The Rapture of Omega (10 page)

I arrived just in time to join them for dinner. Michael made his specialty—lasagna. It was Sean’s first day with us for his three-week summer vacation, and we considered the occasion a reason to celebrate. Sean sat next to Lola, always doting on her like a protective big brother.

Tomorrow would be Lola’s first day of visitation with Paula, and just the mere thought made me nervous. I knew Lola would cry mercilessly when forced to leave with Paula, and, other than having my heart literally ripped out, I couldn’t imagine anything worse.

We all watched a couple of rented movies before putting the kids to bed. I took that brief time alone with Michael to fill him in on my visit with Illeana Barron.

“It’s a religious cult, no doubt about it,” he said, as if I needed confirmation. “And with groups like those, you always need to keep your awareness level up a notch. The only positive thing about the Children of Eden is that its leader is a woman.”

“Why is that a positive thing?” I must’ve missed something.

“For one, women are historically nonviolent. I did some research into the subject when you first brought it up and
found that there are three key parts to a violent cult, one of which is, the leader is male.”

“There are children there that have fumarase deficiency,” I blurted out.

Michael stiffened up and raised an eyebrow at me. “Fumarase? Are you serious?”

“You know what it is?”

“Of course I do. There were always allegations of the deficiency in the deep Appalachian areas, but it was never proven. In fact, there aren’t even any known photographs of a fumarase victim. Are you sure that’s what it was?”

“One hundred percent.”

As I did with Coop, I gave Michael a detailed account. He remained quiet for several minutes, periodically shaking his head.

“Man…I’d really like to see that,” he said finally.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t. Now, finish what you were telling me about a female cult leader. How do you figure she’s less dangerous?”

“It’s not just that, really. Out of all of the cults operating in the United States, very few present a credible threat. There are several factors that need to be weighed to prove a cult is dangerous. One of them is called the Lethal Triad.”

“I read about that in
Project Megiddo.”

“You did?” He seemed surprised.

“Uh-huh. Keep going.”

“Then you know about the three components: being isolated, which you have with Illeana. Then there’s projection. That’s when the members of the cult blame outside parties for their problems. Combine these two components and you get the third: basic, pathological anger. Again, if a cult displays the Lethal Triad, along with other
common factors, it’s time for local law enforcement to be on their guard.”

“What you said before, about the leader being a male. Where does that factor into the triad?”

“That’s one of the common factors that parallel the triad. There are standard characteristics of a violent cult. One of those is the leader is a male who displays extreme paranoia, offensive actions—like harboring weapons, and constant monitoring of the outside. You don’t have any of these with the Children of Eden.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Michael, but I think you’re wrong about the female issue. There are several documented accounts of females committing brutal homicides.”

“True, but not in masses, and usually it’s emotionally driven: battered woman syndrome, postpartum depression, or revenge.”

“Aileen Wuornos was a serial killer,” I challenged.

“She was an exception to the rule, just as the female members of the Manson family were. I said that women were historically nonviolent. I agree wholeheartedly with the reports citing violent crimes by women are increasing because of growing social tensions, but as far as Illeana Barron is concerned, I don’t think you should get overly concerned.” He smiled at me and shook his head. “The signs just aren’t there to prove otherwise, Cee.”

I mulled over Michael’s expert opinion on the Children of Eden. Rarely did I ever question Michael’s expertise about anything, but true to his own words, this was an exception. There was something ominous and disconcerting about Illeana Barron. Frankly, at this point, there wasn’t an expert in the world that could convince me she was anything less than dangerous.

“Did you run a criminal history check on her?”

Michael snapped me back into the present. I simply looked amused by his question.

He laughed. “I know, I’m sorry, of course you did. Anything come up on it?”

“Not even a speeding ticket. Astoundingly enough, she has a degree in business management—of all things. Can you believe it? She’s also, shockingly, married but never mentioned her husband once. His name is Kenneth. I don’t even know if he lives on the farm or not.”

“You see, just another fact that disproves and disassociates her from the Lethal Triad. Most of the notorious cult leaders in history had run-ins with the law at one time or another.”

“Sally Blake and Connie West were clean, too, but her right-hand lady, Francesca Tracy, doesn’t exist: no birth date, social security number, driver’s license, or state identification card.”

“I’m sure she’s using an alias,” he said.

“But why? It’s common practice to use an alias if you’re wanted by law enforcement or you’re trying to disappear.”

“There, you’ve just given yourself a valid reason to keep digging.” He leaned over and gave me a tight squeeze. “I hate to cut this short, but I’m exhausted. Are you ready for tomorrow?”

He referred to Lola’s first visitation with Paula. My lack of response answered his question.

“She’ll be fine, Cee, trust me.” He paused. “Are you coming to bed?”

Surrendering to my own exhaustion, I was more than ready to turn in. Oddly, as paralyzed with fatigue as I was, I slept fitfully most of the night, succumbing to the filtering sunlight around six in the morning. I needed to have Lola awake, fed, dressed, and ready to go when Paula arrived around eight. I spent those two hours with the
glimmering hope that she wouldn’t show. I still hadn’t figured out what her reasons were in wanting Lola, but I knew it wasn’t genuine concern for the child’s welfare. Michael woke up shortly after I did, and was putting his head together with our private detective to make Paula’s string of lawsuits useful. I thought they were simply wasting their time.

Regrettably, she showed. In fact, she was ten minutes early, and she arrived with a caseworker from children services that I didn’t know. I stood at the door making it perfectly clear, without saying a word, that she was not welcome to step foot inside my home. Michael was holding Lola and her diaper bag. Upon Lola’s first sight of Paula, my worst fears came true when she began to cry and clench Michael in a death grip.

I had to force myself to keep calm, for Lola’s sake. I also didn’t want to give Paula the satisfaction. Michael and I had done our best to explain to Lola what would happen today—unquestionably, a difficult task for a two-year-old.

“Mama! No go! No go!” She stretched her arms out to me.

“It’s okay, baby,” I cooed and rubbed her head. “You’ll be home soon. Isabelle and Selina have a big surprise for you when you get home!”

I did my best to smile. After barraging Lola with a series of kisses, I began to fire off a list of questions to the caseworker. I continued to ignore Paula, who stood, glaring at me, wearing the same sour look she had when she first arrived.

“Are you going to supervise
all
eight hours of the visit? Are you going to do a complete and thorough inspection of the home she’s staying at? What about her
trailer
in Texas? Who’s going to check that out?”

Paula winced when I emphasized the word “trailer.” I said it with no other purpose than to piss her off. It clearly worked. The caseworker also seemed annoyed at my interrogation, but answered yes to all of the questions.

“We’ll have the jurisdictional child protective services in Texas conduct the home inspection there. They’ll fax their report to us as soon as it’s completed,” she snipped.

Then, with Lola kicking, screaming, and stretching her arms out for Michael and me, they got into their car and left. I broke within seconds.

“Michael! We have to do something!” I sobbed uncontrollably.

“We are—we will, Cee.” He held me tight. “Just try and keep it together for a little while longer.”

I tore up the stairs with an overwhelming urge to hold Selina and Isabelle. Selina, annoyed to be awakened at such an early hour, grumbled loudly before falling back asleep. I felt somewhat better and was able to get ready for work. Before I left, I stopped in the kitchen to say good-bye to Rena and saw that she had been crying. She pulled a chair next to hers and motioned for me to sit down.

“Sientese por favor,
Miss CeeCee.”

“I’d like to, Rena, but I have to leave for work. Are you okay?”

She nodded and did her best to smile.
“Si.
I hear baby cry when she leave. It make me very sad.”

“Me, too, Rena.” I bent over and gave her a gentle hug before leaving.

I knew ahead of time that this was one of those days that I would be at work in body only. My mind would be with Lola all day.

It was still early when I got to my office, so I was a little surprised to see that Brenda Rader had already left two messages. She wanted to know if anything new had turned up on her husband’s murder, and if I had found out any information about the tattoos. Since the answer was no on both, I didn’t bother calling her back.

Around midmorning, I gave Naomi an excuse about contacting a witness for a case. I decidedly had enough of worrying about Lola and made up my mind to drive by Paula’s friends’ house in Little Kentucky. If I could just get a glimpse of her, no longer crying, I might be able to get through the rest of the day. Luckily, the home she was at was in the newer section of “Lil’ KY” (how the locals refer to it) and at least had doors. By newer, I meant homes that were thirty years old instead of fifty.

I drove down the road that paralleled the back of the house, and sure enough, they were all playing in the backyard. From what I could see, Lola was laughing—having fun. Now I couldn’t decide which was worse.

Regardless, it eased my mind enough that I was able to go back to the office, where Coop waited for me.

July 27

Things are worse! The camp has been unusually restless since that lady cop came poking around. Illeana has been nervous, talking irrationally, or should I say MORE irrationally than normal! She’s outright paranoid. I think I have enough now to put her where she belongs and I’m pretty sure that cop, Gallagher I think her name was, will be the one to do it.

Last night, Illeana had us marching in formation wearing our camouflage uniforms we had bought. She even had the children marching!!! Jake and Ken led the so-called “outsider rebellion training.” No one asked, but it was clear the reason for the training was on everyone’s minds. Illeana said that Eve was coming and with her the outsiders that wanted to keep her hidden. She said her coming will trigger the apocalypse and we needed to be prepared for whatever lies ahead.

Eve needed protecting, which is why all of the guns were purchased and stored in the woods. The guns scare me. The roses are almost in full bloom and the women are preparing to make robes for the coming ceremony. It all looks like we’re preparing for war!! I’m so scared for my children.

Sometimes I still feel unsure, I mostly think of Illeana as a bag of hot air
—I
hope that’s the case. She promised the coming of Eve in three days, never enough time to finish the robes as far as I’m concerned. We’ll have to sew for three days straight, not to mention the cooking and cleaning for the welcoming. Illeana promised us all a seat on the altar of Eden.

I know it’s crap, but I set out to play this game and I fully intend on finishing it!!

R—

Coop had gathered valuable information while I had been out checking on Lola. After our unsettling visit to the farm, he had taken it upon himself to check into the financial details of the land sale and deed to Illeana’s hideaway.

“Guess how much they bought the farm and land for?” he prodded.

“Hit me.”

“One farm and thirty acres of land cost them, exactly, $355,672.00 including taxes.” He crossed his arms and smiled, seemingly proud of his discovery.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!” I was flabbergasted.

“I shit you not—it even gets better.” He mimicked the sound of a drum roll with his tongue. “They paid for it with
cash.”

I dramatically allowed my jaw to drop. None of this made any sense.

“Where do people like that come up with over a quarter of a million in cash?” I let out a low whistle. “We are definitely missing something here, Coop. We need to subpoena their bank records.”

“That won’t work,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Why not?”

“Because, you’ll need to find out the name of the bank they use before the subpoena is even issued. I doubt she’ll give you that information, which means you’ll have to personally serve her with a subpoena duces tecum that orders her to tell you.”

“So? That’ll take less than half an hour to have the prosecutors draw one up.”

“You’re forgetting, we have no
official
investigation right now, so you’ll have a helluva time explaining to the prosecutor’s office why you need one issued. Lastly, I doubt Illeana and the others even use a bank at all. I’ve
been doing some research and found that most radical groups like hers sell off everything they own and pool their money together. Most are antigovernment and won’t even consider using banks.” He laughed slightly. “Hell, Illeana’s probably got a couple hundred grand in cash buried somewhere on that property.”

Sometimes, with the dense and airheadlike observations that Coop comes up with, I forget he is still a top-notch detective. I chewed the end of my pen and considered his theory.

“You might be right, but it certainly won’t hurt to give it a shot,” I reasoned.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you want to do.” He paused, deep in thought. “Off the topic of the Waco wannabes; have you found anything on the
O
yet? Naomi asked me about it earlier.”

“Not a damn thing. I had Michael run it through the FBI database but it hasn’t hit on anything yet. The mystery remains.”