for a puppy treat. “Brin-Marie used to work as a nurse,” Shep added.
Well, that made sense. Shep was using her medical skills to his own advantage. Patrick wondered if Brin-Marie ever imagined while she was back in nursing school that she’d be treating a wing amputation one day. Judging by her behavior, she didn’t seem to mind.
“Pleased to meet you,” Patrick said, and offered her his hand. She pulled the rubber glove off her right hand and gave Patrick a quick, indifferent shake.
“Brin, did you hear me? This is Patrick,” Shep said to the girl. When she didn’t react, Shep gave her a knowing look. “Patrick Obrien,” he added.
Realization flashed across her obedient face, and she turned to Patrick. “Oh! Oh my. Welcome Patrick! We’re so happy to have you here!”
“As you can see,” Shep said to her, “I’ve solved a few problems of my own.”
“I guess you have,” she said, smiling at Patrick like he was the answer to some prayer.
* * * *
Patrick’s unease spread as other people made his acquaintance in the same enthusiastic fashion, as though they’d all been waiting for him. Strange behavior aside, the followers were conscientious workers, and none seemed to question for a moment what their purpose was in the little camp. Each section of fields was run in an almost military fashion, with each member of the group carrying out a specific task without question. Shep was in control of these people. He could see it in their eyes. They agreed with every statement he made, laughed too loudly at his jokes, and followed his orders to the letter.
Efficient as they seemed, the image of normalcy shattered later that morning when Joey came out to give his sermon. At the first sight of Joey, they morphed into something weird and mindless.
The followers had organized themselves into a crowd at the center of the open field, waiting. They stood rapt watching as Joey approached with his entourage: Russell, Kelinda, Allisto, Margol, and Klee. Joey wore a long white priest’s robe, and Patrick had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. Joey turned and beckoned Patrick with his arm to join his little fiefdom. Patrick reluctantly followed, feeling like he should be playing a flute or waving a banner. In his mind he heard drums beating, and baroque music announcing the arrival of the king.
The three brothers immediately took up posts along the sides of the fields, relieving the guards so that all of the followers could attend the sermon. There was an eerie silence among the crowd. They stared at Joey, their faces dazed and dreamlike. It was almost a sexual gaze, mixed with a blankness that looked drug induced. Patrick felt embarrassed for the followers, and for himself. He tried to slink back a little, but Shep immediately noticed and pulled him forward. “Stay right with Joey,” he said softly.
Patrick gave Shep a wary look, which he ignored. Apparently, the fact that Patrick was Joey’s official protector was now out in the open. Patrick stepped up alongside Joey, feeling like the biggest ass in the world. Kelinda stood on the other side of Joey like a delicate pink queen. Shep was off to one side with Russell, both of them silent with heads bowed. They remained like that for what seemed like ten minutes, the crowd of five facing the crowd of sixty.
The followers waited patiently, eyes focused on Joey with a combination of awe and something like hunger. Finally, Joey lifted his arms, and Patrick saw a visible change come over him. He made his face serious, his eyes scanning the crowd purposefully, as though he’d look each one of them in the eye. “Let us pray,” he said finally, and lowered his arms. The followers bowed their heads in response.
“My friends. My wonderful, wonderful friends. You don’t know what it means to see you all here. It humbles me, and yet sets me ablaze with a fiery hope!”
Patrick stared at Joey. He’s acting. He’d never seen him execute such a presence as this. It was mesmerizing and weird and cringey, and Patrick couldn’t take his eyes off him. In an instant, Joey had become a different person.
“We come together once again to thank the fate that brought us here, to the minds that ask the questions, and to the hope that seeks the answers.” The young men and women smiled up at him as though he was showering them with pearls of wisdom. “And now that we are charged with the tasks that lead us into the searching, we shall be assured that all debts will be paid, and the faithful will be born unto the sanctity of the land!”
The crowd broke into cheers and a chorus of amens and hallelujahs. Patrick had another moment where he was so afraid he was going to laugh that he bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood. To distract himself he looked off into the distance where Allisto, Margol and Klee were supposedly guarding the perimeters of the fields. They were engrossed in a friendly competition of who could spin their gun into the air and catch it with the most accuracy.
Klee was amusing to watch, as his walk was the most awkward. He moved with a kind of half skip, like he was walking across hot coals. He was definitely a favorite, a baby sibling. The other brothers seemed overjoyed to be with Klee, tousling his white curls playfully and laughing loudly as they watched him try to catch his gun after tossing it too high in the air.
Patrick was startled out of his observations of the brothers by sudden applause from the crowd. He looked up and found that the entire crowd was focused on him. Joey was looking at him too. Patrick panicked, confused. Joey leaned in and whispered, “Obrien! I just introduced you, you space shot! Wave or something!”
Patrick forced a smile and waved uncomfortably at the crowd. After Patrick’s introduction, the followers formed a single file line and came forward, one by one. Joey placed a hand on each one of their heads and murmured “Bless you.” After which they went on to resume their work in the fields.
The brothers came back across the field to join them as King Joey and his court walked back up to the main house. Russell trailed behind Shep like a puppy. When they got out of range of the crops, Joey let out a loud hoot. “Man I feel good today!” he yelled, and tossed himself into a summersault. He circled back and wrapped an arm around Patrick’s shoulders. “Obrien, my man. I feel so much better now that you’re back with us. So much better. I’m not even drunk!” With this, Joey took off in a sprint up to the house. All the better. Patrick had no idea what to say back to him aside from ‘Hey buddy, nice cult you’ve got here’.
What a bunch of fruitcakes. He wanted desperately to voice this opinion, but he reminded himself that he was supposed to be faking enthusiasm. He thought about the strange red field of swaying plants and wondered how the hell he was going to get his hands on them.
“Party tonight, Obrien,” Shep said. “In your honor. What are you drinking these days?”
“Oh, no. Don’t have a party on my account,” Patrick said. He’d been hoping he could lock himself in his room until the rest of them went to sleep, then sneak out and grab a sprig of that crop. Shep would hear none of it.
“We are having a party tonight, Obrien, and you will be there. You’re the guest of honor. Don’t be a wimp. It’s good for morale.”
“Oh yeah? Whose morale?”
“Everyone’s!” Shep said and darted off after Joey.
Patrick sighed and made his way reluctantly up to the big house. He moved slowly, letting them all get up ahead of him. “This was a bad idea,” he muttered.
“What was a bad idea?” a voice behind him asked. Patrick spun around. It was Klee. He’d trailed behind the others, unable to keep up with their quicker pace. Patrick looked into his questioning, innocent eyes.
“Oh, um, these pants. It was a bad idea to wear these pants. They’re
all dirty now,” Patrick lied, brushing imaginary dirt off his khakis. Klee frowned, his plump mouth forming a perfect pout. Patrick swallowed hard. Klee wasn’t buying it. Perhaps he was not so innocent after all. “What’s the matter, Klee?”
“Your aura is angry, Patrick.”
“What?”
“Your aura is angry. You are frustrated and unhappy.”
Patrick was so stunned by the comment that he couldn’t think of a response. Apparently, Klee had some special abilities, and if Klee had them, Shep might have them too. Patrick would have to watch his emotional levels from now on.
“Don’t you like us, Patrick?” the curly-topped blond asked with heartbreaking sincerity.
“Oh, Klee. I like you very much. Really.” He wasn’t lying. He did like Klee. He was telling the truth, and he let Klee see it in his eyes.
Klee frowned at him a moment longer, then the frown became a smile. Patrick smiled too and patted him on the back. Klee jumped and cried out. “Ahh! Please, don’t touch the back! Painful.”
Patrick yanked his hand back, realizing what he’d done. “Oh, sorry Klee. I’d forgotten that you…hurt your back.”
Klee ran pell-mell up to the house, tee shirt dotted with blood from his oozing back wound. A chill ran down Patrick’s spine, and he looked warily down at the hand he’d patted Klee with. “I’ve got to get the fuck out of here,” he said, and made his way up to the house.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Father Carbone set the tea tray down a little too hard, feeling irritable. Robin and Copie had been bickering since her arrival a half-hour before. Now that Copie had his own unbelievable tale of supernatural proportions, Robin couldn’t resist the urge to challenge him with doubts as he’d done to her and Patrick after their night in the cave. Agent Litner appeared to be relaxing casually in one of the kitchen chairs, but he was going to town on his temple with a pen, a clear sign the bickering was getting to him as well.