Children of the Program (19 page)

              “Dez, I don't have anywhere to go!  I'm like a nomad.  Ash obliterated my heart.  I'm furious with her.  Point is, I've got no real reason to go on.  It wasn't supposed to happen like that, you know?  None of this feels right, but I have no choice but to wake-up and face this reality.  It never fades,” I said.

              “It's why I'm distant.  I stuck my toes in the water and invited Simon.  He didn't seem too tolerant of The Program.  I figured we'd find some common ground.  If he stayed a little longer, we may have been able to save each other.  Everyone else seems to be content living their lives and fully engaged in The Program,” said Dez. 

              “It does seem that way.”

              “We're not.  These friends of mine follow me, because I gave them a backstage pass.”

              “Do they know about The Program?”

              “Yes, I expressed it in a way they could understand.  If you're willing to come out, listen and follow along, without judgment, you're welcome.  If you become uneasy with what I've built and what you hear, I'd appreciate it if you just excused yourself.  What you'll hear is my reality.  It's my world.  That said, I could certainly use a friend.  Most people would see what I've raised as a cult and that's fine.  It's not a cult.”

              Luckily, my steady hand played.  Dez couldn't see a downside to bringing me in; we'd either connect or he'd be one step closer to wiping out The Program.  I knew more than he'd given me credit for.  So long as I continued playing up my dysfunctional relationship with Ash, I had a gateway to staying in good graces.  All I had to do was join and play nice.  “I would be honored.”

chapter 29

shock waves

News of Elisa and Magnus's death sent shock waves through the dwindling Program.  What brought the surviving members alarming pause was the unrelated nature of the four recent deaths.  Knowing Dez hadn't triggered Magnus's unquenchable obsession.  The suspicion surrounding him was again tainted.  The Hallway of Sorrows mounted with tragedy.  Though few news networks missed the opportunity to share the viral coverage of Magnus and Elisa's standoff, Grayson, always the first to know, was tasked with warning and informing his distant comrades.  The gruesome coverage haunted them all.  With twins on the way, Icarus instantly became concerned.  He was excited about the implications of a dual Crystalline delivery and didn't want to compromise Maria's life, or his grand exit from The Program. Knowing a mad season had fallen upon them, he was quick to make concessions.

              “Ben, it's Icarus.”

              “How are the little ones coming along?” asked Ben.

“They are good.  Maria and I would like to bury some neighboring roots.  These months pass like days.  With the chaos surrounding The Program and our lot of tragic deaths, we wanted to be proactive about cloaking her delivery, and shrouding our newborn babies from this traveling beast.  We suspect the other Programmers know of her pregnancy.  It's all a bit unsettling, but we're not taking any chances, especially if there is a western renegade on the loose,” said Icarus.

              “We totally understand,” said Ben. 

              “We'll be moving to Dublin in a month.  We will give you our whereabouts when we arrive,” continued Icarus.

              “Don't give it another thought.  We are happy to help you get situated and show you around,” said Ben.

              “You are our lighthouse.  Thank you for guiding us to safe harbors,” said Icarus.

              “Great passages to you.  We have to stick together.  There's no need to thank us,” said Ben.

              “When they're born, Maria may need to go into hiding.  In which case, our kids will remain with you, until it is safe.  Sadly, I cannot bring my biological family into this without them fearing for our sanity.  It's strange to say, but sometimes being estranged is in everyone's best interest.  Once they've forgotten about the pain of abandonment, they can relearn how to live-in peace!” 

              “How's Maria doing?” asked Ben.

              “She's nervous and getting bigger,” whispered Icarus, afraid Maria might hear him.

              “How do you feel?” asked Ben.

              “I get weaker with each passing day.  I'm not entirely sure what to expect, but if she's truly the one, than these symptoms are telling, and should be documented.  I feel light, and my mind has been consumed by a smothering fog.  I feel lost within my body, and my eyes are like a flickering candle in the tired wind,” said Icarus.

              “Farewell, my friends.”

+++

              Circulating reports of harassment toward others, those who claimed to have birthed miracle or crystal children, began to surface.  Dez’s cult was gaining national media attention and momentum.  Their bravado was amplified by coarse actions.  Acts of violence, vandalism and arson were often marked by Cadence of the Sun business card; a card that included their Taiyo sun symbol and moniker.  Supporters were quick to take the microphone and amplify their plight.  The cult was targeting Programmers, their family members, solicitors of divinity and anyone with pupils with an indigo hue; people presumed to be the direct genetic descendants or mere charlatans, manufacturing dissonance. 

              Though an investigation of the website and its loyal followers was underway, a lack of hard evidence, connecting the recent mischief and murder to the group, shielded Dez from the authorities. Ongoing coverage, leaks from ex-cult members and helicopter runs from various news affiliates began unearthing vivid details about the compound.  The police were poised.  The Cadence could surmise the police were sitting on a loose case, inciting their lust for poking the hive.  The parents who had birthed these special children were nervous and began scouring the Internet for instructions.  The proliferation of disinformation, by people claiming to have birthed these children, blended with outlandish conspiracy theories, mucked the waters of reality and fueled the confusion of the public.  There became a fear of an impending uprising, and a government cover-up.

              These rumblings of a new U.S. cult, with an international reach, were often downplayed.  The government didn't want to fuel the notoriety of its discontents or encourage the unstable to take up arms.  This wealth of reporting also put Grayson's journalistic poise on high alert.  Meticulously, he documented the unfolding chess match between the Cadence and the world.  Grayson knew the merits of his final editorial work would trump the efforts of his predecessors, as he slowly fastened the beginning and middle pieces of his book into place.  As a security measure, he reached across the pond and lassoed the ears of those he feared may be void of breaking news, changed the password of their private website and scrubbed pertinent information from the site, which might put anyone associated with The Program in harm's way.

              “Ash, the cult has surfaced.  They are targeting us and our families.  Anyone claiming to have carried a child of divinity may be in trouble,” warned Grayson.  “I don't know the legitimacy of their claims, but I know they are prevalent, and a spiritual war is unfolding.  Dez wants to burn the world to the ground.”

              “Yes, I heard the whistling wind through the trees, but I've been too consumed with my studio and pregnancy, to pay it mind.  I heard about Juno and Simon.  Have the two been connected, or are we still skeptics, bathing in black soap?” asked Ash.

              “The cult is called Cadence of the Sun.  Leaked information from ex-cult members links them to a town outside of Albuquerque.  Their IP address confirms this.  The ringleader is, of course, Dez.  He's getting 100's or 1,000's of hits per day.  He's built an army of followers.  You need to be careful.  I don't want to write your obituary, darling,” said Grayson.

              “I'll keep a tight ship.”

              “Your secret is safe, though, people who follow your paintings will be quick to assume you are carrying a crystal child.  It only takes an ounce of suspicion to bring the devil to your doorstep.  For all we know, the Cadence of the Sun is there, in wait.  Godspeed.”

              “Thank you, Grayson.”

              Grayson became entranced by the investigation.  He felt the pinch of Father Time and padded his own story with follow-up interviews from the remaining members — feverishly trying to connect the morsels of data needed to help the police arrest the madman.  His ongoing story had been scribed across pizza boxes, napkins and archived in countless emails and word documents.  Taking precautions, he was quick to compile and secure his notes, praying he wasn't next.

+++

              Surprisingly, amidst the chaos, no one took ownership of Juno Vestris’s horrific death, while Simon Peter still remained a missing person.  Their only hope for answers lied in Neco's trip west.  Like Simon, Neco’s conversations with Grayson slowly sputtered out, due to location, time zone and his immediate access to the Internet.  On a busy night, Grayson was interrupted, while tending a beat.

              “I'm in,” said Neco.

              “Neco?” asked Grayson.

              “I'm barricaded in a hotel.”

              “What are you doing there?”

              “Waiting.  I'm told it's the same hotel Simon stayed in.”

              “He's alive?” asked Grayson.

              “Dez said he only stayed briefly, before heading into the desert to find himself, or God?”

              “Simon found you in a vision, remember?  If we are to trust our dreams, he’s already dead,” said Grayson. 

              “I didn't say it made sense, but he was remarkably convincing,” said Neco.

              “I'm not surprised,” said Grayson.

              “The people in this town worship him.”

              “He started a cult, Neco!”

              “I know, I joined, and have been following the story from my room.”

              “That's great!  Are you sure he's not just going to lure you in and kill you?”

              “I'm not sure of anything.  I managed to sell my disdain for The Program, which I'm confident he bought.  If he suspects anything, I
am
dead.” Neco lit a cigarette and kicked rocks in the empty parking lot.  Exhaling, his smoke was consumed by the street lights above.  He could see if headlights were coming, for miles, but no one came.  His detachment from humanity made him feel like he was sharing his final days with an absentee god.  “Right now, I'm worried about Ash.  These people knew about her.  I'm not sure if they know about all of us.  Dez got very uncomfortable when I brought up her name,” said Neco.

              “He knows you can out him.  I just got off the phone with Ash.  I filled her in on everything that's going on and urged her to keep watch.  The password to the site has been changed to 'Children of the Program,' all one word.  I'm avoiding updates and have encrypted a lot of our personal information.  He may have hackers — not that it would take a mastermind,” said Grayson.

              “Exactly!”

              “Neco, I'm going to compile our story and leave a hard copy beneath the floorboards of my kitchen.  If anything happens, we need someone to share our story with the world.  Of course, you will have to wait until the time is right.  We may end up thanking each other in another lifetime, or not, but somehow that's a good thing, right?  It’s
beyond
comprehension.” Grayson joked.

              “You're psyching yourself out, but I promise, if I survive you, I will!” 

              “Be careful, Neco.  I have confidence you'll find Simon's body, Juno's killer and who's next!”

              “With any luck, I'll find a way to end this, permanently.”

+++

              Far from the recent revelations of a cult or Elisa and Magnus's death strolled Rand and Isabella.  As the months passed, the strength of their relationship intimidated the approachability of outside love interests.  Isabella wasn't prepared for what the cosmos had arranged and feared the mere revelation of her gift would jeopardize her friendship with Rand.  With time, it all became painfully evident and impossible to hide.

              “I'm pregnant!” professed Isabella.

              “What?” asked Rand

              “I'm pregnant with your child.”

              “That's not...”

              “It is!  I haven't been with anyone else.”

              “But, I'm...”

              “You're going to be a father.  A beautifully gay father!” she assured.

              Rand leaned over a small arching bridge and began to vomit.  He was in shock.  It wasn't meant disrespectfully, but he was overwhelmed by their financial situation, the impact it might have on their friendship, his faltering sexual preference and the thought of raising his child with the wolves of the night.  She nervously patted his flannel-coated back, hoping he'd lift his head and show a level of composure and excitement.

              “I am going to be a father,” he sniveled, turning to hug her.  He gasped with joy, while tears ran down his grimy face.  Knowing his heart lied with the same sex, he was relieved to know their child would always have a father.  “This child is about you, Isabella.  I love you.  I prayed I could give you something to live for.”  Rand was honored to give her a taste of heaven's mercy and reignite her long forgotten hope.  He wanted to name the child.  “How about Izzy, for a boy, or Isabella, for a girl?”

              “Izzy, I can live with, but I don't want to be a senior,” Isabella joked.  “Look, I know you're scared, but I don't expect you to marry me.  I don't expect you to always be there or to forgo who you
really
are, but I do expect you to try and I trust you will.”

              “Of course?  Where else do I have to go?” asked Rand.

              “Nowhere!”  You're ours.”

              “Dare I ask, how long?”

              “I really have no way of knowing.  If I were to guess, 3 or 4 months.  I had assumed my morning sickness was from the terrible food we'd been fishing from the local trash cans — you know, to survive.  Not to mention, my shape hasn't been the greatest.  I've been practically swimming in these damn rags for months,” said Isabella.

              “We have to call Grayson!” proclaimed Rand.

              “Lead the way, Superman.”