False Gods

by W. Glenn Duncan Jr.

  He nodded.

  “In eighty-two they closed the San Diego church, which had grown to over three hundred members and relocated everyone to North Dakota,” Don said. “I’m not sure if they’re still there, at one, or more, of the other locations. Since they’ve been living remotely it’s harder to keep track of them.”

  “Why do you think he’s another Jim Jones?” Hilda said.

  “Good question,” I said. “Wanting your privacy isn’t a crime.”

  “The isolation is a worrying sign for me, even though yes, it’s not a crime. But if they, both Jones and Dariell, had nothing to hide, then why retreat from view?”

  I open my mouth to protest. Don held up a hand before I could speak.

  “There’s more,” Don said, reached behind him for a US map and unrolled it on the table. Grabbing a pen, he circled areas in three states. “These represent possible locations for the compounds, assuming that they wanted to be away from population centers. If we also put a cross on San Diego, where the church started, what does that give us?”

  I leaned forward. He had marked the approximate corners of a rough square, covering the western half of the US.

  “It’s a square. So what?”

  “It’s a square roughly fifteen hundred kilometers to a side,” he said.

  “And?”

  “Let me read something to you.” Don flipped open a battered black notebook and thumbed to a page. “The angel who talked to me had a measuring rod of gold to measure the city and its gates and walls. The city lies foursquare, its length the same as its width; and he measured the city with his rod, fifteen hundred lengths; its length and width and height are equal.” He closed the notebook and sighed. “You want to take a guess what that is?”

  “Not a chance in hell I know, Don.”

  “That’s Revelations, chapter twenty-one, verses fifteen and sixteen, describing the New Jerusalem that will be granted to the righteous at the—”

  Hilda sucked in a breath.

  “What?” I said, looking at her.

  She shook her head.

  “… at the end of the world,” Don said. “The new heaven on earth for god’s chosen people after the second coming of christ.”

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding,” I said.

  Don shook his head. “Again, I wish I was. We know he’s capable of getting people to believe what he wants them to, and the location of the compounds is too coincidental to be random.”

  Don slumped in his chair.

  “I think Dariell has evolved The People’s Church into a doomsday cult, and has been working to convince his followers that the end of the world is imminent. Especially the way the church has changed direction over the years. He used to preach about values and morals, now the congregation is focussed on the congregation worshipping Dariell himself.”

  “What?”

  “Yep.” I wondered if Don was getting tired of shaking his head. “But you’re better off hearing that from a person who knows what it’s like inside one of the compounds.”

  “That’d be handy,” I said. “Can directory assistance put us through to Church of the Everlasting Crazy?”

  “No, but we don’t need them to. Lucy spent nearly ten years as part of the church.”

  “How do we get in touch with her?” I asked.

  Don blinked.

  “She’ll be back from work any minute.”

  “Lucy’s from San Diego and was in the church from when her Mom and Dad joined in the late seventies until five years ago. She left the North Dakota location and walked ten miles across the plains to Fort Yates. She was lucky as hell it was May, otherwise she would have frozen to death along the way.

  “She was living with her grandparents in Scottsdale when she heard about the work I was doing and called m—”

  The front door banged and quiet footfalls preceded a young woman into the family room area.

  “Here she is.” Don turned his head. “Hey Lucy, come on out and meet Rafferty, the P.I. I told you about.”

  “Hold on, Don.” She sighed. “We’ve talked about this.” She pulled a knitted bag with large purple flowers from her shoulder, placed it on the bench and turned on her heel.

  “Oops,” Don said.

  What’s that about? I looked at Hilda.

  She gave a tiny shake of her head as if to say: You dummy. I’ll tell you later. If you haven’t worked it out by then.

  We sat in uncomfortable silence. Don smile-grimaced at both of us and Hilda held my hand.

  I heard a toilet flush in a distant corner of the house and the sounds of running water, then all was quiet again. A few minutes later Lucy walked out with a fixed smile.

  “Mr Rafferty,” she said, as she shook my hand. “It’s good to meet you. Don told me last night about the girl you’re looking for. If she’s with Dariell, I feel for her and I know Don will do whatever he can to help you get her back to her family.”

  I introduced Hilda and the two girls shook hands. Hilda gave her a first look of compassion, sorrow, oh hell, something like that, but by the time Lucy sat down between Don and Hilda that look had turned to admiration.

  “Excuse me for earlier,” Lucy said. “Don’s excitement gets a little much for me. I know he doesn’t mean anything, but after ten years of being instructed by someone else on how to behave, I need to remind him …” She put a hand on Don’s shoulder. “… only sometimes, thank god, that I don’t answer to anyone.”

  “I’m still learning,” he said and smiled at Lucy, then at Hilda.

  I didn’t earn a smile. He probably thought I was already on board. Or that I had no idea what was going on.

  “From what Don has told us about the church,” Hilda said, “your life must be different compared to a couple of years ago.”

  My Hilda-radar went off and I recognised the opening volley of girl-talk, so I decided to stay quiet. I watched Lucy across the table and while she seemed to be well-adjusted for having recently exited a cult, it was her physical presence that struck me.

  A few years older, sure, but otherwise, a dead ringer for Kimberly. Blonde hair, ringleted past her shoulders. Big blue eyes. Full lips, but not pouty.

  As I watched longer though, I decided she wasn’t Kimberly’s doppelgänger after all.

  Lucy’s tanned face was darker than the delicate dusting of freckles across Kimberly’s nose. The crooked front tooth didn’t spoil her smile, just a minor difference to Kimberly’s perfect, and dazzlingly white grin. They were both, in as far as I could judge, similarly built, but carried their curves differently. Lucy did a great job filling out the maroon sweater she wore, whereas Kimberly had appeared a bit more hippy. Body types aside, I bet myself that Kimberly in person would prove as outgoing and bubbly as Lucy was trying to be.

  They weren’t identical, but they looked enough like sisters to the casual glance. Or to use an example from my line of work, if the DPD boys put together a lineup for Kimberly, Lucy would fit in perfectly as number three. Or vice-versa.

  Don had disappeared back to the kitchen and I heard the coffee machine doing its thing. Lucy and Hilda were deep in conversation and, having lit cigarettes, both blowing smoke into the sky. There was nothing I could offer for the moment, indoors or out, so I stayed sitting and packed another pipe.

  By the time I had my personal bonfire blazing, Don was returning to the table with drinks. Coffee for Lucy, wine for Hilda and Buds for the boys. I was disappointed to miss out on another cup—the smell wafted across the table—but with the sun now on a downward arc, if I wanted to sleep tonight, the beer would have to do.

  The choices we have to make some days.

  “No wine for you, Lucy?” I asked.

  “I don’t drink alcohol.” She flicked her eyes downward, drew on her cigarette and exhaled a long plume. “When I got out of the church, I never wanted to again be in a situation where I wasn’t in control. You say my life must be different, Hilda, and that is true. Each day is a new step forward, and while I
feel okay most of the time, the truth is that I have a hard time trusting other people.” She let loose a big breath. “While I’m working on that, the idea of getting drunk, or even tipsy, and needing to rely on another person to look after me is too scary.”

  She drew again on her cigarette, more fiercely this time. Her fingers trembled.

  Hilda jumped right in, while giving me a glare that Kathy-Lee Troupe would have been proud of. “Tell us about the work you’re doing.”

  “It was Don’s idea,” she said. Don shrugged. “I spend most days down at the local VA clinic. There’s a few guys still there from Vietnam who don’t have family to visit them. Most of these guys feel lonely and forgotten.” She butted out her cigarette in the green glass ashtray and lit another.

  “They can talk to me,” she said, huffing smoke. “Without being judged or disbelieved. The strange thing I’ve found, which I wasn’t expecting, is that it’s a big help for me too.” Don’s smile didn’t twitch but I knew from his eyes he’d been expecting exactly that. “Knowing that someone else knows what it’s like to be forgotten helps me to feel better. A lot.”

  Lucy’s eyes were defiant, proud, but sadness and anger lurked too, held down with a net of self-control. She would be okay in time, I could sense that, but for the moment I wasn’t about to begrudge her the need to be in control.

  “I’m sure those men, down at the VA, feel the same,” Hilda said.

  “I hope so,” Lucy said. “I’d hate for anyone to go through life feeling the same way that I did for those years. Betrayed. Used. Forgotten.” She blew smoke out through her nostrils.

  Hilda grabbed my hand. “Don and Lucy. Thank you for your time today. It’s been wonderful, but we need to be going.” She stood up, pulling my hand with her.

  “But—” Don started.

  A rookie mistake. I knew better.

  Rafferty’s Rule Ten: When Hilda takes the lead, follow. There are no exceptions to this rule.

  “It’s been a long day, Don.” Hilda smiled. “And we’ve got a long drive ahead. Thank you, again.”

  Don followed us in to the living room and we shook hands. Lucy rested her cigarette in the ashtray and walked inside. She gave Hilda a hug and clasped my hand in both of hers.

  “Stay in touch, Mr Rafferty,” she said. “I don’t pray anymore, I’ve seen too much for that, but I wish you luck in finding this girl.” She gave my hand a final squeeze then returned to the terrace.

  Don showed us to the door.

  “I’ll call you,” he whispered, as he shook my hand again.

  We were back on the interstate, Hilda driving, when she spoke.

  “What?”

  I’d been smiling at her for the last five miles.

  “I know what you did back there. Thank you.”

  She smiled into the distance, then darted her eyes back.

  “Hold on. Exactly what was it you think I did?”

  “You made a graceful exit and included me.”

  “Yes,” she said. A beat. “Do you know why?”

  “Of course.”

  A muscle twitched on her jawline. “Uh huh.”

  I was quiet.

  “Are you going to share it with me?” she asked.

  “If you don’t know, I don’t think I shoul—”

  “Of course I know, Rafferty.” More muscle twitching. “I want to see if you do.”

  “Well, if you want me to be coarse …” I took a breath. “You wanted to get home so we can make the beast with two backs before it gets late and you’re too tired. That’s sweet honey, but I’m happy just to cuddle.”

  Her knuckles stood white on the black leather steering wheel.

  “What? You think that I …” she said, before snatching another glance at my face, and beginning her glorious laugh. She reached over and squeezed my hand. “I love you, Rafferty.”

  The sun was setting and we followed the concrete ribbon home through the slanting orange light.

  Kimberly was still lost, but I was closer to finding her.

  The moment deepened around us and the tires hummed. I rubbed the back of Hilda’s hand with my thumb and responded.

  “As you should, my sweet. As you should.”

  Chapter 14

  Sunday morning.

  Too early for real light; too early to be able to tell whether the sky is gray or clear, to know what kind of day is bearing down.

  Hilda snored next to me, the warm skin of her back pressed up against my side. I had one arm underneath her neck and she clasped my hand in her sleep. I stared at the ceiling and scratched my whiskers with my free hand.

  How am I gonna track this bastard down?

  I knew where he was. To be correct, I could narrow it down to one of three places, assuming of course that he didn’t spend much time outside the compounds, and that he remained relatively stationary. I figured that was a safe bet. From Don’s background, it seemed that Dariell would want—no, need—to be always seen as the big kahuna. Now that he’d found his calling, as it were, I couldn’t see him retreating to a life of solitude.

  But that did raise an interesting question. Were they using only one, or all three compounds? Or some kind of rotation basis? Don had said that they left the Washington compound for North Dakota, but did that mean they didn’t, or couldn’t, or wouldn’t, go back?

  And still, even if I had Dariell pegged to a particular compound, that wasn’t the real question. Where was Kimberly?

  Something was telling me that Kimberly wasn’t just another member of this nut-job’s congregation. Whether it was Brian’s story of Dariell putting the missionary into the position, or Kimberly’s resemblance to Lucy, or another thing altogether that I couldn’t yet pin down, I wasn’t sure. But I knew I wouldn’t be surprised to find Kimberly playing a leading role in Dariell’s dark fantasy.

  I’d ask Snowy to help me with the money trail for the property purchases. That would be right up his alley, and might even provide Max with an opportunity for redemption. I’d also get him to do a check on Ana and Jakob.

  Not that I thought Don’s research was in question, but it never hurt to see what else was out there. Don had missed a tiny morsel of revealing information but my trained and discerning eye would pick it up immediately. Case closed. Sure.

  For the moment, the Sunday horizon was growing lighter, I was warm in bed with Hilda and we had no plans for the day. I smiled, closed my eyes and slept.

  Dreamed.

  A hallway.

  Peeling white walls. Scuffed green linoleum.

  Bare lightbulbs cast circular light pools.

  Stepping stones into the darkness.

  Doors set into the hallway walls.

  Serious, sturdy, closed doors.

  Eye-level squares of reinforced glass.

  Lightbulb flickers a staccato code.

  I approach the sputtering light. Noise at my shoulder.

  Turn around. Nothing.

  Peer through the nearest door’s viewing port.

  Don and Lucy.

  Don wears gray cloth. Ripped from his shoulders.

  Hangs in two pieces from his waist. Arms tied to a rough wooden crossbeam overhead.

  Strips of flesh hang from his back. Blood runs.

  Lucy holds the whip in her right hand.

  A cigarette dangles from her lips. She looks me in the eye.

  “I. Do. Not. Answer. To. Anyone!”

  Screaming the final word, she brings the whip to life.

  Don smiles. “I’m learning.”

  Larger room on the opposite side of the hallway.

  Dallas church burning in the background.

  College boys and white hoods share beers and watch the macabre bonfire.

  Yeah, yeah. Okay. Nothing to see here. Recent thoughts compartmentalized into little rooms. Try getting anything from that, Freud.

  I float along the hallway.

  Linoleum morphs to the colour of fresh blood.

  Door on the right. Kimberly lies on a p
lain cot.

  Opens her eyes at me.

  “Help me.” Her voice behind my eyes. “Help me.”

  Kathy-Lee taps me on the shoulder. I manage not to scream.

  “Help her, Mr Rafferty. You have to help her.”

  Yank open a door labeled STOREROOM.

  Room hot with light.

  Twelve women in dazzling white robes.

  Young. Gorgeous. All of them Kimberly.

  “She needs your help.”

  My brain buzzes with their sing-song voice.

  “But you can’t help her now.”

  To the other door.

  End of Kimberly’s room opens. Larger room behind. Concrete floor. Rough brick walls. Dark.

  Shower heads hang from ceiling.

  Bang the wired glass with my fist.

  “Kimberly. Don’t!”

  Bang and yell. Raw throat. Glass smeared with my blood.

  Kimberly gives a final look. “Help me.”

  Steps into that brick-walled room. Wall slides shut.

  She’s gone.

  Sound.

  Twelve Kimberlys glide.

  Down the hallway in two lines.

  Follow.

  End of hallway. Dark space. Huge.

  Two lines of Kimberlys curve away.

  Meet again in a single line. Kneel with heads bowed.

  Large throne draped in black.

  Hooded figure. “You can’t help her now.”

  Women in white turn.

  Twelve Lucys look at me.

  “You can’t help her.”

  Fingers reach. Hood falls.

  Space floods with light.

  Plain cots lined in rows. Kimberly on all of them.

  “Help me.”

  Look up at Dariell.

  Not Dariell.

  Kimberly.

  I think I yelled myself awake.

  The sun had decided to play in a clear, crisp sky.

  I lay there blinking my eyes to focus and felt the cold sheen of sweat. Hilda rustled alongside and mumbled. It sounded like “wssshmmmmpp”.

  It was just a dumb dream, and an obvious one at that.

  Still.

  I felt powerless and stupid.

  Was it only a dream?