Convent

by Sam Clemens

  “Anything,” she said immediately.

  “And know that this may seem…unorthodox. It’s not my intention to frighten you, but—if I’m being completely honest—we have a serious issue that needs to be addressed.”

  She sat erect and waited for instructions.

  “It’s Cosmo,” Laird said, exhaling. “Don’t worry, everything’s okay—or it will be, as long as we take action. But you see, Retha, he’s sick.”

  Retha gasped, and her face went scared.

  “Don’t worry,” Laird said again, putting his hands out to calm her, “it’s not life-threatening. But Cosmo has a virus that’s affecting his brain. He’s not thinking clearly. He needs medical attention immediately, but he doesn’t want to leave the congregation.” Laird shook his head. “Committed, to a fault.”

  “He looked perfectly fine during the sermon,” Retha said, her face contorted with confusion. “Vibrant, even. I remarked to Roy that it was one of his finest sermons in a while.”

  “Yes, yes,” Laird said, “the emancipator has a way of hiding his pain. He’s a special individual, as you know, and special individuals rise to the occasion. He doesn’t want anyone to see him hurting. But make no mistake: Cosmo needs to see a doctor. I’m concerned with what will happen if he doesn’t.”

  She fidgeted in her seat. “What can I do?”

  “Yes. I need you to work with me to help get him to Denver. You still bring him lunch every Monday, correct?”

  Retha nodded.

  “Excellent. Tomorrow, when you bring him his pizza, I need you to leave the door unlocked so I can come in behind you. Then we’ll both…encourage him to get in the car with me and go to the doctor.”

  She furrowed her brow, showing the first sign of resistance. “Sir, can’t you access his residence any time you want?”

  “Generally,” he said, “but he knows I want to take him to the doctor, and he doesn’t want to go. He’s revoked my access. His mind isn’t working right.”

  “So you…want to break in?” she asked.

  “I promise you won’t get in trouble,” Laird told her, pressing forward. “Once this all gets sorted out, you’ll get a commendation, in fact. Maybe even a promotion.”

  She smiled at that. “Okay,” she said. “So I’ll tell Roy—”

  “No,” Laird said quickly. “You can’t tell him.”

  Retha frowned again.

  “You see,” Laird continued, “Cosmo has—well, he’s poisoned the well a bit. He’s lied to Roy and told him I want to do him harm. Which is the exact opposite of what I want. But, well, like I said, his mind. And now Roy won’t let me near him. It’s admirable, of course, but it’s misplaced.”

  She stared at him, competing emotions fighting for real estate on her face.

  “I just need you to trust me,” Laird said. He put his hand over hers. “Can you do that? The fate of Cosmography depends on it.”

  Forty-Four

  Monday at noon, Retha boxed up a large pepperoni and green olive pizza—Cosmo’s favorite—and walked up the hill. She went to the front door like usual and knocked. Laird watched from the bushes. It was a cold day, and the stiff winter wind reddened the skin on his face. In a moment, the door opened and Cosmo Hendricks invited her in.

  Laird was ready. Once the door closed behind them, he slunk across the open space and climbed the grandiose steps to the front door of Cosmo’s mansion.

  It had taken some convincing, but eventually he’d been able to manipulate Retha into assisting him in the plan. He told her he admired her sharpness; that she had identified Alejandro as an ally, and first floated the idea of strong-arming Marianne Kupp. These things were true, and Retha had shown a fair amount of aptitude from the start, but that wasn’t why he had come to her. He’d come to her because he had no one else.

  As far as the plan went, Laird had been light on details—he’d only said they’d “persuade” Cosmo to leave the mansion—but in his backpack was a stun gun and enough rope for both of them. As soon as he was inside, he was going to put a bolt of lightning into the gangly bastard, then tie him up, and do the same to the woman if she resisted.

  The lieutenant had stocked up on supplies like these—he also owned a baton, two robbery masks, and a set of throwing stars—back in Boulder, when the money had first started coming in. As a hatchet man, he’d known they’d come in handy at some point, and lo and behold, here he was. It was further proof that Laird was made for the job.

  His pulse raced as he approached the front door. It was a coup, plain and simple; he hadn’t yet figured out what he’d do with Cosmo once he got him down the hill, but Laird’s hope was that he could talk sense into him. If not, maybe he’d turn him in to the police. Tell them what he was planning with the sweat lodge. A serious action, but the times were becoming dire. Surely their group was already on local law enforcement’s radar.

  Laird gingerly touched the door handle and turned. Open, thank God. Relief mixed with more adrenaline. She’d done the deed. Good girl. Quickly, Laird stepped through the opening and closed the door behind him, and set out to find Cosmo in the cavernous home.

  He was right there, in the entryway, standing in his robe and staring blankly at Laird. Retha stood next to him, her expression the same.

  “There he is, sir,” she said to Cosmo. “He’s the one who asked me to undermine you.”

  Forty-Five

  Upon realizing he’d been double crossed, Laird immediately turned back to the door to flee. He was too slow, though; Roy—the damned Clydesdale—came from nowhere and immobilized Laird with a bear hug. He must’ve been standing next to the door.

  “Dude!” Laird yelled in a desperate appeal to his best friend. “I was just going to drive us down to Boulder!”

  Roy again picked Laird up and placed him in front of Cosmo Hendricks. He kept hold of Laird’s arms, assuring he couldn’t escape.

  The emancipator was nonplussed. “And how, Laird? How did you plan on getting me to go?” His face wore the serenity of a serial killer.

  Laird struggled to get free of Roy’s grasp, but the man didn’t budge. Calmly, Retha walked around and removed Laird’s backpack. She presented it to Cosmo, who unzipped the main compartment with interest.

  “I had to,” Laird explained breathlessly. “There was no other way.”

  Cosmo peered in the opening and raised his eyebrows. “Rope, Laird?”

  “People will get hurt with this sweat lodge,” Laird said. “They will. I was just going to take you down the mountain for a few days.”

  Cosmo looked up at him. “And then what?”

  “I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t.”

  The emancipator rifled through the backpack and examined the contents. He exhaled, and looked back up. “It’s a shame, you know,” he said. “That it had to come to this.”

  Laird leaned forward. He inhaled, and made one more appeal. “Coz, listen. If you just call off the sweat lodge—”

  “I’VE LISTENENED ENOUGH,” Cosmo shouted, holding up his palm. His voice boomed through the foyer. He looked at Laird and began pacing then, instinctively. “It’s a shame,” he said more quietly, “that it had to come to this.”

  “It doesn’t,” Laird whispered. “Man, it doesn’t have to come to anything.”

  “No,” Cosmo said. “For you and me.”

  Laird strained in Roy’s arms. He looked at his friend. “Whatever man,” he said. “All this doesn’t mean shit. If you want to play wizard, that’s up to you.”

  “It’s over between us.”

  “Not it’s not,” Laird said. “You shut your mouth with that.”

  Roy’s grip tightened with the words. Retha snapped her head around.

  Laird leaned further toward Cosmo, his head now extended well out over his feet. “We’re boys, you and me. None of this changes that. We’re brothers forever and you know it, Coz.”

  “Take him away,” Cosmo said.

  “Go on without me all you want but at some point,
this is gonna end,” Laird said. Roy began moving him toward the door. “And then what?” Laird shouted. “Think about that. How’s it gonna end? What will you have then?”

  “Be gone,” Cosmo said, waving his hand.

  “The sweat lodge!” Laird yelled as he was pulled away. “If you listen to one thing I say—”

  “Be gone,” Cosmo repeated. “It is written.”

  In unison, Retha and Roy recited: “And so it shall come to pass.”

  In the Horse parking lot, Roy reached to the back seat and handed Laird a hundred-dollar bill.

  “Here,” he said. “Get you started on a few drinks. I know you have plenty socked away after that.”

  Laird leaned forward and plucked it from his hand. “You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?”

  “It’s a shame,” Roy said, turning forward, “that you’ve gone astray.”

  “It’s fake, Roy. It’s made up. I know because I helped make it up.”

  Roy sat silently as the car idled.

  “Don’t do the sweat lodge,” Laird said. “There’s so many stories of it going bad. Just do a search.”

  “Goodbye, brother Laird. Best of luck in your new life.”

  Laird watched him drive away in the Prius. They could have it—it was unclean, bought with cult money. He’d be fine without it. In broad daylight, Laird walked into the dark bar and took small solace in the comfort of this familiar place, this town. The Horse had been his and Cosmo’s spot, and now when he was inside it felt different, but there was enough of the same to give him a sliver of happiness. At some point, Boulder had become his home. He was alone in his home now, but at least he was home.

  Laird ordered a flat beer and found a corner booth. On TV, cricket was being played in some faraway nation, and the whole thing seemed like a waste of time. The beer tasted like it always had.

  He should’ve known not to trust that bitch. He did know, he supposed, but when your other options are exhausted, you have to start throwing hail marys. Laird had failed, but at least he’d tried. Maybe they’d wake up between then and the new year. Maybe Cosmo would call the sweat lodge off at the last minute. Maybe Laird had gotten through to him, even though it hadn’t seemed like it.

  Laird hoped, but he wasn’t optimistic. No, when he looked into the big brown eyes of his pal, he did not see one bit of the funky dude that used to reside there. He saw something else now, something gross. Something that had bought into the myth of its own existence. Laird lamented the loss of his friend. He lamented his sizable role in it.

  Brianna walked by the booth and began bussing a nearby table.

  “Bri,” Laird said, reaching out to get her attention. “Hey, Bri.”

  She picked up empty glasses and wiped down the table, her raven hair obscuring her face. She did not look over.

  “Hey!” he said. “Bri, can you hear me?”

  When she finished, Brianna glanced in his direction and quickly looked away. Her eyes were wary, and she walked away without a word.

  Of course, he thought. When you’re out, you’re out, no matter who you were.

  Forty-Six

  Laird tried the police. He called first, then visited the station when it seemed like the guy on the phone wasn’t taking him seriously. The very nice officer in the ponytail took his statement down and listened intently, but shrugged when asked what they could do. Their hands were tied unless a crime had been committed.

  “Yeah,” Laird said, “but I’m telling you there’s going to be a crime. Wouldn’t you rather know now so you can, like, stop it?”

  “If they’re consenting adults, it’s not technically a crime,” the officer said. “People are allowed to put themselves in danger.”

  Laird’s mouth hung open as he searched for a place to go next. “This is Cosmography. The cult, you know? They were kind of a big deal around here. Don’t you want to take them down?”

  The officer shrugged again. “We support people practicing whatever religion they want.”

  He rented an extended stay room at the Broker hotel. Laird walked the cold sidewalks in pensive fashion, hoping an idea would strike him out of the blue. One didn’t, and by the second day of this he realized how dumb he looked wandering around like a movie montage. Tomorrow was the first of January. It would all go down tomorrow.

  Laird was unwelcome at the compound, this much was clear. There were no explicit instructions given on the consequences if he were to try to return, only a simple directive not to come back. It was the type of order he would’ve given to others not long ago; ambiguous and meant to sound ominous, but with no real backing. He could sneak back up there if he wanted to. They weren’t harmful people, at least not intentionally.

  In the afternoon on New Year’s Eve, he ransacked the mini bar and called a reporter from the Daily Camera. Laird still had her contact info from the interviews following the city council meeting. The woman’s name was Charlotte Antionette, she was twenty-two years old, and she drove a Taurus.

  “Charlotte, hi, my name is Laird. You may remember me as the co-owner of Pizza By Cosmo? We spoke a few times last year.”

  A pause on the other end. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “The council meeting?” Laird said. “With the—alleged—cult? I gave you that great quote about religious liberty?”

  Another pause. “Oh yeah. I think I remember that. Sorry, I was like, really stoned last year.”

  “Ah. No problem.”

  “You’re the short guy?”

  Laird swallowed. “Yes. Anywho, I have a hot tip for you. The religious cult known as Cosmography will be performing a sweat lodge ceremony tomorrow at their compound above Nederland.” He waited for the info to land.

  “Okay?” she said quickly.

  “…And as I’m sure you know, these ceremonies can be extremely dangerous? People have died?”

  “Wait, did someone die?”

  Laird massaged his temples. “No, it’s not until tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Okay, so what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying,” Laird said, frustration growing, “that someone should go up there and cover it. Maybe put out a story today that it’s happening.”

  “Okay, why though?”

  He paused. “Because it’s newsworthy.”

  “Oh, it’s not.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Definitely not,” she said. “People stopped caring about those guys a long time ago. Sorry dude. We’re on a strict click count here, so if I don’t hit my number, I’m screwed, and trust me, stuff like this does not get clicks.”

  “But what if people get hurt?”

  She sighed. “If someone gets hurt, then we’ll cover it. Until then, there’s a baby raccoon over by the reservoir people are all excited about.” Charlotte Antoinette hung up the phone.

  In a tremendous show of desperation, Laird walked to REI and hunted down Max Schmidtmann.

  Of course he was working on New Year’s Eve. Schmidtmann was the type of guy to volunteer for such an assignment, then chastise all who didn’t. Laird didn’t get the idea he’d changed much since they worked together, or that his short stay in Cosmography had made any meaningful transformation. He found Schmidtmann giving another employee orders in the kayaking section.

  Indeed, he’d been promoted; Schmidtmann was wearing the green vest of a manager, essentially taking Taylor’s place in the hierarchy. Next step was a job at corporate, and Max Schmidtmann was dumb enough to want it.

  “Hey dude,” Laird said.

  It took a good five seconds for Schmidtmann to come to grips with what he was seeing. First his face was quizzical, then confused, then incredulous.

  “Well well well,” he said eventually. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  “What cat?”

  Schmidtmann approached him. “The proverbial cat. You’ve never heard that expression?”

  “I have. Still don’t get it. Anyway, how you been?”

  Max Schmidtmann ignored the que
stion. “I see you decided to come down from your little compound in the hills.”

  “Little compound,” Laird repeated. “Yeah, I did.”

  “Figured you’d be there for life.”

  An announcement was made over the loudspeaker that the store was closing in thirty minutes to accommodate the holiday.

  “I’ve left the group, actually,” Laird said.

  Schmidtmann’s eyebrows rose. “The cult, you mean?”

  “Yes Max, the cult. Now you and I have something in common: we’re ex-members.”

  “Pshhhht,” Schmidtmann said. “I was never a member. I just went up there to check it out.”

  Laird nodded.

  “See what was going on,” Max continued. “After Taylor and Jordan went off the deep end and joined. You think I’d actually fall for that type of thing?”

  “Of course not,” Laird said. “But hey, we were both physically there for a period of time.”

  Schmidtmann scoffed. “I guess. So what, you looking for your old job back? Because I have a stack of applications I need to get to. You’re welcome to apply, but you’ll go on the bottom of the stack and will not be given preference, per company policy.”

  Laird shook his head. “I was actually hoping you could help me out with something else.”

  He explained the situation. His removal. The sweat lodge tomorrow. How dangerous these things are. How they’d had numerous close calls in previous exercises—one involving a river, one a lake. How Cosmo had gradually transformed into some legitimate lunatic cult leader. How Taylor and Jordan would be involved.

  “So?” Schmidtmann said, nostrils flared.

  “So?” Laird repeated. “So, those guys are your friends. You worked with them for years. We both did.”

  Max Schmidtmann turned to a rack of wetsuits and began facing them. “You think I care about those two?”

  “Max, this is actually dangerous, what we’re talking about.”