Prometheus Wakens - 15. Chapter 15: Universal Fundamentalist Church, Boulder, Colorado

Chapter 15: Universal Fundamental Church
Boulder, Colorado

Whittaker had been a dryad for only a few weeks when he sent word that he wanted to talk to me. It was mid-morning and I was scanning paperwork associated with some of our new bank accounts when the dryad-of-the-day, an Ash, brought the message.

“Maple, I mean Princeton Gold . . . uh, Whittaker, wants to speak to you, and asks if he might visit.”

Happy to have an excuse to put down the paperwork, I said, “Of course.” Before the words were spoken, Whittaker popped onto the patio.

“Hello, Whittaker. Or should I call you Princeton Gold?” I asked. I stood, looked into his eyes, and then took his hands. “Be welcome, Whittaker and be always welcome, as are all your brothers. Neither you nor they need ever ask.” That got me a very intense kiss!

“Lucas? You told me that I might find a reason to help, something I could do? I think I’ve found it, and it’s not just working in the groves.”

I gestured to the table. We sat, and Ash poured coffee for me, and juice for himself and Whittaker. Whittaker scanned the table. Ash must have caught something, because he asked. “Something missing, Whittaker?”

“Um, I don’t suppose there’s any bacon left,” Whittaker mumbled.

Ash giggled and ran to the kitchen while I thought about what was happening. Ash returned with two bacon sandwiches on a plate. Whittaker blushed, but that didn’t stop him from taking a huge bite of one of the sandwiches.

“Whittaker,” I said, after he’d swallowed about half of a sandwich. “I didn’t think you got nourishment from regular food?”

“Uh, actually, no,” he said. “But it’s so good!”

Ash and I listened. Between bites, Whittaker told us why he’d come.

“There’s a boy back in my old world who needs help, and I think I can help him. At least, I want to try.”

It took the rest of the bacon sandwiches, and then quite a bit of juice and coffee for us to get through Whittaker’s story.

Earth Analogue VII (Lucas’ Old Reality)

The Boulder, Colorado Universal Fundamental Church Men’s Thursday Prayer Group—not to be confused with the Wednesday night Bible Meeting, the Tuesday night Prayer Circle, the Friday Singing, the Sunday Vespers, the Monday Family-at-Home, or the Saturday Sports League Supper for the Entire Family—met in the sanctuary. The women’s group and the children were relegated to the basement assembly hall. The men sat in polished wooden pews with cushions; the women and older children, in hard, metal folding chairs. The children sat cross-legged and fidgeted on mats in one corner.

The children knew not to misbehave; two of the Deacons stood nearby. They held long poles with a hard, wooden knob on one end and a feather on the other. If one of the children were inattentive or unruly, a Deacon would reach out and knock the child on the head. If one of the women seemed to be falling asleep, he would tickle her face with the feather. The women knew not to fidget, or object to the feathers. If they did, their husbands would hear of it.

What mattered, however, was what happened upstairs.

“Brethren,” the Reverend Peter Finger began. “Brethren, a great victory has been won. The unholy work at the laboratory on the university campus has been halted, perhaps destroyed. Our pledge to God that we will thwart the homosexual agenda at every turn has once again been fulfilled. Let us pray.”

Reggie bowed his head with the others. Inwardly, however, he seethed with emotions that he barely understood. What homosexual agenda? The only agenda I know is the one that the UFC has planned, and I’m not even sure what all that means. When they win, they make themselves out to be warriors of God; when they lose, they’re martyrs to God. There’s something wrong with all they’re saying, but I’m not sure—”

Reggie’s thoughts were interrupted by Reverend Finger’s Amen. He raised his head with the other men. Men, he thought. I’m sixteen. You have to be eighteen to join the Men’s group. They invited me—no, they drafted me—after Daddy died. Like I’m supposed to take his place. I wonder if they really knew Daddy.

After the meeting, the men shared coffee and cookies in the manse, served by the women who had come from the basement after their own meeting. Reggie spotted his mother, but was unable to reach her. He was intercepted by Reverend Finger.

“Reggie? We’re mighty glad you joined the Men’s Prayer Group,” he said. “You know, don’t you, that your daddy was an important part of our group. We hope you will be just as important.”

“Yes, sir, Reverend Finger,” Reggie said, but he thought, Reverend, my ass. He’s selling snake oil; always has been. Now, where did that come from?

“I understand that you’re looking for work.” Finger said.

“I need something, part-time, after school,” Reggie said. “Without Daddy, Mama’s hard pressed to make ends meet.”

“Reggie, I have something in mind, but it would be during the day.” Finger saw doubt in Reggie’s eyes, and added, “We’d see that you would get a GED, and then take college courses. At the same time, you’d be bringing in income for your mama.”

Reggie

It was hard to turn down the Reverend’s offer. Finally, I agreed to go with him next day to a job interview. It would mean cuttin’ classes, but since it was with the Reverend, I guessed it would be okay.

Reverend Finger stopped his car across the street from a building that had a sign reading, “Family Planning.” I knew what that sign meant: it was an abortion clinic, something the Reverend preached against. It was something evil.

“Reverend Finger, you don’t mean for me to ask for a job—” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Yes, Reggie, I do.” He looked at me right hard. “Reggie? We need someone on the inside. We need someone to watch what they’re doing. We need someone to gather evidence. We need someone who will Put on the full armor of God that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. ”

“New Testament,” I said. “Ephesians?” I wasn’t sure.

Reverend Finger smiled. “I knew you were a good choice. Ephesians 6:11.”

Then he handed me a driver’s license. It was made out in my name, and had my picture on it. And, it said I was eighteen.

“Uh, I don’t know how to drive,” I said. And then realized how stupid that sounded. And then wondered how they’d gotten a drivers license for me. I recognized the picture: it was from the church directory, but—

“You won’t be driving, Reggie. You just need it to show that you’re old enough to work full-time.”

It wasn’t any problem getting the job, and I started the next day. At first, it was just janitorial stuff: mop the floors, clean the toilets, take trash to the incinerator, and stuff like that. After I’d been there a couple of weeks, one of the nurses handed me a stainless steel pan.

“Take this to the incinerator, please?” she asked.

I looked in the pan she’d handed me. Oh, my God! It’s a baby! I thought. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. I saw a cut behind its head, at the top of the neck, like somebody had stuck in a knife there.

The nurse must have seen my reaction, ’cause she said. “Reggie? The baby had cystic fibrosis. Its life would have been miserable, and it would have died in pain before it was five years old.”

I nodded, and took the pan down to the incinerator. I cranked up the gas flame, and tried to be as gentle as I could when I . . . when I . . . dumped is the only word . . . dumped the baby into the flames. I said a little prayer as I did, and promised God and the baby I’d tell Reverend Finger what I’d done, and ask forgiveness. But when it came time to tell the Reverend, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Mama insisted that I go to church on Sunday, but let me sleep through Sunday School. She said as long as I was working a man’s job, I could sleep in at least one morning a week. She woke me in time for church, and we walked there together. We had to separate at the door: women and children had to sit in the balcony, hidden from sight. Since I was a member of the Men’s Prayer Group, I could sit downstairs, in the main sanctuary.

“Brethren and Sisters,” Reverend Finger began his sermon. “There is an evil that would take our children from us. That evil is not the scandalous music to which they are exposed, but is the source of that music. It is not the electronic social media that would expose them to heresy, but is the source of that media. It is not evolution that is taught in the public schools, but it is the source of that evil.

“The ancients called the discomfort of children the heebie-jeebies, and blamed it on the influence of a goddess, Hebe. We know more than those superstitious people who believed in and worshipped mysterious figures. We know that the real evil influence is from Satan, Lucifer, the Prince of Lies, the archenemy of the Lord God.

“Satan’s work continues in our world. And the only way to answer Satan is with the Word of the Lord God. Open your Bibles to Proverbs 13:24.”

Reverend Finger didn’t give anyone time even to pick up a Bible before he quoted the verse: “He that spareth his rod hateth his son, but he that loveth his son chasteneth him.”

Spare the rod and spoil the child, I thought. At least my daddy didn’t believe that.

Reverend Finger talked about beating the devil out of children, and about how superstition had led people away from the truth. I wondered what was the difference between the superstition of Hebe, and the superstition that Reverend Finger was preaching from the Bible, and bit my lips to keep from saying that, even to Mama.

* * * * *

I had worked at the clinic for three months. The nurses didn’t any longer seem to be reluctant to give me babies to put in the incinerator. And I was becoming hardened to their excuses. “A boy raped his sister.” Or, “She was gang raped by a whole football team.” Or, “It’s the girl’s father’s baby.” There always was a reason, something awful, usually.

Somehow, it seemed easier to send those babies to the fire. Still, something inside me said, Wrong. It’s all wrong.

On a Thursday after I’d been working at the clinic for a while, the Reverend cornered me after the Prayer Group meeting.

“Reggie, you’ve been working there four months. They probably trust you, by now. They’re going to trust you enough to show you things that you may find horrible, distasteful. They’ll show you aborted fetuses, and tell you that there was reason for the abortion—”

The Reverend stopped talking. Then he asked, “What, Reggie?”

“Sir, they been doing that for a while, now. They been giving me babies to put into the incinerator, and telling me why. I say a prayer for each one of them, though.”

“Why in God’s name didn’t you tell me this before?” the Reverend asked.

I was stunned, but managed to squeak out, “ ’Cause you didn’t tell me to?” I said.

“Goddamn it, Reggie, I thought you had more sense than that. Come with me.” He grabbed my arm and dragged me across the room. He called to a couple of the men as he did, and we all ended up in a room next to his office, a room I’d never been in, before.

There was a chair in the middle of the room. There were television cameras pointed at the chair, and a bunch of electronic stuff along the walls. The Reverend sort of threw me at the chair. I figured he wanted me to sit, so I did.

Two of the men started hooking up things to me: a corrugated hose around my chest; things that clipped to my fingers. Other stuff. Then, one of the men—I recognized him, he was a police officer—started asking questions.

“Is your name Reggie?”

“Sure it is, Officer Murr.”

He slapped my face. “Answer yes or no only! Is your name Reggie?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes or no, only.” He slapped me again.

“Yes.”

“Do you live at 433 ____ Street?”

“Yes.”

“Are you a member of the Universal Fundamentalist Church of Boulder, Colorado?”

“Yes.”

There were a bunch of questions like that, things that the Reverend knew and that the other men should have known. Then, Officer Murr started asking me about working at the clinic, and about fetuses, and abortions. I got right nervous and sweaty.

When it looked like they’d finished, I said, “Can I ask a question, now?”

The Reverend nodded.

“When can I start work on my GED? You said—”

The Reverend interrupted me. “Reggie! What you are doing is more important than a goddamn GED! You pay attention, and do what you’re told. Do you hear me?”

I nodded. He must be really mad at me to break a promise like that.

They kept asking questions, like what did I do at the clinic, what the inside looked like, where was the incinerator, what kind of security system did they have, and did I have keys to everything.

The last question was the easiest. Dr. Kennedy had given me what he called a master key the day I started work. It was easier, he said, than making me keys for just what I might need. “Besides,” he had said, “you never know what you might need.”

“Do you have it with you?” Officer Murr asked.

“Yes, sir. Dr. Kennedy said never to let it out of my sight. I keep it around my neck.” I pulled on the chain to show them. Officer Murr grabbed the key as soon as it appeared, and broke the chain around my neck he was in such a hurry to get it.

“Hey!” I said.

“Quiet, boy,” the Reverend said. “You’ll get it back in a few minutes.”

After the boy had been dismissed, Finger turned to the men around him. “He’s like his father. He’s not a true believer. His mind contains too many questions.”

“What should we do?” one of the men asked.

“Deal with him, as you dealt with his father,” the Reverend said. “And be sure not to leave any questions. His accidental death, so soon after his father’s might raise suspicion.”

“It’s likely he’s depressed at the death of his father,” one man said. He had been Reggie’s Sunday school teacher. “He would have spoken to me about that. John? He’s in your scout troop.”

“Yes, he would have said something to me, as well. And to you, Reverend.”

“Um, hum,” the Reverend responded. “That would work. But leave me out of it. I took too great a risk at that laboratory, and there’s a sharp fire marshal who knows my name.”

“No one would be surprised if the boy’s body were found in a way that suggested suicide,” Officer Murr said. “He would have had a chance to steal drugs from the clinic. And I can always find the right drugs.”

The men’s smiles widened. The illicit trade in drugs, from cocaine to meth to high-potency prescription painkillers was the main source of revenue for the church—and lined their pockets, as well.

* * * * *

I walked to work the next morning, like I always did. The Reverend had said to tell no one about the key or about what I’d said the night before. I was thinking, though, that Dr. Kennedy was a lot nicer than the Reverend, and that maybe I needed to tell him something when I turned the corner and saw the clinic, or what was left of it. It had burned to the ground. There were seven yellow bags laid out on the lawn. I’d seen enough television to know what they were: body bags. There had been seven patients, young women . . . Oh no!

Dr. Kennedy was talking to one of the firemen. When it looked like they’d finished talking, I went over to him.

“Reggie,” Dr. Kennedy said. “I’m sorry, but it looks like you don’t have a job any more. It will take a while to cut your last check . . .”

“What happened?” I asked.

“Someone broke in last night. They must have had a key. They shut off the alarm system, poured gasoline all over things, and started the fire,” the man in the fire uniform answered. “Who are you?”

Dr. Kennedy tried to answer for me, but the fireman wouldn’t let him. So I told him.

“I’m Reggie Eisenman, and I’m the janitor.”

“Reggie, do you know what goes on in this clinic?”

“Yes, sir. They do abortions on fetuses that shouldn’t live.”

“What do you think about that, Reggie?”

“My Reverend says it’s evil, but the nurses always say there’s a good reason,” I said.

“Your Reverend?” the fireman said.

“Yes, sir. The Reverend Peter Finger of the Boulder Universal Fundamentalist Church,” I replied.

Then, I got scared, really scared. I think the fireman thought that Reverend Finger was somehow involved. At least, that’s what I felt. And, since the Reverend had a copy of my master key, maybe the fireman was right! I was upset, all right. And I didn’t know where to turn.

After the fireman said I could leave, I started the long walk home.

Thermai

“Reggie needs a friend,” Whittaker said after relating the boy’s story. “It’s got to be someone who understands his world. That’s me.”

I nodded. “Of course, Whittaker. Be careful. Do what you think is best.”

How did Whittaker know about Reggie? What is the connection? I wondered. Something else for my to do list.

But first, a call to Aphrodite to let her know that Whittaker was about to make our first contact with the UFC.

Earth Analogue VII: Reggie

I was thinking hard, and didn’t notice when this kid, about my age, started walking beside me.

“Reggie?” the boy said, “I’m Whittaker. I’m kind of upset, too. Can we talk?”

Whittaker? Upset? What . . . I didn’t know what he meant, and said what came to mind. “Talk about what?”

“About little babies being killed before they’re born. About boys like you who are being used by evil men like your Reverend. About the men who killed your father. About people who would burn to death seven young women just to prove their point. About people who would destroy an important research facility because they believed the research would, someday and maybe, lead to an AIDS vaccine. About real evil that actually exists in this world, and about how to fight against it.”

I didn’t hear anything he said after killed your father. “What do you mean about who killed my father? It was an accident!”

The boy stopped walking. He grabbed my arm, and held on tightly. I had to stop, too.

“No, Reggie, your father was murdered by the same people who murdered those seven young women. They left you without a father, and they have left you unfulfilled, and, I think, afraid.”

“Unfulfilled?” I asked. “You mean not getting a GED?”

“Oh, no, Reggie, it’s a lot more than that. Will you come with me and talk to some of my friends?”

A police car turned the corner, swung over to the wrong side of the road, and screeched to a stop just ahead of us. The words, Truant Officer were lettered below the police shield on the door.

Oh, oh. I thought. “Sure, I’ll come with you,” I said to Whittaker. “But right now? We’ve got to run.”

“Not really,” Whittaker said. He touched my shoulder, and we weren’t in Boulder, Colorado.

Reggie on Thermai

I knew we weren’t in Boulder ’cause when I looked around I saw trees, an orchard, I guessed, ’cause the trees were all in rows, and all about the same size. I grew up in the city, but I knew that much. Down the hill, I thought I could see the ocean.

“Where are we?” I asked. “And how did we get here? Are you an angel or a demon?”

Whittaker giggled. “I’m not either an angel or a demon, I’m a boy. A boy who is fulfilled because I am free, I have a reason to live, I have something important to do, and I am not afraid of my sexuality.”

“Sexuality?” Reggie blushed. “And you haven’t said where we are or how we got here.”

“We’re on an island off the coast of Greece, and we got here because I was given powers when I became a dryad.”

“Dryads aren’t real.” I was close to tears, now. I was confused. I was afraid. I think Whittaker figured that out ’cause he hugged me.

“Please, Reggie, I’m trying. I’m screwing up, I know. Please, give me a chance? Please?”

I remembered how Dr. Kennedy had forgiven me when I’d burned out a fan because I’d forgotten to reset a thermostat.

“I’m sorry, Whittaker. I’ll listen . . .”

Whittaker squeezed me hard, and then kissed my cheek. “Thank you, Reggie. Come with me. We’ll have lemonade and I’ll try to start at the beginning, okay?”

I blushed. I could feel the heat in my cheeks. “You kissed me.”

“I’ll explain that, too,” Whittaker said. He took my hand, and led me along a gravel path through the trees to a grassy spot. There was a picnic table set with a pitcher of lemonade and glasses. The boy—Whittaker—gestured for me to sit, and poured lemonade for both of us.

After a sip, I looked around. We were on the top of a hill. Huge old trees surrounded us. Through the trees, I could see the ocean, and, across the ocean, a stretch of land with mountains, some with snow.

“Where are we? What is this place?” I asked.

“We are on an island, off the coast of Greece. This estate used to belong to someone named Hebe. She’s not lived here in a while, though.”

“Hebe. As in heebie-jeebies, as in the goddess of youth. I learned about that. It’s superstition, you know.”

“You’d be surprised,” the boy said. “Hebe was the goddess of youth. But she’s a lot less superstition than what Finger’s teaching you, and I think you know that.”

It was my turn to think, and he gave me time. “You mean what Reverend Finger said about the abortion clinic,” I said.

“A lot more than that, I think,” he said.

Whittaker knew he wasn’t going to overcome sixteen or so years of brainwashing in one afternoon, but he did manage to get across to Reggie some fundamental ideas, including Peter Abelard’s command to question everything. He was doing pretty well, at least Whittaker thought so, until Maple ran up and kissed him on the cheek.

Reggie, who had been leaning forward as if eager to hear what Whittaker had to say, drew back.

“He kissed you.” Reggie said. “And you kissed me, and you said you’d explain that, but you haven’t.”

Whittaker wasn’t sure what to say, but Maple saved him. “I kissed Whittaker because we’re friends,” Maple said. “My guess is that Whittaker kissed you because he wanted to show you friendship and love.”

Whittaker added, “And because you had kind of forgiven me for screwing up, and given me a second chance. I kissed you to say thank you.”

There’s something more, Whittaker thought, but I don’t know what it is.

“Friends who kiss each other?” Reggie’s eyes widened and his voice shook. “You’re, like queer or something?”

Maple laughed. “Exactly like that!” he said. “Whittaker and I are friends who have sex with each other, but we don’t say queer. We just say friends.”

“But that’s wrong!” Reggie said.

Something popped unbidden into Whittaker’s mind. “When you went to that church camp in Texas,” he said, “didn’t you make a really good friend? Didn’t you want to be with him, alone? Didn’t you want to touch him, to hug him, and to have him hug you?”

Reggie’s voice was a whisper. “How do you know that?”

“Because we’re demi-gods,” Maple answered. “Because when someone needs our help we have the power to see what kind of help he needs. Because you’ve been screwed over by evil people, and because we have a mission to stop evil people. Because you’re a good person, and we have a mission to help good people.”

That was a better explanation than Whittaker could have come up with, and helped him understand a little bit about why he had known what was happening to Reggie—something he’d have to talk to Reggie about, sometime.

Reggie looked at Maple. “Demi-gods? Like, I should worship you, or something?”

Maple drew back. His voice changed. He snapped off each word. “No. Not worship. We serve. We help. Don’t think of us that other way. Please?” His voice softened on that last word.

“He’s right, Reggie,” Whittaker said. “We work for a guy—his name is Lucas which means light-bringer. He has the powers of Prometheus, the titan who brought light and fire and knowledge to humans. And he wants us to help.

“I used to live on your world. Lucas saved my life and brought me here. He let me stay as a dryad—and gave me powers, powers to help, to serve. I was unfulfilled; now, I am fulfilled.”

“Fulfilled? You keep saying that. What does it mean?” Reggie asked.

“I am fulfilled because Lucas trusted me to find you, and to try to help you. I am fulfilled because I know that there are important things for me to do, and I know that Lucas will help me do them. That’s part of what fulfills me.

“The other reason I’m fulfilled is that I can acknowledge that I am gay. Homosexual. Queer is the word you were taught to use. Actually, I’ve known that for a long time, but now I know it’s not evil, and I know it’s okay to hug another boy. To kiss another boy. To have sex with another boy. To—”

“I have work to do.” Maple interrupted. “Not like some people who get to sit around and talk all day.” He kissed Whittaker on the cheek again, winked at Reggie, and vanished.

“He just disappeared!” Reggie said.

“Um, hmm,” Whittaker said. “But that’s not why you’re blushing.”

Reggie’s face got redder. “He winked at me.”

Whittaker laughed, and felt Reggie’s anger. “Reggie! I’m not laughing at you! I’m laughing at Maple. He’s a tease! The first morning I was here, when I woke up, I was cuddled between Lucas and Maple. Maple had sneaked into the bed sometime during the night. He was really eager to have sex with me.”

Whittaker paused. “We did. And we did it some more over the next few days. And I’ve had sex with Lucas and with others of the dryads.”

Reggie was over his anger, but it had been replaced with shock. At least, that’s why his face was white.

Whittaker

It took most of the rest of the day, but I finally managed to get Reggie to understand at least the most important things, and to agree to give me a chance to help him understand the details. I was pretty sure he wasn’t ready for sex, so after supper—delivered to us from Lucas’ kitchen by Ash—I took him to one of the guesthouses, and showed him to a bedroom.

I was wrong. Reggie turned to face me, grabbed me in an awkward hug, and kissed my cheek. I returned the hug and looked into his eyes. And saw . . .

“Reggie, I—”

His kiss—on my lips, this time—stopped me from finishing that sentence. And we really didn’t need words to cuddle, to kiss, to embrace, to bring each other to the peak of emotional and then physical ecstasy, and then to sleep in one another’s arms.