by Ren Hamilton
Some piece of the puzzle eluded Patrick. Or was being kept from him.
“Russell has the design worked out already. We’re meeting at my house tomorrow to set it up. Are you in, Obrien?” Shep looked at him hopefully.
“No I am not in! This is a monumental waste of time, childish, and doomed to fail, not that that’s ever concerned you.”
“He may be right, Shep.” Joey was flipping through one of the books on the table. “I never paid attention in church and stopped going when I was like nine. How do you expect me to learn all this crap?”
“You don’t have to learn it all,” Shep said. “Just enough to convince people that she spoke to you if it comes to it.”
Patrick stiffened. “Convince people that who spoke to him?”
Shep eyed him innocently. “The apparition. Possibly the Virgin Mary, but we’re leaving it open to interpretation. I figure any glowing woman can be linked to similar icons within the various religious communities. Doesn’t matter what faith it is, everyone’s got a goddess somewhere in their scriptures.”
Patrick’s mouth fell open. “What?”
“We’re gonna target Christians mainly of course. A ton of them have gone batshit crazy lately anyway, it’s the perfect pool to fish in. But like I said, we’re not targeting strictly Christians. We’ll keep the miracle vague enough to cross religious borders, keep the lines blurry so we can cast a wide net.”
“Oh, no. You guys can’t do that. The Virgin Mary? That’s sacrilege, man.” Patrick fingered the small gold cross that hung from his neck, a confirmation gift from his mother.
“Obrien is right,” Joey said. “Look at me. Nobody is going to take spiritual advice from some former corporate nobody. I’ll be lucky if I can scare up even the smallest cult, and that’s not worth the energy.”
“No, Joey. You’re wrong. Don’t you get it? That’s exactly why they will listen to you! You’re the average Joe, like them. You’re not like those phonies who try preaching to them.”
Patrick laughed. “He’s not?”
“Think about it. Whenever there’s a U.F.O. sighting or something of that nature, it’s always some toothless yahoo standing in a cornfield that reports it. Everyone figures the damn hick’s been hitting the moonshine. And supposed religious apparitions only happen in postage stamp sized countries halfway across the world, and the only witnesses are a bunch of hooded peasants. This will be a whole new arena with a whole new audience.”
Patrick cleared his throat deliberately. “Cairo.”
Shep frowned. “What?”
“Cairo, Egypt. The Virgin Mary appeared on top of a church there. I think it was back in the nineteen seventies. Hundreds of people witnessed it, and it was recorded on film. Cairo isn’t exactly a one-horse town, Shepherd.”
Shep narrowed his eyes. “Thank you, Obrien. I know where fucking Cairo is. My point is that Joey is an intelligent urban professional, and he has all of his teeth to boot. This is Boston, a cultural modern city. This is the hub, man! It will be a whole different reaction if something like that happens here.”
Patrick took a seat at the table and sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Okay, for argument’s sake, let’s say Russell and Craig create a masterpiece apparition. What makes you think people in this so-called modern cultural city would even care? Why would people in the information age give a shit about miracle apparitions?”
“Because, Obrien, people will always fear death, no matter how many computer chips we manufacture. It’s human nature. That’s why there’s been an uptick in religious fervor, because shit in the world has been scarier than usual lately. And as long as people fear death, they’ll keep an eye out for that small flicker of proof that there’s something more to this dismal existence.”
“But Shepherd—”
“People want this, Obrien. Not all of them, sure, but enough. They’re tired of health crises and economic recessions and war. They want fantasy. They want magic. And we’re going to give it to them.”
Patrick shook his head. “Most people want reality, not magic.”
“And we’re gonna get those people onboard too!” Shep said. “At least some of them. Because we’re going to make Joey as real as it gets. He’s going to be Mr. John Q. Public. He could be your neighbor, your brother, your friend, or your son.”
“So then what? You think people are just going to believe him because he looks wholesome and used to work a dull office job?”
“No. People are going to believe him because he’s going to refuse to talk about the incident after.”
Joey looked up from his coffee cup. “Why do I refuse to talk?”
“Because after the apparition appears to you, everyone is going to assume it’s a hoax. They’ll be just waiting for you to start exploiting it. Instead, you behave as if the whole thing freaked you out and you don’t want to talk about it,” Shep said.
“Therefore he becomes more credible,” Patrick said softly, nodding. His stomach turned cold as Shep’s logic started to make a twisted sort of sense. “He doesn’t try to capitalize on it, so people start to wonder if maybe the apparition was genuine.”
Shep pointed a finger at Patrick. “Right! So what happens next? The local media gets hungry, the way they always do when someone shuts them out. Their only recourse is to dig up Joey’s past and try to put together some sort of story. And what do they discover about this mystery man? Joey Duvaine was recently fired from his job right after his father’s funeral. Joey Duvaine has recently lost his entire family to untimely tragedy. Downtrodden and kicked around harder than Job himself, Joey Duvaine…” Shep did a drum roll on the table with his fingers. “…is a man who has lost his faith in life.”
Patrick buried his head in his hands. “Oh, God.” He tried to imagine Shep’s brilliant insanity working alongside Joey’s power to influence people. Pepper that with Joey’s financial wizardry and Shep’s endless supply of cash…. “So what you’re telling me, is that you’re going to exploit the recent misery of your best friend.”
Shep grinned. “We’re gonna exploit the shit out of him.”
Patrick stood. “I’m going home now, boys. Good luck with your miracle.”
“Obrien, wait! I need you to be part of this,” Shep said.
“You’re insane, Shep.”
“That’s beside the point. I want you to be in on this. If it works out, we could all get rich.”
“You’re already rich! So is Joey! And if you’re so concerned about my financial state, then why don’t you just support me?”
“I have enough cash to support one irresponsible lifestyle, and that’s my own. Besides. Joey is losing the beach house.”
This got Patrick’s attention. “Joey? Is that true?”
Joey nodded. “I guess old pops made some bad financial decisions while he was on the sauce. I have to sell the Forest Bluffs house just to pay off his debts.”
“You are not losing that beach house, Joey!” Shep said. “This plan is going to work, and none of us will have to worry about things like money and taxes.”
Patrick looked at him, incredulous. “Why is it so important to you that we all become just like you, Shepherd? That we all adopt your lifestyle? I mean, why is that?”
Shep cast his eyes downward, his long blond lashes brushing his cheekbones. “I hate it when you guys go to work,” he said. “I get bored.”
Patrick stared at his friend. “That is touching, Shep, but I have no intention on putting my reputation and my future career prospects on the line simply because you get bored sometimes. I’m out of here.”
Again Patrick started for the door and again Shep jumped in front of him. “Come to my house tomorrow. You don’t have to commit, just watch. Russell and Craig are coming over with the equipment.”
“Tomorrow? Easter Sunday. Even your timing is inappropriate.”
“Come on, Obrien. Just come over to watch. Joey said he won’t come unless you do.”
Patrick glanced over at Joey, who smi
led at him. His impossibly handsome face was completely covered with chocolate.
“Look at him, Obrien. He’s pathetic. He needs you.”
“I am pathetic,” Joey added humorously.
Patrick felt the Shep Factor kicking in again. Reluctantly, he agreed to meet them at Shep’s house the following morning. He was willing to watch the comedy unfold, as long as the outcome was failure. If at some future date this contrivance of theirs actually succeeded, then he was out. That nagging instinct to start distancing himself from these two was niggling at him again. Maybe it was just that Patrick was growing up, and Joey and Shep were determined not to. Or maybe it was more complicated than that. Either way, they were both beginning to weird him out.
He was heading for the door when he paused and turned back. “Hey Joey. Why can’t you just go into politics? You can still use your power to influence people. You can embezzle money, and you can lie your ass off. In politics, people expect that sort of corruption.”
Joey frowned at him. “Obrien, be serious. I’d have to wear a suit.”
Patrick decided to skip telling Joey what Henry Donnelly said about him. Clearly, he had moved on.
Chapter Five
Boston liked to deem itself a modern, booming metropolis, but a space shortage kept it confined in layered clusters, having to raise bridges and dig tunnels rather than expanding outward. Some of the wealthiest neighborhoods sat just a block or two from the poorest. The elite would have had it otherwise if they could, but there was only so much Boston to go around.
Shep lived in one of the older affluent neighborhoods, where eighteenth century brick held stubborn ground. A stone fortress with stained glass windows, Shep’s home stood high on a cul-de-sac at the end of a private way. One wouldn’t associate the house with someone like Shep, if one were inclined to judge by appearances, as most of Shep’s neighbors were.
Shep was a gossip target amongst the residents sharing the posh lane. They were terminally curious as to where this raggedy character got his money. Shep enjoyed letting them wonder. They’d stare out their windows as he mowed his lawn, shirtless, stopping periodically to swill a beer. Shep would catch them peeking and wave enthusiastically. They’d offer him a curt nod, then run for cover, lest they be forced to converse with this strange inhabitant, who mowed his own lawn instead of hiring a landscaper like the rest of the civilized world.
The neighbors would be at their windows today, Patrick thought as he pulled into the driveway behind Russell and Craig’s big white box truck. He got out of his car and headed toward the back yard. A spindly man with short black hair appeared from around back and bounded down the driveway with a cable wire in his hand, black frames supporting thick eyeglass lenses. Patrick watched as he cranked open the rear door of the box truck then rummaged around, re-emerging with a longer snake of cable. He looked up as Patrick approached. It was one of the Buddy Holly clones, but Patrick wasn’t sure which one. The clone smiled. “How ya doing, Patrick? Long time no see.”
Definitely Russell. Craig would not have said hello. “Hey, Russell, good to see you.”
“You look good. Barely aged a day since college.”
“Thanks, you too.”
Russell nodded, then sprinted off past the garage, disappearing behind the house where the cellar entrance was. No time for chit chat, the great Melvin Eugene Shepherd required his assistance.
Patrick lifted the bulkhead door and made his way down into Shep’s gigantic basement. While he was expecting some sort of mayhem, he was overwhelmed by the commotion in the space below. Huge adjustable lights ran along the perimeter of the floor, illuminating the barrage of electronic equipment in the center. Patrick saw computer monitors, cameras, metal standing boards covered with impressive looking switches, and something that looked like a laser.
Craig, the nastier twin, was hovering over one of these boards. His hair had grown since Patrick last saw him, the short style given over to an unruly mess of shoulder-length black waves, and unlike Russell, Craig no longer wore glasses. At least now Patrick could tell them apart. Patrick supposed that Russell was the prettier twin, but they were nearly identical.
Joey sat in the corner of the basement on an electric heater, reading The Holy Bible. It was a curious image, Joey in his Brooks Brothers sweater and Rolex watch, puffing on a joint while trying to absorb a millennium of Christianity in Shep’s dusty basement.
Shep stood behind Craig, watching him fuss with the equipment. He spotted Patrick and waved him over. “Obrien! You made it. Good. We’re almost ready. Come here for a minute. You have got to see this stuff.”
Patrick moved reluctantly toward the cluster of electronics, nearly tripping over Russell, who crawled along the floor in a tangle of wires. Craig looked up as Patrick approached, his usual sour expression pinching his face. “Shepherd, I thought this was a confidential project. How many more people did you invite?”
“He’s the last one, Craig. And if you weren’t such a rude prick, you’d remember that you know Obrien from college, and he’s one of my best friends.”
Craig made a fake smile on one side of his mouth, then dropped it. “Hello, Obrien.”
Patrick nodded.
Shep was on to showing Patrick the electronics, huge green eyes lit with excitement. “Do you see this stuff? This is state of the art! Craig says nobody in New England has equipment like this. Isn’t that right, Craig?”
“That’s right, Shepherd. Now, could you please ask your large friend not to lean on the beam splitter? It’s worth more than his life.”
Patrick looked down and realized he had his hand rested on some piece of high-tech looking equipment. “Oh. Sorry.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
“These guys have quite the operation. Here, watch this.” Shep reached for one of the switches but Craig caught his wrist.
“Please don’t touch that, Shepherd. It is not a toy.”
“Okay, then you show him,” Shep snapped, rubbing his wrist. He wasn’t used to people saying no to him and it showed.
Craig turned away, giving Shep his back. “I’m trying to work here. Your insistence on playing with everything is wasting time.”
Shep grabbed Craig’s arm. “I’m paying you a lot of money for your time, Craig, and if I want to waste it, I will. Do we understand each other?”
Craig rolled his eyes. “Sure. You’re the boss.”
Shep smiled. “Okay then. Now show my friend Patrick the cool little floating thing, before I get pissed off and pull my money from the project.”
Craig sighed, then flipped a couple of switches while he played with a black dial on the standing board. A round, three-dimensional object materialized in the corner of the basement. The image stretched from ceiling to floor, and was saucer shaped. Craig made a few adjustments, and the saucer shrank to the size of a Frisbee. It hovered above the floor, swaying rhythmically from side to side, then it disappeared. “It will only hold stable for a short time,” Craig said.
“Who cares, it’s so cool!” Shep jumped up and down, clapping. “Did you see it, Obrien? Instant UFO!”
Patrick was impressed, but reluctant to give Craig the satisfaction. “It would never fool anyone,” he said with a shrug.
Craig sneered at Patrick. “Oh really? It fooled close to three hundred people in a small town in Maine last year. Even got a write up in one of the national papers.” Patrick frowned, and Craig turned away before he could say anything further. Joey mumbled in the corner, his nose still buried in the bible. The sight of him sitting on the electric heater like some misfit theology student was disorienting. In fact this was all disorienting. Joey, the twins, flying saucers and bibles. Shep and Joey had always been eccentric, it was part of their charm. But now they just seemed nuts, and it was getting less cute with each passing day.
As if in support of this madness, Kelinda appeared at the foot of the stairs. She wore a silky white nightgown that fell to her ankles. Patrick gasped when he saw her. The nightgown was shee
r, showing a perfect outline of her slim form. Her chestnut hair tumbled like silk onto her bare arms. “No, Kelinda!” Shep yelled from across the room. “I told you, I need you to be naked! Craig is going to white out your privates.”
Kelinda put her hands on her hips. “And I told you, Shepherd, that I’m not going to do this naked. If Craig can white out my privates, then he can white out the nightgown.”
Patrick stared at Shep. “What the hell is she doing here?”
Shep pointed his thumb at Craig. “Craig refused to provide the model for the apparition. We had to come up with a Virgin Mary practically overnight.”
Craig sighed. “As I told Shepherd, this is a confidential project. If I provide the model for the goddess, and she squawks about it at a later date, then I become liable for ruining the project. This way, Shep is liable if she talks.”
Patrick didn’t know Kelinda well yet, but had it been his choice, he wouldn’t have involved her. He looked at Shep. “Why Kelinda?”
Shep shrugged. “Kelinda looks young, innocent, beautiful, and she has the right hair.”
“You said she looks like a cartoon.”
“I never said it was a bad thing, Obrien. She’s a very pretty cartoon.”
“I think she’s amazing.” Craig stared dreamily across the room at Kelinda.
Joey grumbled in the corner, then tossed the bible onto the floor. “I can’t read any more of this shit! There’s too many begats. Who gives a fuck who begat who? And why are there so many goats?”
Patrick felt like he was suffocating, about to have an anxiety attack or something. “Shep, could I see you outside please?”
Shep seemed to see the desperation in his eyes. “Sure, Obrien. Outside.” He turned to the twins. “I’ll be back in five minutes. Be ready. We’re going to do this.”
They passed Kelinda on their way out. She smiled. “Hi, Patrick.”
