by Warren Cain
This has to be more than a coincidence.
I don’t pick up hitchhikers . . . usually . . . but usually I don’t take trips to South Dakota on a whisper of hope.
“Hop in,” muttered Kirk with an uncertain tone.
Try to at least sound a little intimidating. If he is thinking about mugging you, the lack of confidence you just had in your voice just told him he should.
“Thanks.”
The man sat down in the seat and struggled to tilt his head forward enough to fit the rest of him in the car.
“Ron Truitt,” said the stranger, sticking his hand out to shake.
“Kirk Murphy. Nice to meet you.”
He looks a little friendlier up close. I think it’s his size that makes him appear threatening.
“Where are you from?” asked Ron as they turned out of the gas station towards South Dakota.
“Mankata, Washington. How about you?”
“Right here in Binesford, Idaho,” replied Ron with a puzzled look.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked catching the look on his face.
“I just thought you might know that.”
“How would I know where you are from since I just met you?”
“Your friend I met yesterday seemed to know a lot about me. I thought he might have told you.”
This conversation is getting us nowhere, thought Kirk.
“What friend are you talking about?” asked Kirk, trying not to sound as frustrated as he felt.
“Yesterday a man woke me up, took me into his hotel room for a shower and breakfast, and told me I should stand at that gas station with that sign and you would pick me up and take me to where I should go.”
“He said I would pick you up?”
“He said someone in a yellow Chevy Lumina would pick me up. You were the only one I saw and you stopped like you knew to pick me up. You need to take me back to that gas station if you’re not the one taking me to Indemnity,” insisted Ron, almost sounding frantic at the thought of being in the wrong car.
Kirk was becoming a little concerned at his reaction. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen someone get excited so easily.
“Now settle down,” said Kirk calmly. “I think you’re in the right car. I was on my way to Indemnity and decided to turn around and go back to Mankata after I filled up with gas. When I saw your sign I felt that was an indication I needed to keep going to Indemnity, so I picked you up.”
Kirk and Ron exchanged disbelieving glances at the circumstances that had brought them to this point.
“I think someone wants us both in Indemnity,” said Ron.
“Another strange point to this story,” added Kirk, “I was the only one besides the man I met in the church who knew where I was going and he didn’t know what time I was leaving.”
For the rest of the trip, Kirk and Ron kept discussing the possibility of why they were heading to South Dakota. Ron shared with Kirk his story about the cocaine habit that distanced him from his wife and kids and tore his family apart.
“I kicked the habit, but not until after my wife ran away with the kids. I haven’t seen them for nearly five years. I just can’t seem to let go of the guilt,” said Ron, forcing back the lump in his throat. “My only consolation is the kids were better off without me at that time. I sure would like one more chance.”
“Maybe that’s what we’re gonna get in South Dakota,” replied Kirk excitedly. “I mean, think about it. We’re both on our way to a place where they told us we could be redeemed, and we both have guilt and are unable to make things right for the people we hurt.”
The car remained silent for almost an hour as both men tried to grasp the circumstances that brought them on this strange journey.
Chapter 32
Kirk pulled into the small town of Indemnity at 4:30 a.m. on Sunday morning. He had trouble finding the town on the Internet since it was so small it did not even have a post office.
It seemed strange to him that the town’s name was on the address he had been given, when they actually received their mail from the nearby town of Snyder about eight miles to the east. Kirk assumed he would find the solution to that problem when he arrived. After a little research, he found an atlas that showed the small dot on the map.
No population was written below the city limit sign. From the ten houses that occupied the town, Kirk estimated two of the houses were unoccupied so the population was probably not over fifteen.
He had seen many towns like this in Missouri that had no post office. The towns seemed pretty typical from one to the next. People seemed to move there for two reasons. The housing was affordable, and the town was quiet.
From that city limit sign Kirk estimated the distance to the other city limit sign to be 150 feet. Two roads ran through the town. The road running east and west was Highway J, which was maintained by the state and came to a dead end at the east edge of town. The other road was a sparsely graveled road that ran north off of the highway. High View Road was written on a board with letters that appeared to have been made with a can of spray paint.
“Wouldn’t be much reason for anyone to stop here,” commented Ron.
“I know what you mean. I’m glad we stopped at the last town and filled up.”
Kirk made the left turn onto High View Road. The even numbers were on the east side of the street. There were only four houses total. One of them looked as though it had been vacant for several years. The only houses on the east side of the road were 560 and 562. Beyond that was what seemed to be a lot with nothing more than a small group of cedar trees located near the center of the property. Kirk and Ron stepped out of the car to check out the situation.
“Looks like they’ve moved,” remarked Kirk jokingly.
“This would be the right number if there was a house there,” said Ron, not sounding so sure.
“I think we may have been sent on a wild goose chase. I suppose we were foolish to believe that somewhere in this town we would be able to forget about the past.” Ron almost sounded as if he would burst into tears.
“I’m going to walk for just a bit to stretch my legs.”
If he’s going to break down and cry, I don’t want to be around. Best for him too, to be by himself and let it out.
The house adjacent to the vacant lot was a large two-story home that seemed to have been well maintained despite the fact it had been built nearly eighty years prior. Kirk walked toward the cedar trees that covered a small portion of the vacant lot. The cedars had grown up over a storm cellar. The old wooden door on the front had a lock on it but looked as though the door could have been kicked in with little effort. Kirk turned to walk back to the car and ran into a pole that was approximately six inches in diameter.
How did I miss that on my way out here?
The pole did not seem to fit in with the rest of the landscape. It was shiny, almost as though it was brand new. He noticed a small slot on the side of the pole with letters above it stating, “Insert card.”
Insert card?
Kirk stood, staring blankly at the pole for several seconds.
Kirk reached into his wallet and pulled out the card the man had given him at the church. His hunch was right. As he shoved the card into the slot some sort of mechanism inside pulled the card away from him.
Just like a dollar bill changer.
Kirk heard a noise behind him as the cellar moved away, revealing a flight of highly polished, well-lit marble steps leading into the ground. He looked down the flight of stairs. The first step had “564 Indemnity” etched into the marble as if to let him know this was where he was supposed to be.
“RON. Come look at this,” he shouted.
At the first shout, Ron was certain Kirk had hurt himself or had fallen into an old well.
“Ron! Ron! COME TAKE A LOOK AT THIS!”
> “Holy cow . . .” were the only words Ron could speak as he looked into the cellar.
“I guess we’ve come this far. Might as well see who the wizard is,” said Kirk as he took his first step.
Once both men were well inside the cellar, the door above them began to slide back into place. A chill ran down Kirk’s spine at the thought of being trapped underground. The well-lit stairway gave Kirk little comfort for what he might find at the bottom.
Chapter 33
The stairway opened into a small room with a large conference table in the middle. Several small lights on the walls and a small chandelier lit the room, giving it a welcoming glow.
“Anyone home?” asked Kirk in a raised voice.
“You don’t suppose they would be asleep this time of the morning, do you?” said Ron, feeling tired from the traveling and the fact he had not been up at this time of day in over a year.
A door to the side of the room suddenly opened. A large man with graying hair stepped into the room.
“Larry Kincaid,” said the man holding his hand out as he walked toward them.
Wow. He looks happy. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone ever look like he’s got it so together, thought Kirk.
“Kirk Murphy . . . and this is Ron Truitt,” replied Kirk, taking the liberty of introducing Ron.
“Could I interest you two gentlemen in some breakfast?” the man asked happily as though he was excited to have some company.
“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Ron answered quickly.
The man led them back through the door he had entered and up a slightly elevated hallway. At the end of the hallway was what appeared to be a concrete wall.
Now what’s he going to do? thought Kirk.
“I have been redeemed,” the man said slowly so as to allow some computerized device to recognize his voice.
Wow, looks liked the Order is up on the technology, thought Kirk.
“Have to keep our security tight,” said Larry. “And always keep in mind the other side has their own organization that would like to get their hands on a few items in the Order’s possession.”
As the concrete wall closed behind them, Kirk realized it was the backside of a false fireplace. Once the wall was in place it looked so real Kirk would never have imagined it was a doorway.
“We’re in the house next door,” exclaimed Ron as he looked out the window and saw the trees that hid the cellar.
Kirk walked to the window and spotted his car.
“Better come eat while it’s hot,” said Larry as he started setting plates at the table.
Three plates on the table. Now how did he know how many to set out?
“What’s going to happen to us now?” asked Kirk after they started to eat.
“Redemption,” replied Larry with glowing eyes. “It will not be an immediate process, but it will happen in time.”
“What do we have to do?” Ron said between bites of food.
“I can’t tell you that. For everyone it’s different. When the time comes for you to fulfill your part in the Order, you’ll know what to do,” Larry answered. “For me it’s getting people started on their journey to forgiveness. The work of the Order is great, but no one in the Order will be given more than they can handle.”
“What if we decide not to do our part?” asked Ron.
Kirk listened more intently.
“That is entirely your choice. You have free will in all aspects of your life. The fact you have come this far, for something you’re not sure is possible, makes me think that when you know with all your heart you can achieve forgiveness, it’s unlikely you will turn down the opportunity.”
Kirk and Ron sat in thoughtful silence for the rest of the meal.
“I think I’m ready for a nap,” laughed Kirk as he sat back in his chair. It had been over twenty hours since he had slept, and putting food in his stomach had made him sleepy.
“I have beds ready for both of you, but first we must start you on your journey.”
Larry led them back down the stairs into the room they had first entered.
“Take a seat at the table,” he instructed, pointing to the large conference table. “We will begin a ceremony that has been with the Order since the beginning. Once you drink from the cup, you will become a member of the Order.”
Larry walked to the opposite side of the room and punched a code into a small keyboard-looking device on the wall. Above the keyboard were two candles mounted on the wall approximately five feet off the ground and spaced about three feet apart.
A piece of the marble wall between the two candles slid open sideways revealing an old wooden cup. Larry reached in and took the cup, holding it as though it would break if he squeezed it too tightly. Kirk saw him bow his head and heard a small whisper.
An awfully old-looking and plain cup to be put under such tight security.
Larry walked to the table and placed the cup on it. From a small pitcher sitting on the table, Larry poured water into the cup.
“Gentleman, our savior and the Order offer you freedom from the guilt you have held on to so diligently. Do you wish to drink what is offered to you?”
I came this far, thought Kirk.
“To redemption,” he said as he took the cup to his mouth expecting some extreme, immediate reaction. It was like any water he had drank before.
Ron looked at him, waiting for a dramatic reaction. Kirk shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “I don’t know,” to the quizzical look in Ron’s eyes.
Larry took the cup and filled it for Ron who drank the water without hesitation. The cup was then placed back into the wall where it had been stored.
“Gentlemen,” said Larry, “I will show you to your rooms where you can get some sleep. You are now a member of the Order and are welcome in this house. You will stay here until your time to leave.”
“How will we know when it’s our time to leave?” asked Ron.
“You’ll know.”
Larry showed them to their rooms.
“I don’t feel any different,” Kirk confessed as Larry was leaving his room.
“You were forgiven by God when you became remorseful for your sin. If I were to take a guess I would say since you started feeling guilty you have tried hard not to do anything bad since.”
“That’s true,” said Kirk. “I’m careful to not hurt anyone again.”
Larry paused thoughtfully.
“Have you tried doing anything good for people? I finally learned to like myself when I put others’ needs before my own and went out of my way to help them. When I started liking myself I realized I was a person who had done a bad thing. When I did GOOD things for people, it started outweighing the BAD thing I had done and made it seem less burdensome. The Order gave me the opportunity to do more good than I ever did harm. Redemption is given freely by God but is much harder to get from within. I see from the look in your eyes . . . you hunger for it. You will achieve it, but it won’t be easy. Good luck,” said Larry as he shut the door and left Kirk to his thoughts.
Chapter 34
Kirk walked through the back door of the church in his hometown of Lansing, Missouri.
I haven’t been here for years.
The church was quiet. Prayer candles were lit at the front of the church to the left side of the altar. Kirk looked to the rear of the church at the small confessional he dreamed about as a child.
How did I get here? I’m dreaming, he suddenly realized. I’m at the house in Indemnity, in my room, and I’m dreaming.
“I wouldn’t call this dreaming, lad. I would call it receiving a divine message.”
Kirk turned quickly to see a small elderly man with short gray hair and bushy sideburns wearing a suit with a bow tie and a bowler hat.
“Do I know you?” asked Kirk, trying not to smile at the leprechaun
appearance of the man, which was enhanced by the thick Irish accent.
“No, ye don’t, lad. Ye can call me Joe. Always did like the name Joe. It’s such a simple name. Just one syllable. People nowadays are trying to invent names that are longer and more complex than they did in the old days,” he said as though he were fondly remembering a better time in his life.
“I’m Kirk, Kirk Murphy,” he said, holding his hand out to shake.
“Yes, I know who ye are,” acknowledged Joe, ignoring the hand. “I understand ye need redemption, and I’m here to set you on a path that will lead to that very thing. This will not be the only time I will be in touch with ye, but it will always begin in the back of this church as a reminder to ye that you are fighting yer dragon.”
Kirk looked at the confessional.
“No, ye won’t have any real dragons to fight this time,” said Joe smiling. “Just metaphorical ones. But they can be just as big and ugly as the real ones, and they just keep getting bigger if ye don’t step in and do something about them.”
“How do you know so much about me?”
“I was wondering when that question would come up. It always does. I’m a messenger from God. An angel. I look like a person so yer more comfortable. I only know the things about you I need to complete the message to ye.”
“So where are these metaphorical dragons I need to fight?” asked Kirk with a sick feeling growing in his stomach.
“Let’s check back in the confessional. Shall we?”
Kirk opened the door to the confessional. The room was dimly light and had a slight musty odor expected of a room with only one entrance that was kept shut most of the time.
“What now?” asked Kirk.
“Take a seat, lad,” replied Joe, motioning towards the empty chair reserved for the confessor.
Kirk sat down. To his immediate right was a curtain that hid the confessor from the priest for discretionary purposes. On both sides of the curtain were identical wooden chairs.
