by Mary Eicher
He felt better today. His mother was smiling when she got him dressed that morning, and he hadn’t fussed about having to miss his cartoons. He felt quiet inside and happy. His mother wasn’t crying like she had been since he’d hurt his head somehow.
He tapped his mother on the shoulder and smiled when she put her finger to her lips, telling him to remain quiet. He wasn’t making any noise. No one was. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something to happen. The minister entered and everyone stood to sing Amazing Grace. The little boy began to dance until his mother’s hand gently settled on his shoulder.
The men waited in a plain white van for the first service of the morning to get underway and the last stragglers had joined the assembly in song. The modest wooden church served around fifty congregants and not even a third of them should be attending the special early service. It was the perfect venue for the cult’s escalation.
The lead man braced the wooden door at the entrance and then hurried around to do the same to the back where the minister had entered. The rest of the Servants shed the monk robes and hid their faces behind ski masks. They scrambled out of the van and took their assigned positions. Singing continued to drift from inside the church as they worked. Several windows were open to catch the cool morning air. The leader set a duffel bag below an open window and took out a gas canister. He indicated to his teammate to wait two minutes and then to pull the tab and chuck the canister through the window, which had to be shut immediately.
He hurried around to the other side and took out another canister. Counting time off in his head, he waited and then threw the open canister through the window before slamming it shut. A muffled commotion rose inside the church. The Servants raced back to the van and drove off a short distance to wait the arrival of first responders. Even blocks away, they could hear the screams and the sound of people battering the church doors. The gas ignited when it reached the altar candles and the wood-framed building bulged outward and then exploded with a roar.
The assassins circled the neighborhood in their van while they donned their simple, brown robes once more. Ten minutes later they pulled up to what was left of the building and joined a group of people searching for survivors.
*
Artemis watched the news footage of the San Bernardino atrocity and no longer wondered why so many people believed the Harbinger killed people. Seventeen victims had died in the church. Only the minister and one woman had survived. The minister was in bad shape, but there was hope for his recovery. The woman would never recover from having lost her only child in the explosion. Artemis knew it was the work of the Servants of the Harbinger. Probably everyone knew, she thought, except for the reporters who went before the cameras. The cult was never mentioned.
Lucy showed up late in the afternoon unannounced. She looked haggard. She had spent the better part of the day at the church in San Bernardino, and it had crushed her spirit. Artemis made her some tea to calm her nerves and sat beside her on the couch.
“They left the word Harbinger on the back wall,” Lucy said, clearly distressed by what she had seen. “Jake still won’t let us mention that in our articles. You’d think after something like this we’d finally inform the public. But I have to write a sidebar about the church’s history instead of a real news article. I’m not even pretending to be a journalist anymore.
“It’s an election year,” Artemis offered as explanation. “The politicians are too busy eating their own to deal with a cult. They don’t know where the public stands on the Harbinger much less Uberdorf and his cult of criminals. So, they pretend none of this is happening.”
Lucy looked like she’d been jabbed in the stomach. She shuddered as she thought about the mother who was weeping for her little son. “Did you know there was a kid in the church?”
“I heard. Uberdorf is a monster.” She took Lucy’s hand to comfort her. “Do you really think the Harbinger had anything to do with this?” She nodded to the images displaying on the muted television. “I mean aside from the cult who did it.”
“It’s very hard to get any information, but yes. The minister said it was a special service just for people who had heard the Harbinger even if they weren’t regular members of the church.”
Artemis felt her heart sink. “Then it’s likely all of the victims had been warned. Just like at Lake Isabella.”
Lucy had tears in her eyes. “I can’t prove it. And I don’t know if people really want to know anymore. People seem to have taken sides.”
“You told me the Harbinger wasn’t involved in most deaths. Most people die naturally, right? They never experience the Harbinger.”
Lucy wiped her eyes. “That was months ago. I haven’t checked the stats since then. I mean Jake won’t let me write about it, so I haven’t bothered. But what if it is different now? What if the Harbinger warns everyone who is about to die?”
Artemis got up to get Lucy a tissue. “Then we have become a new species. And I don’t think anyone knows precisely what that means.”
Taking the tissue, Lucy let the tears flow unrestrained. Artemis enfolded her in her arms.
“Bad day, huh?” She kissed the top of Lucy’s head and held her tightly, certain there were worse days to come.
Lucy leaned against her, welcoming the comfort of the embrace. Artemis gave a squeeze and then pulled away slightly.
“We need to wash this day off. How’d you like to go for a swim?”
Lucy shook her head. “I don’t have my suit.”
Artemis was already slipping out of her jeans. “No problem. I never use one. Come on. It’ll do you good.”
The pool was crystal and inviting in the stifling late summer heat. It shimmered like an oasis curving through a lush yard. Lucy stepped out of her jeans and began to unbutton her blouse. Artemis gathered a couple of towels and tossed them at a lounger. Then she removed her T-shirt and stood naked waiting for Lucy.
Seeing her, Lucy couldn’t turn away. Artemis was standing in a relaxed contrapposto pose. She was stunningly beautiful in the slanted yellow sunlight. Her slender body was perfectly proportioned, and she looked like the product of a Michelangelo or Polyclitus. Lucy’s eyes traveled from the firm round breasts to the taut abdomen and on down past narrow hips to long, shapely legs.
“My God!” she whispered as she stared.
Artemis had a similar reaction watching Lucy’s attractive body gradually emerge from her clothes. It made her juices flow and she felt an urgent need to dive into the cool water of the pool.
“Hurry up,” she told Lucy. “Next time come commando.”
Lucy stepped to the edge of the pool where she lowered her foot to test the water temperature. Artemis gave her a playful shove and jumped in beside her. They swam back and forth for a few laps. Artemis held the lead with an effortless stroke while Lucy did her best to keep up.
“Okay, okay. You win,” Lucy sputtered, clinging to the edge of the pool.
“I didn’t know we were racing,” Artemis said, gliding beside her. “You’re supposed to be relaxing.”
Being next to Temmie’s perfect body made Lucy feel anything but relaxed. To create a bit of distance, she pulled herself up and sat on the flagstone edge with her legs dangling in the water.
“Tell me about your parents,” Lucy said. “You never speak of them.”
Artemis did a few back strokes and then dove to the bottom of the pool and retrieved a few soggy leaves. She swam back to Lucy and set them on the side of the pool.
“They were good parents.” She climbed up in a swift graceful motion and sat next to her friend. “Cab and I had a great childhood. We were close, all of us. Our parents loved us. They made sure we studied and learned to work. They called it pitching in.” She wrung water from her hair as she spoke. “I think you’d call them hippies in the best sense of the word.”
Lucy nodded. “You once said they were unique.”
Artemis lowered her head. “They were free thinkers. They didn’t like government or a
ny rules really. They loved their family and did what they wanted. Cab and I were homeschooled until college.”
“Were they wealthy?” Lucy asked, taking in the plushness of their surroundings. The pool was in the middle of a large yard trimmed on three sides with exotic looking plants, very few of which were recognizable to her.
Artemis stood and dove back into the pool. She swam a lap before providing an answer to Lucy’s question.
“They sold things people aren’t supposed to sell.”
“Drugs?”
Artemis gave her a disapproving look. “No. They made potions and gave out information about herbs and such. Things they made themselves. They helped people.”
Lucy tried to read between the words. “But you and Cab decided not to go into the family business. Is that it?”
Artemis swam over and stood in the pool between Lucy’s dangling legs. She put her elbows on Lucy’s open thighs and stared up at her. Placing her hands on the edge of the pool, she flexed her long fingers just beneath light-brown curls covering a sensitive mound. Lucy’s heart began to pound so loudly she felt certain Artemis could hear it.
“My parents weren’t drug lords, Lucy,” Artemis said, looking innocently into Lucy’s wide hazel eyes. “And they weren’t witches either although some people accused them of being that. They were loving, decent people. Cab wanted to be a writer. He was curious and creative. I was the black sheep of the family. I became a lawyer much to my parents’ regret—not that they ever told me how they felt. I think I just wanted to be able to protect them if it ever came to that.”
She backed away and climbed up beside Lucy, pretending not to notice how Lucy’s breathing had grown ragged.
“Did it?” Lucy asked once she’d caught her breath. “Did it come to that? Is that what happened to them?”
“No. They died in a car accident. Cab and I were already out on our own. I moved back here and put the house in a trust. Cab wanted to stay in his place. He had an apartment in the city. He was happy there.” Her voice trailed off at the memory.
“Is that when you became the evil lawyer?” Lucy asked, recovered enough to smirk.
Artemis laughed. “Yes. I was very angry for a while. The man who ran into them, who killed them, got away with it. His lawyer got him off.” Her eyes grew dark. “His lawyer is not a lawyer anymore.”
She slipped into the pool, dragging a sputtering Lucy with her.
*
Governor Sam Hemsley stared down the conference table at his least agreeable staff member. The governor was on edge and his staffer had that “do-the-right-thing” patina so common to ex-military officers.
“The National Guard! You can’t be serious, Henry. I have a reelection to win in a few months and you want me to call out the National Guard. Are you insane?”
Henry Ramos, California’s Surgeon General, didn’t flinch. “There have been several attacks, and people died in the last one. You have the responsibility to…”
“The fact the attacks were made on churches means I cannot possibly use the guard.” The governor glanced around the table, glad to see a few heads were nodding. “A religious dispute is the very last thing I need to get involved in during an election. That’s a no-win situation. No matter what I say I will piss off half the people just for saying it.”
“You haven’t said anything about the cult. What’s it called? The Servants of the Harbinger, I think.”
“He hasn’t said anything publicly concerning the so-called Harbinger at all.” Another staffer came to the governor’s defense. “He let the state legislature take the heat by passing all those process laws. The governor is waiting for the rumor mills to wear themselves out. I, for one, think that’s smart.”
Henry frowned but said nothing more. He knew he was one of only two or three members of the governor’s staff who believed the Harbinger was anything other than mass hysteria. He had brought Dr. Fielding’s report on the incident in Lake Isabella with him to the meeting, just in case an actual discussion broke out. He found the footnote about all the victims having experienced the same phenomenon intriguing. If the governor would open his eyes and examine the data, he’d realize something extraordinary was happening. What had been a SoCal aberration had now reached past Chico and showed no indication of abating.
The governor straightened in his chair and directed a final pronouncement to the now silent staffer. “I’ve made it known that the media should ignore the subject of the Harbinger. I’ve no doubt the myth will die of its own preposterousness soon. The media was largely ignoring the myth anyway. Now, if you’re quite done, I’d like to get down to legitimate business.”
*
Father Doyle stood to greet the two attractive young women, who had asked to meet with him. The tall one was a genuine beauty, built like a model with long black hair and electric-blue eyes. Her companion was a pretty girl as well with a charming smile and warm hazel eyes. He patted their hands as they introduced themselves and instructed his housekeeper to bring them refreshments.
The room was straight out of the ’50s with dark wallpaper, an unpleasant green carpet, and a smell reminiscent of wet dog. It seemed to be sagging beneath the weight of untold sinners who had sought comfort and forgiveness and left the dark spirit of their deeds behind. Artemis struggled with an immediate urge to leave.
“Which one of you is the reporter from the Messenger?” he asked, seating himself in a high-backed chair across from the women.
Lucy raised her hand. “I am, Father.”
“Are you doing an article on our church reconstruction fund?” He was hopeful for any publicity that could assist with his rebuilding fund.
“Sorry, no. We have some questions about church doctrine and thought you might know the answers,” Lucy explained, giving him a fresh smile.
The priest studied his visitors and felt a familiar suspicion arise. It was the same suspicion he held for all attractive women; a projection of the latent desire he had failed to expunge the whole of his long priesthood. Perplexed by the exquisite beauty of the taller woman and the affection for her he noted in her companion, Doyle assumed their questions would involve a lifestyle which he found profoundly anathema.
Artemis recognized the dark musings behind the priest’s otherwise benevolent eyes. “We want to know about the Harbinger,” she said in an effort to redirect the cleric’s attention.
He nodded. “I see. What do you want to know?”
“We are interested in your opinion of the Harbinger.” Lucy began what she intended to be a simple interview.
The priest nodded. “Several parishioners have come to me with a similar question. They wanted to know if the Harbinger comes from God. But neither of you attend my church, and I pray you have not experienced a visit from the Harbinger yourselves.”
Artemis tried to ignore the sense of disgust screaming in her head. She let her eyes roam the dingy little room and spotted a portrait of the current pope on the wall and a plain wooden crucifix affixed behind the priest. “Does that mean you prefer not to talk with us?”
“Most assuredly not!” Father Doyle protested and settled back in his leather chair, his hands grasping the arms tightly. The ever-present pain in his chest had sharpened. “I merely want to understand why two young and obviously healthy women appear to want to know about the Harbinger. I wonder if there is a greater reason God has sent you to me.”
“There isn’t,” Artemis snipped. She narrowed her eyes and nudged Lucy to get on with it. Lucy cast a quizzical look at her partner. It had been Artemis who suggested interviewing the priest for their investigation. The whole thing was somewhat cloak-and-dagger, what with Jake resisting anything to do with the Harbinger. But Artemis had suggested that a follow-up on the church attacks might be an angle he’d allow. Lucy was eager to give it a try.
Doyle adjusted his position in his chair and relaxed the muscles tensed in his back. “My superiors here and in Rome do not believe the Harbinger is real. But I believe the Harbinge
r is a spirit sent by God to help people prepare their souls for entrance into heaven. I believe this because I have no better answer and because I believe in a merciful, loving God.”
Artemis arched an eyebrow above darkening blue eyes. Granting a religious source to the Harbinger was precisely what Jamil Uberdorf was doing. It was what humans had done to their detriment for millennia.
“Did you receive any threats or any kind of warning before your church was attacked?” Lucy continued, oblivious to her partner’s aggravation.
“No. There were a few acts of vandalism before the fire. But nothing that predicted what happened.”
“Have you lost parishioners to the Harbinger cult?”
“Of course not!” Doyle shook his head. “My parishioners see the Harbinger as a blessing, not a reason to abandon the church.”
Artemis turned to Lucy. “Actually, the answer is yes.”
Mystified by Artemis’s surly attitude, Lucy paused before pressing the point. She turned back to the priest and smiled. “Well, many people must have found their faith shaken by the Harbinger, Father.”
“Faith comes from God. Those who hear the word of God and follow His commandments are saved. Those who allow themselves to be seduced are punished.” He directed his eyes to Artemis. “And those who corrupt the innocent are punished most harshly.”
Artemis abruptly stood to leave. “Got it. Thanks,” she responded, taking Lucy by the elbow to hurry her out of the chair. They passed the housekeeper, who was conveying a tray of cookies and coffee to the meeting room. Lucy paused to thank the woman and found herself pushed out of the door by the firm hand at her elbow.
“What is wrong with you, Temmie?” she asked when they got into Lucy’s car. “You’re the one who suggested talking with the priest in the first place.”