Piercing the Darkness (38 page)

Another woman was present, a short-haired, thin, female attorney from Sacramento, who’d brought a brief from another case the ACFA had finished there.

“You’ll find a lot of useful parallels in this case,” she said, handing it to Jefferson. “If you have any questions, Mr. James will be happy to offer his time and services.”

“Splendid!” Jefferson replied, taking the materials. “I understand Mr. James was able to uncover some persuasive case law in this one.”

“And it’s yours to use as well.”

Claire smiled with gratitude. “Thank you, Lenore. I suppose you know the people in Chicago are watching this one?”

The woman named Lenore smiled. “Oh, of course. So if you find yourselves in any need at all, we’re ready and waiting to send you more manpower, more documents, anything.”

Jon chuckled and clapped his hands. “We’re off and running!”

“And that reminds me,” said Claire, “we’ve been getting a little low
on news items; John Ziegler and the folks at KBZT are always open for more news if we can find it.”

Jefferson responded, “Well . . . the case is pretty much in limbo until the trial.”

Jon asked, “What about Harris’s troubles with the child welfare people?”

Claire shook her head. “We can’t go near that, not yet. The judge ordered the press to stay away from that, and if they try to dig anything up it will look too much like a violation of her order.”

“Well,” Jefferson thought out loud, “if we could find something outside that order, it would help. We need to keep the Christians on the run, keep them hiding.”

Jon joked, “Maybe we could use the child abuse hotline again and get Harris in trouble with someone
else’s
kids.”

“No . . .” said Claire, though she knew Jon wasn’t serious. “We don’t want to start looking obvious, and Irene Bledsoe’s under enough of a load as it is.”

“Well, be patient,” said Lenore. “It’s a gradual process, one case at a time. The consolation is that once we gain the ground, we never lose it again.”

“So time is on our side,” said Jon.

There was a lull in the conversation. All eyes began to drift toward Lucy Brandon, who sat silently, listening to them all.

She returned their gaze, and smiled nervously. “You’re asking me to do a lot.”

Claire chuckled disarmingly. “Oh, it’s not as serious as all that.”

Jon patted her hand. “Don’t worry. There’s too much power represented here for you to be in any real jeopardy. Isn’t that right, Gordon?”

Gordon Jefferson jumped right in. “Of course. Listen, Lucy: these letters are not legitimate mail. They’re from some crank, some sick person who’s been following the case in the media. It happens all the time. Letters like that shouldn’t be delivered anyway.”

Claire added, “But in the meantime, we never know just what or who might be behind them, and we can’t afford to take any risks.”

“That’s right,” said Jefferson. “We don’t know what the letters contain, but we can be sure that your case will not be helped in any way if Tom Harris should ever receive them.”

Lucy sat there thinking about it, but still seemed unconvinced.

“Well,” asked Claire, “how many have there been now?”

“The second one came in just yesterday.”

“What did you do with it?”

“I still have it ‘on hold.’ I wanted to talk to you first.”

“That was smart.”

Jefferson concurred. “Real smart. You see, Lucy, we could be dealing with some pretty shady people in this case. You never know what kind of stunt they might try to pull.” Then he added in a slightly quieter voice, “Also, consider the stakes involved. If you should win this case, there would be quite a bundle of money in it for you.”

“But money aside,” Claire added, “think of all the children this case could affect in the future. If we’re ever going to build a future of peace and world community, we must deal with the Christians; we must remove their influence upon the upcoming generations. It’s for their own good, for the good of humanity.”

“But what about Amber?” Lucy asked.

Jefferson was quick with an answer. “You know, Lucy, I don’t think you even have to worry about that. Dr. Mandanhi can present reports and testimony on Amber’s behalf, and she’ll never have to go anywhere near the courtroom. We’ll be able to insulate her from this case altogether.”

“That would be nice.”

“Well, we’ll just play it that way.”

Claire spoke with great sincerity in her voice. “Really, if we thought this was going to be harmful to Amber, we wouldn’t pursue it. It’s the children we’re concerned about, after all.”

“Right, absolutely,” said Jon.

Lucy finally smiled and nodded. “All right. I just wanted to be sure, that’s all.”

“No problem,” said Claire.

“We understand,” said Jon.

Jefferson doublechecked. “You do have the address for forwarding the letters?”

Lucy thought she remembered. “The Summit Institute, right?”

“Right.”

“I have it in my private files. I’ll send the letters off as soon as I get
them.”

They all nodded their approval. “Excellent, excellent.”

THE MUSIC PLAYED
on, the discussions continued, the humming and chanting made the windows buzz. All in all, LifeCircle was having a fruitful day.

So was Marshall Hogan. It hadn’t taken him too long to drive slowly by the house and past all those parked cars, chattering into a small tape recorder in his hand. “GHJ 445, HEF 992, BBS 980, CJW 302 . . .”

In just two passes, he had them all.

CHAPTER 21

Dear Tom,

I want to know something for sure. Right now I don’t.

Blame it on pride. When I first entered high school I relished what I was taught: that I was the ultimate authority in my life, the final arbiter of all truth, the only decider of my values, and that no prior traditions, notions about God, or value systems had any authority over my will, my spirit, my behavior. “Maximum autonomy,” they called it. Such ideas can be very inviting.

But there was a catch to all this freedom: I had to accept the idea that I was an accident, a mere product of time plus chance, and not only myself, but everything that exists. Once I bought that idea, it was impossible to believe that anything really mattered, for whatever I could do, or create, or change, or enhance, would be no less an accident than I was. So where was the value of anything? Of what value was my own life?

So all that “maximum autonomy” wasn’t the great liberation and joy I thought it would be. I felt like a kid let loose to play in an infinitely huge yard—I started to wish there was a fence somewhere. At least then I would know where I was. I could run up against it and tell myself, “I’m in the yard,” and feel right about it.
Or I could climb over the fence, and tell myself, “Oh-oh, I’m outside the yard,” and feel wrong about it. Whether right or wrong, and with infinite freedom to run and play, I know I would still stay near the fence.

At least then I would know where I was. I would know something for sure.

Sally was in the town of Fairwood, a small burg along a major river, a fairly busy shipping port for that part of the state. Even though the Omega Center was only a half-hour, winding drive into the hills above the town, she had lingered and hidden here for the weekend, getting to know the place again, walking its streets by day and spending the cool nights in the woods down by the river.

The town had not changed much in ten years. There was a new mall at the north end of the main thoroughfare, but every town has to have a mall sooner or later. As for the city center, all the stores remained the same, and even the Stop Awhile Lunch Counter was still there, with the same jukebox and ugly blue formica-topped counter. The menus were new, but only the prices were different; every page still carried the same logo and the same meals.

She was remembering things. She was bringing it all back. The park in the middle of town was just the way she remembered it. The wading pool was empty and dry, waiting for warmer weather, but kids were playing on the swings and monkey bars, and Sally considered how the playground was the same but the kids were different; it wouldn’t be too long before the children who were there ten years ago would be sending
their
children down to the same park to play on the same swings.

It’s really not a bad town. I can’t blame it for the feelings it evokes in me, the strange conflicts I feel. In this one place are hidden my happiest and my most bitter memories, side by side. Both have been buried so long, obliterated by drugs, by delusion, by altered states of consciousness, that I’ve forced myself to remain here to revive them. I must remember.

She was being followed by friends. From atop the First National
Bank building across the street, Tal, Nathan, and Armoth kept watch as she sat on a bench in the park, writing another letter.

“She hasn’t found it yet,” said Nathan. “I don’t think she wants to. She’s been down every street but the right one.”

“She wants to find it, but at the same time she doesn’t, and I don’t blame her,” said Tal. “But we’ll have to help her. With our present tactics, we can only hold that motel room open for today.”

“She’s moving again,” said Armoth.

Sally was putting her notebook back in her duffel bag and preparing to move on.

Nathan surveyed the skies over the town. “Destroyer’s scouts are still around. They must know we’re here.”

Tal agreed. “They simply aren’t afraid of us. But I consider that an advantage. I would prefer them to be very confident.” Then he saw Sally turning to the right on Schrader Avenue. “Oops! No, Sally, not that way.”

They unfurled their wings and leaped from the building, floating down over the tops of passing cars, banking silently around the corner, and settling to the sidewalk on either side of this singular, weary traveler. She seemed a little perplexed, not knowing which way to go.

Nathan spoke to her,
No, Sally, you’ve already been this way. Turn around.

She stopped.
Oh, brother, I’ve already been down this street, and it was a bore.

She turned around and followed Schrader the other way, crossing several streets, passing other pedestrians, always looking over her shoulder.

The three warriors walked with her, staying close.

Sally looked around as she walked. No, she hadn’t been this way yet. Some of the storefronts looked kind of familiar.
Oh! That flower shop! I remember that!

Then, finally her eyes caught a sight she hadn’t seen—or wanted to see—in ten years. Up ahead, on her side of the street, was a large, rectangular sign, SCHRADER MOTOR INN, and below that a smaller sign, KITCHENS, DAILY, WEEKLY, MONTHLY RATES. She stopped dead in her tracks and gazed at that sign, spellbound.

It hadn’t changed. That motel was still there!

Tal came up close behind her.
Steady, Sally. Don’t run.

She wanted to run, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to face this memory, but still she knew she had to.

If you want to know the truth
, said Tal,
you must face it even if it’s painful. You’ve run long enough.

She stood still in the middle of the sidewalk as if her shoes were glued to the pavement. She began to remember more and more of this place. She’d walked down this sidewalk before, many, many times. She’d visited that flower shop. There was a True Value Hardware on the corner, but now she remembered it used to be a variety store.

She started walking again, slowly, drinking in every sight. These planters were new; it used to be just a bare curb here. That parking lot across the street had undergone a change in management, but it was still a parking lot.

The Schrader Motor Inn was the same, a large, sixty-unit motel of three stories, L-shaped, with parking in front and around the back. It wasn’t a high-priced place, nothing fancy, no swimming pool. The motel may have been painted; she wasn’t sure about that. The entrance to the office looked the same as she remembered, and still had the large breezeway jutting out across the entrance.

She looked up at the third story, and scanned all the blue doors facing the iron-railed balcony. Yes. She could see Room 302 down near the end.

It had been her home for almost ten months. Such a short period of time, and so long ago!

Even as she passed under that breezeway and stepped up to the office door, she felt she was being a bit irrational. What purpose could such an action serve? Why dig up the past? None of this was necessary.