The Three: A Novel

by Sarah Lotz

  Well, just as me and Stephenie were finishing up talking, who should come up the driveway but Pastor Len himself. My heart plummeted when I saw he had that Monty with him.

  ‘Reba,’ Pastor Len said, the second he came through the screen door. ‘Is Kendra here?’

  I told him I hadn’t seen her.

  Monty sat himself right down at the table, helped himself to a glass of iced tea without even asking. Stephenie’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t pay any mind to her.

  ‘All Kendra’s clothes are gone,’ Pastor Len said. ‘The dog too. She say anything to you, Reba? ’Bout where she might be going? I tried her brother in Austin and he says he hasn’t seen her.’

  I told him I didn’t have an inkling where she might’ve gone, and Stephenie said the same. Didn’t mention that I didn’t blame her for getting out of there, what with all those strangers taking over her home.

  ‘It’s probably for the best,’ he said. ‘Me and Kendra… we had certain disagreements about the role of Jesus in our lives.’

  ‘Amen,’ Monty said, although I couldn’t see any reason for it.

  Stephenie was trying to hide the Inquirer with her arms, but Pastor Len saw what she was doing.

  ‘Don’t you listen to those lies about me,’ he said. ‘I ain’t never done nothing immoral. Jesus is all I need in my life.’

  I believed him, Elspeth. That man had real conviction, and I could see that he wasn’t lying.

  I made a fresh pitcher of iced tea and then I decided to air what was on my mind. ‘How are you planning on feeding all the new folks who have shown up, Pastor Len?’ I’m not ashamed to say I looked right at Monty when I said it.

  ‘The Lord will provide. Those good folks will be well taken care of.’

  Well, they didn’t look like good folks to me. Specially the ones like Monty. I said something about people taking advantage of his good nature, and Pastor Len got real irritated with me. ‘Reba,’ he said. ‘What did Jesus say about judging people? As a good Christian, you should know better than that.’

  Then he and that Monty took off.

  I was upset by the altercation, I really was, and for the first time in years when Sunday came around I didn’t go to church. Stephenie told me later it was full of the new Lookie-Loos, and quite a few of the inner circle had stayed away.

  Well, it had to be two days later, something like that. I was keeping myself busy, wanted to get the canning done that week (by then we had a good two years’ worth of canned fruit, Elspeth, but there was still plenty to do). Lorne and I were talking about ordering in some wood, storing it out back in case the power gave out, when I heard a pick-up shuddering to a stop outside the porch. I looked out and saw Jim slumped behind the wheel. I hadn’t seen him since the week before when I’d gone over to take him a pie. He’d refused to answer the door and it pains me to say it, but I left it on the front step.

  He just about fell out of the car, and when me and Lorne ran up to steady him he said, ‘Got a call from Joanie, Reba.’ He stank real bad, of booze and sweat. It looked like he hadn’t shaved for weeks.

  I wondered if his daughter had called to tell him that Pam’s ashes were finally going to be coming home, and that’s why he was so upset.

  I sat him in the kitchen and he said, ‘Can you call Pastor Len for me? Get him to come right over?’

  ‘Why didn’t you just drive on up to his ranch?’ I asked. Fact is, he shouldn’t have been driving anywhere. You could smell the alcohol on him from a mile away. It was enough to make my eyes water. If Sheriff Beaumont had seen him in that state he would’ve locked him up for sure. I fixed him a Coke straight away to take the edge off. After me and Pastor Len had had that altercation, I wasn’t keen on calling him, but I did it all the same. Didn’t expect him to answer, but he did. Said he’d be right over.

  Jim didn’t say much while we waited for Pastor Len, though me and Lorne tried to draw him out. And the little he did say didn’t make much sense to us. Fifteen minutes later, Pastor Len showed up, his dog Monty in tow as usual.

  Jim said straight off, ‘Joanie went to see that boy, Len. That boy in Japan.’

  Pastor Len just froze. Before they went their separate ways, Pastor Len was always saying how Dr Lund had been trying for the longest time to get to speak to one of those children. Jim’s eyes fluttered. ‘Joanie said that Jap boy… said she talked to the boy, but not to him exactly.’

  None of us knew what in Jesus’ name he was talking about. ‘I don’t get you, Jim,’ Pastor Len said.

  ‘She said he was talking through this android. This robot that looked just like him.’

  ‘A robot?’ I said. ‘He was talking through a robot? Like the ones on YouTube? What in heaven?’

  ‘What does it mean, Pastor Len?’ Monty asked.

  Pastor Len didn’t say anything for at least a minute. ‘I guess maybe I should give Teddy a call.’ That’s what Pastor Len called Dr Lund. Teddy, like they were good friends, although we all knew he and Dr Lund were having issues. Later Lorne said he reckoned Pastor Len was hoping a story like that would make up for the lies about his fancy woman; repair some of the damage done.

  Then came the kicker. Jim said he’d already been to the newspapers about the story. Told them the lot, ’bout how Joanie had been round to see that Jap kid and talked to that robot that looked just like him.

  Pastor Len turned as red as a canned beet. ‘Jim,’ he said. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about this first before you went to the papers?’

  Jim got that stubborn look on his face. ‘Pam was my wife. They offered me money for the story. I wasn’t going to turn that down. I gotta live.’

  A ton of money was coming to Jim from Pam’s insurance, so that wasn’t any excuse. Lorne said he could see plain as day that Pastor Len was ornery because he wanted to use that information for himself.

  Jim banged his fist on the table. ‘And people gotta know those kids is evil. How could that boy survive and not Pam, Pastor Len? It’s not fair. It’s not right. Pam was a good woman. A good woman.’ Jim started crying, saying how those children were murderers. How they’d killed all those people on the planes, and he couldn’t understand why no one could see that.

  Pastor Len said he’d drive him home, with Monty following in Jim’s pick-up. It took both of them to carry him out to Pastor Len’s new SUV. Jim was crying fit to burst, shaking and howling. That man shouldn’t have been left alone after that. It was obvious that his mind was broken. But like I said he was stubborn, and I know in my heart that he would have turned me down flat if I’d offered to take him in.

  Just before this book was due to go into print, I finally managed to secure an interview with Pastor Len’s estranged wife, Kendra Vorhees. I spoke to her at a state-of-the-art psychiatric clinic where she is currently residing (I have agreed not to print the name or exact location).

  I’m shown to Kendra’s room, an airy, sun-filled space, by an orderly with a perfect manicure. Kendra is sitting at a desk, a book open in front of her (later I see that it’s the latest in Flexible Sandy’s Gone series). The dog on her lap–Snookie–wags its tail half-heartedly as I approach, but Kendra barely seems to register my presence. When she finally looks up, her eyes are clear and her expression far shrewder than I’m expecting. She’s so slender that I can see every vein beneath her skin. There’s a slight Texan drawl to her voice, and she speaks carefully, perhaps as a result of the medication she’s taking.

  She waves me into an armchair opposite the desk and does not object when I place my recording device in front of her.

  I ask Kendra why she decided to talk to me and not one of the other journalists eager to interview her.

  I read your book. The one where you interviewed those children who accidentally shot their siblings with Mommy’s .38 Special, or who got it into their heads to murder their classmates with Daddy’s semi-automatic toy. Len was spitting mad when he saw me reading it. Course he was, he’s big on that second amendment baloney, the right to bear
arms and all that.

  But you mustn’t think I’m after revenge for what Len did with that prostitute. A ‘ho’ they call them, don’t they? I liked her, if you want the truth. She was refreshingly honest, which is rare these days. I hope she takes her fifteen minutes of fame and runs with it. Milks it for all it’s worth.

  I ask her if she was the one who leaked the story about Pastor Len’s indiscretions. She sighs, fusses with Snookie and nods briefly. I ask her why she leaked the story if it wasn’t for revenge.

  Because, the truth shall set you free! (she laughs abruptly and humourlessly). You can say what you darn well please when you write this up, by the way. What you darn well please. But if you want the real truth, I did it to get Len away from Dr Lund forever. Len was broken-hearted when the big boys kicked him out of their club after he made a fool of himself on that radio show, but I knew it wouldn’t take much for him to go crawling back if Dr Lund snapped his fingers. I thought I was doing it for Len’s own good, anyone could see that Dr Lund was a manipulator. And Dr Lund wouldn’t want an acolyte with a sex scandal to his name muddying up his shiny reputation, not now he’s got all those political aspirations. Turns out it was the worst thing I could have done. It goes through my head a thousand times a day, what if I hadn’t followed Len that day? What if I’d let it be? I keep thinking, if Len had wormed his way back into Dr Lund’s good graces, would that have made a difference in the end? Would it have stopped him from listening to that Jim Donald’s crazy talk? Everyone’s saying how Len ‘let the devil in’, but it’s not as simple as that. Fact is, disappointment pushed Len over the edge. A broken heart will do that to you.

  I open my mouth to comment, but she continues.

  I’m not mad. I’m not crazy. I’m not a loony tune. It wore me out, all that pretending. You can’t play a part all your life, can you? They say I’ve got depression. Clinical. Might be bipolar, but who knows what that means? This place isn’t cheap. I’m making my good-for-nothing brother pick up the bill. He’s been working his way through Daddy’s money, got the lion’s share, so it’s about time he shelled out. And who else was I going to ask? I thought of maybe approaching Dr Lund himself. Even when we were at that godawful conference, you could tell he thought I was an embarrassment. I know for a fact he didn’t want me to appear with Len on his show that one time. His wife didn’t take to me either. It was mutual. You should have seen her face when I declined to join her Christian Women’s League. ‘We got to put those feminists and baby killers in their place, Kendra.’

  She narrows her eyes at me.

  I can see you’re more than likely one of those feminists, am I right?

  I tell her that I am.

  That will make Lund even madder when he reads what I have to say. I’m not. A feminist, I mean. I’m not anything. No labels on me, no causes. Oh, I know what those ridiculous women back in that godawful place think of me. Fifteen years I lived there. They thought I was stuck-up, had ideas above my station because of where I’d come from. They also thought I was weak; meek and weak. The meek shall inherit the earth. Len could set their pulses a-flutter, of course. I’m surprised he didn’t take up with one of them. But I suppose I should be grateful he chose not to foul in the back yard.

  What a life! Stuck in a backwater county with a preacher for a husband. It was not what Daddy had envisaged for me. It was hardly what I had envisaged for myself. I had ambitions, not many. Thought about maybe teaching once. I have a college degree, you know. And those women tried to interest me in all their prepping nonsense. If there is a solar flare or a nuclear war, a thousand cans of pickled turnips aren’t going to save you.

  Pamela was the best of the bunch. In another life we could have been friends. Well, maybe not friends, but she wasn’t as much of a bore as the others. Wasn’t as dull or gossipy. I felt for her, living with that husband. Mean as a junkyard dog, that Jim. I liked Joanie, the daughter, too. I was rejoicing inside when she made the break, went off to see the world.

  She fusses with Snookie again.

  I like to think that at least Pam will have some comfort knowing that Snookie’s being taken care of.

  I ask her how she met Pastor Len.

  Where else? At a Bible rally. A rally in Tennessee, which is where I went to college. We met across a crowded tent. (she laughs humourlessly) Love at first sight–for me at least. Took me years to realise that Len only found me attractive because of my other assets. All he wanted was his own church, ‘That’s what I was put on the earth to do,’ he’d say. ‘Preach the Lord’s word and save souls.’

  He was a Baptist back then, so was I. He’d gone to college late, been working his way around the South. All full of fire and Jesus, worked for a time as a deacon for Dr Samuel Keller. Doubt you’ll remember him. Low level, but it looked like he was on track to be another Hagee before he got caught with his pants down in the nineties. Shit will stick and ain’t that the truth, as my daddy used to say, and after Keller was discovered canoodling with that young boy in a public convenience, Len discovered that finding another position wasn’t going to be easy, least not till all the hoo-ha calmed down. His only choice was to start up on his own. We moved around a lot, looking for the right place. Then we came to Sannah County. Daddy had just died, left me my inheritance and we bought the ranch with that. I think Len had some idea of farming on the side, but what did he know about farming?

  He was a beautiful man to look at. Still is, I suppose. Knew the benefits of good grooming. Daddy wasn’t happy when I brought him home. ‘Mark my words, that boy will break your heart,’ he said.

  Daddy was wrong. Len didn’t break my heart, but he sure as hell tried.

  Tears start running down her cheeks, but she appears not to notice. I hand her a tissue, and she wipes her eyes absentmindedly.

  Don’t mind me. I wasn’t always like this. I did believe, oh I did. No. I lost my faith when God saw fit not to give me children. That’s all I wanted. It might have been different if I could have been given that. It’s not much to ask. And Len wouldn’t consider adopting. ‘Children aren’t part of Jesus’ plan for us, Kendra.’

  But I’ve got a baby now, haven’t I? Oh yes. One that needs me. Who needs to be loved. Who deserves to be loved.

  She pets Snookie again, but the dog barely stirs.

  Len isn’t an evil man. No. I’ll never say that. He’s a disappointed man, poisoned by thwarted ambition. He wasn’t clever enough, or charismatic enough–not till he got fire and brimstone in his eyes–not till that woman mentioned him in that message.

  Sound bitter, don’t I?

  I shouldn’t be mad at Pamela. I don’t blame her really. Like I say, she was a good woman. Len and I… I guess we were stagnating, had been for years, and something had to change. He had his radio show and his Bible and healing groups, he’d spent years trying to get what he called ‘the big boys’ to take notice of him. And I’ve never seen him so excited as when he got invited to that goshdarn conference. There was a part of me–the part that hadn’t died by then–that thought it might really be the making of us. But he let it all go to his head. And he really did believe in that message. He does believe in that message. People are saying he’s a charlatan, no better than those alien people or those crazy cult leaders, but that part at least isn’t an act.

  I couldn’t stand it when all those people started coming to the ranch. They upset Snookie. I reckon Len thought he’d make a fortune from all the tithes they’d bring. Did it to prove to Dr Lund that he could get a loyal following, too. But none of the ones who came had any money. That Monty, for starters. I could sense him watching me sometimes. There was something wrong with the way that man’s mind was wired. I spent a lot of time in my room, watching my shows. Len tried to get me out to church on Sundays, but by then I couldn’t face it. Other times me and Snookie would just get in the car and drive and drive, not caring where we ended up.

  It was bound to go sour. I told Len not to do that radio show with that smart-mouth New York ma
n. But Len wasn’t one to listen. He didn’t like it if you contradicted him.

  I knew Dr Lund was out to pull one over him eventually, and that’s what he did. Took Len’s words and used them for his own ends. Len would rage up and down, trying to get Dr Lund or that Flexible Sandy on the phone, but eventually he couldn’t even get their publicists to speak to him. It was all over the news that more and more people were getting themselves saved, and Dr Lund was taking the lion’s share of the credit. He had the contacts, you see. And when he got behind that Mitch Reynard and didn’t invite Len to speak at that pro-Israel rally, well, I have never seen Len so upset. I didn’t stick around to see his face after the story in the Inquirer came out; I left the day it was published. He denied it, just like I knew he would. But being ousted out of the big boys’ club did more damage to his self-esteem than any news story–however sensationalist–could do. In fact, I don’t doubt that Lund’s dismissal hurt Len far more than me leaving him.

  It was cruel. Dr Lund opened the door a crack, let Len see into the palace, and then slammed the door on him.