Rage, page 22
“Are you singing your new song at the prayer meeting tomorrow night?” she asked.
A flush of excitement colored his cheeks. “Yes. I’ve been practicing with the choir.” He sat up, bubbling with anticipation. “I can’t wait. Do you really like it?”
“I love it,” she assured him. “And so will everyone else. It’s a beautiful song and you have a lovely voice.”
Although Joey’s eyes drooped, she couldn’t bear to leave him yet. Not tonight. There were so many things she wanted to say. But there wasn’t time. She had dedicated her life to his training and had to trust that he was ready. He was strong, responsible and dedicated. And now it was time for him to accept his duty.
He frowned. “Are you sure it’s okay?” he asked. “If you’d rather I preach with you…”
She smiled. “No, I have a special sermon planned for tomorrow. You can serve me better in song.” Besides, she thought, there would be plenty of time for him to preach alone after tomorrow night.
She almost reconsidered. She’d spent the last twelve years of her life preparing for this moment and it was too late to turn back now. Celeste had known from the moment of conception that Joey was special. She’d had dreams throughout her pregnancy foretelling his eventual rise to power as the religious and political leader of the world. She’d formed this community as his training ground and surrounded him with dedicated followers. His whole existence had prepared him for his destiny. Now his time had come and her job was nearly finished. She knew he was strong enough to accept his place in the world, with or without her.
They talked longer than usual, and before she left she held him tight, not wanting to let go. Instead of her usual goodnight, she whispered softly, “Goodbye, son.”
But he was already asleep and didn’t hear her leave.
She stood outside his room for a moment, leaning against the closed door. The tears in her eyes were not for herself. They were for the son she could no longer protect from his fate. He’d have many trials ahead, trials that would make him a stronger person and ensure his future leadership of the world. The next few days were pivotal. Although he’d be surrounded by followers, he’d have to make crucial decisions on his own.
She barely registered the hand on her shoulder, the gentle voice at her ear. “Are you all right, Mother Moon?”
She studied the face of one of Joey’s newest advisors. Season was devoted to Joey and he trusted her completely. This was a woman with steel beneath the softness of her face, a woman of fierce loyalties. She would do well.
“I need to speak with you privately, Season,” Celeste said.
“Of course, Mother Moon. But I shouldn’t leave my post.”
Celeste smiled. Very good. She would do fine. “We can talk here.” She took Season’s hand. “You’re very loyal to my son.”
“I’d guard him with my life,” Season assured her.
“That may be necessary.”
Celeste watched the emotions cross the woman’s face, from fear to concern to steely determination. “No one will hurt him,” Season assured her. “I promise you.”
“You realize that Joey is the new Messiah. There will be people who will try to destroy him. Already there are spies here in the commune, intruders whose presence puts him in danger.”
“Who?” The question was sharp and probing. “Who are they?”
“You’ll know them when you see them. And when the time comes, you may be the only one standing between them and Joey.”
Season squeezed Celeste’s hand. “No one will hurt him. Not as long as there’s breath in my body.”
Celeste stared into the woman’s eyes. There was no doubt she meant what she said. She nodded. “Very good.”
“There’s something else,” Season said. “Something you’re not telling me.”
She was very observant, Celeste realized. But as much as she would have liked to confide in someone, on this night of all nights, she couldn’t. Events were set in place that couldn’t be tampered with. And time was running out.
She needed to speak with her brother before this night was over. She had to bring him the final set of tapes.
Tomorrow would be here soon enough.
Season watched Mother Moon walk away. Her main concern was the boy and his safety, but there was something else, too. Something she should remember…but it was eclipsed by her concern for the boy she’d quickly come to love.
She couldn’t remember how long she’d been at the commune. Days had passed, each one like the other in a lulling sameness of regular routines, smiling robed figures and hours spent training Joey.
She’d heard rumors that Pierce had arrived a week ago, but the desire to find him became less urgent with each day that passed. She couldn’t remember why it had been important to begin with, or why she’d come here in the first place.
The more she tried to focus, the heavier her head became. She finally gave up and shook the dullness away. It didn’t matter. Joey was all that mattered now.
Gate was wrong. They didn’t make any progress the next day. They were never alone and Blaize wondered whether there were direct orders from Oswald Gaderian to keep them under strict watch at all times.
Everywhere they went they were shadowed by disciples who bubbled with spiritual enlightenment and passion for Mother Moon and her teachings. In bits and pieces they learned more about the Gateway spiritual community. They were ushered from classrooms where sweet-faced children were given one-on-one mentoring, to organic gardens and orchards that provided all the vegetables, herbs and fruit for the community, and cottages where artisans crafted everything from jewelry to furniture.
Everywhere they went there was excitement about the upcoming prayer meeting and novitiate ceremony being held that evening. And everywhere they went they were met by the same knowing smiles.
Blaize had a bad feeling about that evening’s prayer meeting, remembering the scene she’d read on Pierce’s computer screen.
“That’s when it’ll happen,” she told Gate. “Tonight. Unless we can stop it.”
She made no attempt to interpret the look he gave her and he didn’t voice whatever concerns he felt. He must have seen the determination on her face. There was more at stake now. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the child needed her protection. Whatever events had pulled them all together were now rushing toward a climax, and she was convinced the boy was in the center of it all.
The feeling grew as the day wore on. By dinnertime she gave up all pretense and found Gaderian. She pleaded with him to take her to Mother Moon. Barring that, she begged him to send a message to Mother Moon not to go on stage tonight. “Her life is in danger,” she insisted.
Gaderian didn’t ask the questions she expected. He didn’t ask why she thought Mother Moon was in danger, or what danger she was in.
“Whatever will be, will be,” he assured her.
Blaize wanted to shove his spiritual mumbo-jumbo down his throat. Frustrated, she stormed out, away from his knowing looks and condescending smile.
Gate wasn’t much better, asking just what Blaize intended to do in the event someone aimed a gun at Mother Moon, since they’d left their bulletproof vests at home. She didn’t tell him he was funny this time.
By the time they were ushered into the full auditorium, Blaize was a strumming mass of nerves. She kept her eyes peeled for Joey, but there was no sign of him.
The room was a sea of robes in every color of the rainbow. She knew that each color signified the person’s level of enlightenment and their order within the community. Wearing the muddy brown robes of the uninitiated and spiritually unenlightened, Blaize and Gate were seated in the far back. But even all the way back there, Blaize could feel the buzz of excitement around her. It reminded her of the night she and Joyce had gone to the concert and seen Spyder perform. Her heart gave a little lurch remembering her first glimpse of him, and how she’d known even then that they were destined to meet. That conviction was still strong inside her.
Shaking her head, she focused on the people around her. She could feel their combined concentration, see the look of hopeful expectation on their faces, as if they were expecting a miracle in their midst. She caught glimpses of Oswald Gaderian moving through the crowd like a Master of Ceremonies whose job was to keep things running smoothly before the main event. Candlelit votives shimmered in carved niches evenly spaced along the walls.
Hushed tones filled the room—shuffling feet, whispered voices and rustling robes. When hymn booklets were passed out, she folded hers in half and was about to tuck it into the deep pocket of her robes when a familiar message jumped out at her. Her gasp cut sharply through the low murmur of the auditorium. She opened and folded it again, watching the simple message transform into something more sinister. She grabbed Gate’s arm and pointed to the booklet’s headline—WELCOME FRIENDS TO THE GATEWAY. Below that greeting were four simple words:
PRAYER
LOVE
AND
YOU
Blaize folded the page in half again, the sharp edge of the paper cutting down the center of the hymnal’s greeting. She held it up for Gate to read, running her finger down the message.
WELCOME
TO THE
P
L
A
Y
An icy shiver crept along her spine. “This is it,” she whispered. “This is the place where it all comes together.”
They both scanned the auditorium. It was hard to imagine danger lurking among such blissfully serene faces, but Blaize knew without a doubt that a killer had entered the room. A killer who was at this very moment hidden among them.
“Do you see Pierce?” she asked Gate.
He shook his head. “No, but that doesn’t mean anything. Why would he kill his own sister?”
“Who knows why? I don’t think he’s the man with the gun. But he wrote the scene and so far everything he’s written has come true. So, even if he doesn’t pull the trigger himself, he’s guilty of murder just the same.”
Gate looked unconvinced, but alert. Before either of them could get up, the crowd erupted in applause as Mother Moon and Joey walked across the stage. Blaize was surprised at how young the religious leader was. She’d expected an older woman, for some reason. But, although Mother Moon’s eyes were those of an old soul, she barely looked old enough to have a twelve-year old son. There was something bruised and vulnerable and almost childlike beneath the leader’s powerful presence.
As Mother Moon took her place on stage, the energy in the room was electric. Waves of love and devotion passed from the crowded auditorium to the stage and back again. Blaize was almost swept up in the euphoric rush, but her thoughts were focused on where danger lay coiled in wait. She barely heard Mother Moon on stage preaching to the masses.
Mother Moon’s voice rolled strong and clear over the room. “We know that thoughts are energy,” she intoned. “Energy seeks out like energy, collecting and forming a mass.” She lifted her arms outward. “Think of a cloud growing, expanding and building until it overflows in the form of rain. Imagine your prayers attached to the thoughts of hundreds of other people, building and multiplying and then falling in a glowing, healing shower going out in the world a thousand times over.”
The speech was all a blur to Blaize, until one word caught her attention. Messiah?
“The time has come to go out into the world and spread our word,” Mother Moon said, pinning the crowd with a solemn gaze. She paused for a beat. “I won’t be with you in this next phase of our growth, but I give you my son, the new Messiah who will lead us into the future.”
The crowd rose as one. A roar of applause nearly deafening in its intensity echoed through the room. Joey didn’t bat an eye. He merely stood there, seeming to absorb the energy around him. Whatever delusion Mother Moon was under, she’d infected both the boy and her followers with her beliefs.
On the stage, Mother Moon waited for the applause to die down then gestured toward her son. “Throughout the ages our religious leaders have been persecuted. There will be people who will try to destroy him, just as they have destroyed others before him. I trust you to protect him.” Her voice rose. “Protect him with your lives, as I have. I entrust his care to each and every one of you.”
She’s crazy, Blaize thought. She searched the faces around her, raised in love and adoration toward their leader. She wondered what was missing in their lives to bring them here, mindless followers of a fanatic. She watched Mother Moon on stage. Her white robes seemed to absorb the soft glow from the stained-glass window behind the podium.
Then Mother Moon’s gaze caught and held hers. “Angels are among us tonight,” she said, as if speaking only to Blaize. A smile of ecstasy transformed her face.
Blaize was mesmerized, caught in the web of Mother Moon’s hypnotic charisma. She could see why people were drawn to the woman. Her conviction was so strong that it pulled you along with it.
Mother Moon continued, her voice rising. “One angel in particular has come to help us usher in the New Order. The very same angel who delivered the Messiah-child into my care.”
Blaize went deathly still. Her heart pounded in her chest, as if trying to escape. Mother Moon’s gaze locked on hers, held her, bringing with it a sudden flash of memory so vivid it could have happened yesterday instead of a dozen years ago. She remembered a scared teenager, only a few years younger than Blaize herself was at the time, but seeming so much younger, so much smaller. On stage the woman’s eyes were cool and self-assured, but in Blaize’s memory they fluttered with painful panic. The voice was the same, but she remembered it as that of a frightened young girl, pleading with Blaize, begging her to save her baby. Screaming and pleading and…something else. At the very moment of birth she’d thrown back her head and howled, a mournful cry that only now did Blaize realize had been a name—“Algernon!”
It couldn’t be! Blaize cupped her hand over her mouth to hold back a scream. Her stomach churned with remembered panic and, with a rush, she was back in that dingy high-school lavatory her first year of student teaching. She could see it all so clearly—the cramped stall, the bright overhead fluorescent light that cast them both in shadows, the blood spilling onto the cracked tiles, the stale cigarette smoke hovering around them both.
She could hear the screams echoing off the cool walls, feel the weight of the baby sliding into her arms, squalling and slippery and warm. Then finally, thankfully, the wail of sirens in the distance as she handed the child over, still attached to its young mother by a pulsing, twisted rope of umbilical cord.
A boy, she remembered. This boy? Was it Joey she’d delivered that day? Yes, she knew it was. The timing was right, the memory too clear.
But she was no angel. She’d simply been a nervous student teacher who’d managed to help a frightened girl give birth to her illegitimate child in a dirty bathroom. That girl had grown up to become Mother Moon, and somehow, in her twisted delusions, the coincidence became prophecy. And Blaize, through a twist of fate, had become an integral part of that prophecy.
As suddenly as it began, the spell was broken and Mother Moon looked away, freeing her from the force of memories. Only now did Blaize understand her role in The Play. This was why she was here, to complete the circle, to fulfill Mother Moon’s demented prophecy.
“And now,” Mother Moon said, a beatific smile on her face. “Joey will lead the choir in song.”
She bent down and Joey kissed first one, than the other of his mother’s cheeks before gliding toward the choir. Blaize’s heart went out to him. She realized he’d been brainwashed from the moment of his birth, bred and trained for one purpose only, a purpose that he seemed to accept without question.
But there was more to worry about at the moment, and Blaize was relieved to see him leave the stage. That’s where the danger was centered, she knew. He’d be safe across the room in the choir.
Her sense of déjà vu only intensified as Joey lifted his voice in song. Her chin dropped at the first familiar words.
It couldn’t be! But it was. She held her breath as Spyder’s lyrics filled the room.
“…a presence sweet invades my soul
and makes what once was severed whole
blaze marks the trail of fate begun
with pages turning one by one…”
Blaize couldn’t believe it. Joey was singing Spyder’s song, the song whose words had led her to his place. It seemed like a thousand years ago.
At first Joey’s voice lifted in a singular, bell-like clarity, then the choir joined in harmony and the music swelled, becoming more prayer than song, taking on a life of its own. It was beautiful and deadly and prophetic, and again Blaize found herself convinced that the words were wrong. Not “turn the page,” but “BURN the page.”
She wanted to shout to the boy to change the words now, before it was too late. But she was rooted to the spot, caught up in events that made no sense at all.
The song ended, absorbed by silence, as if everyone held their breath waiting. Now, she thought. Now it will happen.
But it didn’t. No gun was raised, no shot rang out. Could she have been wrong all along?
She turned to Gate, but he was gone. Her head spun around, searching. Where was he? She hadn’t seen him leave her side. She was alone and suddenly the room seemed to close around her, suffocating her. She felt trapped in a sea of bodies. Her heart pounded. She felt it now. Death had entered the room, corrupting everything in its wake.
There was a sudden shift in the texture of the silence—a sense of expectancy filled the room. Blaize recognized the feeling of having missed a question while her mind wandered. She checked the stage. Mother Moon’s arms were held out in a gesture that seemed to encircle the gathering.
“…whatever it is you’re here for,” she said, “I promise we will provide you. And you in turn will give back what your brothers and sisters need. We are one family, joined in a greater cause.”
