by Tim LaHaye
Ray had to be honest. He shook his head. He didn’t know what to say.
Nicky, as he advanced through the elementary grades, seemed most impressed by the secret nature of Luciferianism. “Others must not know,” Marilena told him, “because the majority of spiritually minded people in this world have bought into the idea that Lucifer is Satan, the enemy of God. We know better. He merely made the mistake of wanting to excel, to be wise, and to know the truth.”
“What is wrong with that?” Nicky said.
“Exactly. Who put God in charge? Why should one of His chief angels have to do His will and obey His orders? Lucifer’s ambition was called pride and sin. But he is, as we are, divine. Why would we adore and blindly obey a god other than ourselves?”
“And why is this a secret?” Nicky said.
“Religious people have the mistaken idea that God is good and Lucifer is bad. But we know better. If anything, the opposite is true. If God is in charge, why does He let such horrible things happen? And why is He threatened by a spiritual being who merely wants to be more? God is jealous, selfish, self-serving. But say that in public, and you will be vilified. Know what that means?”
“Of course, Mom. ‘Ridiculed. Put down.’ ”
How she loved it when he called her Mom.
“Lucifer’s so-called sin was self-awareness,” she said. “Why should that be such a threat if God is almighty? If He is really the creator of all things, would He worry that His creatures love or obey Him? Of course not, unless the whole point of creating them was to make for Himself a legion of slaves. Who is He to say what is right or wrong? We are all individuals, captains of our own destinies. We are unique, and life tells us all we need to know.”
Marilena stole a glance at her son. His eyes were bright. “So this is our secret,” he said.
“Right.”
“And there are others who know, but we are keeping it to ourselves.”
“Yes.”
“How do we get more people?” he said.
“We have to be careful. If someone is dead set against this, there’s little hope of their moving to the side of truth. It’s the people who are undecided or who have come to no conclusions who are the best candidates.” Marilena told Nicky how she herself had worshiped at the altar of knowledge and scholarship. “Even there, the spiritual life, both sides of it, was suspect.”
“But you learned different,” he said.
“I did. Especially when I longed for a child and you were the promised gift.”
How Nicky loved that story. He asked to hear it again and again, and Marilena may have been kidding herself, but she believed the truth of it gave him a new view of her. She had wanted him, hoped for him, prayed for him, pledged to raise him in devotion to the one who promised him. He never articulated his love and devotion to her, but she was convinced they were there.
It struck her that her relationship with Lucifer was the same. She was treating him the way her son treated her. She was his child, his daughter, one he had courted by giving her the greatest desire of her heart. While she didn’t shake her fist in his face, she withheld herself, holding him emotionally hostage. Marilena suddenly felt childish, unworthy, drunk with the power to manipulate the feelings of one so powerful. Maybe now that she saw the error of her ways, Nicky would see his.
“So we know the truth,” Nicky said, “right, Mom? And most other people do not?”
“Not only do they not, they believe a lie.”
“But we are right.”
“Yes.” She truly believed it. And she could see he did too. At least it was clear he wanted to. This appeared to be delicious to him, the clandestine nature of it, being set apart from the crowd.
“Some kids go to church to worship God,” he said. “What do we do?”
“We go to our own kind of church to worship Lucifer. They are just classes, but he and his spirits speak to us.”
“Like he did to you about me.”
“Exactly.”
“Wow.”
After schooling Nicky as much as she could during their daily rides, Marilena found he had questions. “So what did God think was so wrong about Lucifer wanting to be like Him?”
“That’s the whole point, Nicky. Only a weak-minded and threatened God would find that a problem. Know what I mean?”
“Sure, yes. Maybe He did not want to lose His followers. Most of them were probably afraid of Him, but Lucifer was more curious.”
Marilena never ceased to be amazed at how adult Nicky’s mind was. “Yes,” she said. “His beauty refers to his mind and his aura.”
“But you said God offered him forgiveness.”
“That’s taught in our tradition. God wanted Lucifer back, along with the angels who agreed with him. So He offered to forgive them. But only a few accepted.”
“And not Lucifer.”
“Of course not. He was noble, an idealist, and he would never stray from his beliefs, no matter what.”
“That makes him a hero, right?”
“It sure does.”
“Why do so many people think he is bad then?”
“That’s the question of the ages, Son. He’s beautiful, he’s a shining light, he’s called the morning star. And yet so many choose to believe he’s the devil! It makes no sense. And there are more of them all the time. People aren’t looking for enlightenment. They are wallowing in ignorance.”
“But not us.”
“Not us.”
“We know the truth, the real truth.”
“We do, Nicky. And there’s power in the truth. The truth can set you free.”
“Free from what?”
“From prejudice, ignorance, from blindly following a jealous God just because everyone else does.”
“I would not.”
“I know.”
“But I will not tell anybody, Mom. They would not understand.”
As a junior Ray Steele had had another off year, shooting up two more inches and actually playing worse football, basketball, and baseball than he had the year before. All the hype and promise of his being a three-sport starter and a standout on the varsity teams proved wrong as he had tough seasons in all sports. He started as the varsity quarterback, but after winning the first two games against weak teams, he lost the last eight, throwing more interceptions than touchdowns. The only reason he didn’t lose the job was because no one else had his size or potential. His coach, Fuzzy Bellman, also the high school athletics director, encouraged him. “You’ve got all the tools, Ray. We’ll have a good season next year.”
“Yeah, but you don’t get a scholarship based on just a good senior season.”
“You could. You never know.”
In basketball Ray was expected to be a starter, but he wound up riding the bench most of the season as backup to a good power forward a year younger. Ray played a lot of scrub, cleanup minutes and found himself actually hoping his sophomore teammate would get hurt.
What’s the matter with me? he wondered late at night. He didn’t remember being jealous and petty when he was younger. But he hadn’t had cause either. The worse the basketball season grew—his team finished even—the harder Ray worked at his studies. It was gratifying to be on his way to a high grade point average, especially in math and science, but he had to admit he would rather be revered as a great athlete than a great student. He had a better chance at a scholarship as a student than as a jock, but that wasn’t as much fun.
At least his flying lessons were going well. He was able to get to the airstrip only infrequently, due to all his other activities, but Ray’s instructor assured him he would be able to get his private license by the time he was eighteen and a senior.
Baseball during the spring of Ray’s junior year proved disappointing as well. He was to be the ace pitcher and play first base. He could throw ninety miles an hour—which would guarantee attracting big-league scouts—until he hurt his arm. Then he merely played first, batted eighth, and didn’t hit .300. So much for an ath
letic scholarship.
Worse, Ray became less popular, even among the guys. In elementary school he had been the leader, the go-to guy, the one everybody wanted to hang with. Now they had all caught and passed him in ability and achievement, and he became the butt of teasing instead of being the one dishing it out. At least that showed him how it felt to be on the receiving end. Rather than laughing it off the way the other guys did, Ray found himself defensive and obnoxious. He was humiliated, and his anger made him try to play beyond his ability, only rendering him less effective.
At home Ray had learned to get along with his parents by going along with them. But every day he drifted further from them. They didn’t understand him, tried to counsel him, but he didn’t want to hear it. He knew they didn’t have anything to worry about. He was a good citizen, if nothing else. He wasn’t into smoking or drugs or sex, though the latter wasn’t due to lack of wishing and hoping. And he did sneak the occasional beer, which he loved, mostly because he knew it was illegal.
During Ray’s senior year everything fell together for him. His sore arm healed, he reached six foot four, and he developed more speed and finesse. He impressed Coach Bellman at preseason football workouts and was named captain of the varsity team and starting quarterback again.
Ray’s face was fully clear now, and he had stumbled upon the right style for his thick, dark hair. He was elected student council president over a popular cheerleader, then homecoming king (she was queen), and seemingly overnight became big man on campus. Even with everything he had going at school, Ray still squeezed in as many hours in the cockpit as possible, pointing toward that private license.
Ray’s passing and play calling kept Belvidere in the race for the conference championship until two close losses at the end of the season. Unfortunately, he also just missed making all-conference, because the league was loaded with good quarterbacks.
“Okay, Coach,” Ray said at the end of the season. “How many letters did you get about me?”
“None.”
“C’mon, I know how you lobby colleges for your players. And I know you hold all this stuff until the season is over.”
“I don’t understand it myself, Ray. I pitched you to several Division I programs, and when I didn’t hear back, I started with the second tier. I got form letters from three small schools where I wouldn’t even recommend you go, unless all you want is to play football.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I wish I was. It’s getting tougher all the time to catch the interest of college and university programs, Ray. There’s a lot of big kids and talent out there. Fortunately, with your grades and extracurricular stuff, you’ll land somewhere.”
“But not as an athlete.”
“Well, not as a quarterback anyway.”
FIFTEEN
“GET PLANCHETTE on the secure line for me, Fredericka. And remind him to remain obtuse regardless.”
Stonagal read reverence, if not fear, in Reiche Planchette’s tone. Maybe he needed to call the man personally more often. “I just want to know whether the entity in question has outlived its usefulness.”
“Oh . . . ah . . . uh-huh . . . yeah. I’d say—”
“Is all that hemming and hawing a yes, R.P.?”
“Ah . . . no. No! Viv, ah, our contact tells us that she, that . . . um . . . it is or has been okay for a while. Not fully on board, but teaching the . . . the target, and okay.”
“You seen what’s been happening to the markets, R.P.?”
“Sir?”
“The markets! The markets!”
“I’m not up to speed on that, sir, no.”
“Ach! Listen; things are coming together. Things are happening. You follow?”
“Um, okay.”
“You follow or not?”
“Clarify for me, sir.”
“I just want to streamline this is all. If something is in the way, if it impedes progress, it must be eliminated. Clear?”
“I think so.”
“Is that where we are? Are we at that point, R.P.?”
“I’m not sure we are yet, sir, but you know the signs better than I, certainly.”
“Consider this a provisional green light. Anytime you think we’re ready and this is necessary, you’re free to trigger whatever action is necessary. And keep me posted.”
Marilena watched as Nicky bounded from the SUV with his book bag and sprinted across the schoolyard toward his nine-year-old classmates. She always got him there in time to play before school. But as he headed away from her, his teacher was coming her way, waving. Short, stout Mrs. Szabo knelt and said something to Nicky as he flew by, but it appeared he didn’t even acknowledge her.
Marilena rolled down her window.
“Mrs. Carpathia,” the teacher said, “I wondered if you’d have time to meet with me at the end of the day.”
“Happy to,” Marilena said, “but Nicky’s Aunt Viv will be picking him up this afternoon. Is there a problem?”
“Just some things we should discuss. I’ve already talked to Ms. Ivins.”
“Then I will make it work,” Marilena said, barely able to hide her pique. “I would appreciate it if you would not talk to Viv about Nicky without my knowledge.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Szabo said, as if truly surprised. “But I thought . . .” She trailed off.
Marilena didn’t want to pursue it. “I’ll see you this afternoon then.”
Marilena worried she would be unable to concentrate on her work for worrying what might be the problem with Nicky. Had he been talking about Luciferianism to his classmates? It was one thing that he was brilliant enough to have a grasp of spiritualism and the cosmic conflict between God and the other angelic beings. But to actually expect a boy his age to keep all this to himself was unrealistic. He may have the mind of an adult, but he still had the emotions of a child.
At home she confronted Viv. “Please don’t discuss my child with his teacher without my knowledge.”
“It wasn’t my idea,” Viv said.
“You should have told her you would be more comfortable with her talking to me.”
“But that wouldn’t be true, Marilena.”
“What does that mean?”
“I am not more comfortable with that. I don’t trust your judgment related to Nicky.”
“How can you say that?”
“The irony is that while you are his mother, you are not close to him.”
“That’s not true! I—”
“Not as close as you think you are or would like to be. Admit it, Marilena. You’re a satură.”
“Cloying? He’s my son! I won’t lose him to you or to the association or even to Luciferianism.”
“What are you saying? You’re reneging on—”
“Hardly, Viv, and you know it. I’m raising him in the tradition I promised. And I’ve become more devout myself. But I don’t know how many times I have to say this: I will not have outsiders interfering with a blood relationship.”
“Interfering? Outsiders? That’s what you think of me? I have given the last ten years of my life to you and this boy, and I’ve been glad to do it. I thought we had become family. I am not his aunt in name only. I consider you a sister.”
Viv looked truly hurt, and that had not been Marilena’s intention. “Well, but, but—how would you feel if you were me? Say you bore a child and . . . ”
“And pledged to cooperate because he was the fulfillment of a promise from the spirits?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“You see, Marilena,” Viv said, tearing up, “I can’t have a child. You once asked why not me? I said I was too old and couldn’t imagine giving birth. The truth is, I have another assignment. I have been bestowed gifts of clairvoyance that the spirits believe are crucial to the association. I feel honored and blessed and useful, but—” she began to sob—“I would have given anything to be in your shoes, to trade roles with you. Please don’t shut me out.”
Marilena found herself
filled with remorse and compassion. She wanted to be careful not to be taken in. What was this sudden change of attitude? It had seemed for years as if Viv had reveled in her superiority, her station, her place as spokesperson for those who held sway over Nicky. She had insinuated that she could pull rank, could have Reiche Planchette arbitrate differences, that she was in a privileged position that made Marilena feel like a mere means to an end.
But now this. It was as if Viv were pleading to have a place at the table. In spite of herself, Marilena felt empowered and emboldened by Viv’s apparent neediness and weakness. She embraced the older woman, realizing that they had seldom touched in all these years and hardly ever embraced.
Viv seemed to lose control, weeping loudly as she buried her face in Marilena’s shoulder.
“Can we not come to some sort of an agreement?” Marilena said.
“I’d like that.”
“I don’t want to leave you out. I know your influence on Nicky has been positive, and he loves you. How he loves you. I guess that’s what’s bothering me. He loves you more than he loves me.”
“That’s not true!”
“Of course it is. I’m trying to change that, because it’s not right and proper, but I need you to agree and help me.”
“Help you turn his affection away from me?” Viv said.
“No! I don’t want him to quit loving you. But I want him to treat you like an aunt, not like a mother. I mean, let’s face it; you’re not really his aunt either.”
“I’m closer than an aunt!”
“That may be, but yours is a place of assumed privilege, not earned by blood.”
“Earned by more than blood,” Viv said. “I’ve invested in you both, sacrificed.”
“Come, come. There’s nothing you’d rather have done.”
Viv chuckled, seemingly in spite of herself. “Well, that’s certainly true.”
“Now sit down,” Marilena said. “Tell me what Mrs. Szabo is going to talk to me about.”
“I’m not at liberty—”
“Need I remind you that we are talking about my son? How many times do we have to go over the same ground?”
