The Devoted (3 page)

It was based on how badly he wanted to make love to us.

Last Day –
6:15AM: EMBRACE

Now it’s all of us on the back lawn.

Me and Jolie. Michael and Paul. Theodore. Susan, Cathleen, and Beth.

All of us beautiful, I can only think. Myself included. Many would call that ego; I call it valuing the self. The Leader does, also.

We hug.

In rotation. All of us hug all of us. There’s no time limit.

Which is just as well, for there is no time.

Oftentimes, when paired, Jolie and I rush through it. Feel a little silly about hugging in front of the others. Too plain, given the preexisting obviousness of our pairing.

Today, though, we let our hug go on. Let it advance from a hug into a melt.

When I hug Beth, she cries. I feel her wetness on my own cheek. And then, sneaking up on myself, I cry, also.

Last Day –
6:30AM: EXERCISE

Five push-ups, followed by five jumping-jacks.

On the ground, then –
strain
! – back up.

It’s not for our bodies. Sure, they receive some collateral help, but they’re soon to expire, alas.

It’s for our minds. Endorphins. A gush, if you will. Keep that sweet juice throbbing all the live long day.

Five down/five up.

Last Day –
7:00AM: TAI CHI

Tai Chi’s for the breath. It befriends the lungs. Bronchial tubes take leave of their industrialized, 21st-century tension.

Everything a flow.

The Leader joins us for these each day. For here He must actually lead each time. The moves bear rhythm, and they take on contorted shapes.

All of us not in sync any longer, as we were with the push-ups and the jacks.

Now it’s freedom. Origami made human.

The grass and our bare feet in love.

Last Day –
7:45AM: JOG

Only I have stopped.

The jogging, that is. The seven others jog around the lawn. Jolie sometimes waves when she passes.

The Leader smiles at me, touches my shoulder, which is moving up and down on account of my breath.

I look around. My skull feels blown open. All this space. Not one neighboring home, just some dashes of woods.

Sunlight sparkling through in a weirdo giggle.

“The day has to go quickly,” The Leader says, and even though He called me over, I’m still surprised that He’s addressing me.

The Leader turns from them to me. His face now mine. “It has to go quickly because they’ll want it to go slowly.”

I look down, the tissue surrounding my eyes pulled taut in a squint. I have to actually ponder His words. Simple, yes, but are they true? Will all of us desire slowness? Maybe we’ll want to get it over with, like pulling a band-aid off a patch of hair.

“Matthew?” He says.

Shit. He’s seen me thinking. Damn flies buzzing within my head. When we talk, it’s best to try to stay clean. He can see cleanliness, too, in the liquid purity of the eyes.

“They’ll want it to go slowly because they’ll cling to their lives. We can’t let them cling too hard, or there’ll be difficulties.”

I still need a moment to align with His frequency. He’s actually expressing that there will be resistance. Not necessarily revolt – different concept – but the basic will to live. This isn’t hard for me to grasp – I’m down with dualistic concepts – yet I am surprised to hear Him being so plain.

But I’m thinking too much when talking would be appropriate. “How do we make the day go quickly?” I ask.

Bad question. Lands like a plane without wheels. He’s pleased by any reply, however.

“A lot of that’s gonna rest on me,” He says. “I’ll have to give a very good speech at breakfast. And we stick to the schedule we’ve always kept. Except fewer breaks this time, and less food. Keep the bodies pure, but maintain the momentum.”

“Okay.”

“All right,” He tells me. “Go ‘head.”

And as though my heels have sprouted springs, I find myself returning to the jog.

Theodore eyes me as I return. Not liking the break I got. His cheeks scrunched up with sourness.

Poem Written By Theodore Hall (circa 1986):

There’s a wall of blood I dream of

Coming at me like a brick

There’s a wall of blood I dream of

Coming at me, never dripping

There’s a wall of blood I dream of

It could cover me, cover my screams

There’s a wall of blood I dream of

When my mind bleeds in my dreams

There’s a wall of blood...it’s staring

It wants to know my name

There’s a wall of blood...I’m sharing

And I’ll never be the same.

Last Day –
9AM: BREAKFAST

We are tired when we sit down to eat, and by “we” I do not include The Leader.

He is fresh, and standing. Six-foot-two by common measures, but tall as a mountain in here.

The dining room’s where the deed shall occur. It’s nine now, giving us nine more hours. Nine and nine. My head’s got a swarm of dots around it.

“Before we eat,” He says, “I would like to share some thoughts with you.”

He expresses this as though it’s revelatory, though He says something as such every single morning.

“Now,” He continues, “many negative things are far away. Yes. And we try not to let those things cross our minds. But it is understood that we have left behind careers that poisoned our spirits, husbands and wives that deadened our potential, mothers and fathers with wandering hands. We left behind bureaucracy and red tape. We left behind the sharp, biting teeth of the legal system. We left behind a world that smashed into us every day with its mighty coldness. A world that was eating away at itself -- environmentally, economically, psychologically, socially, spiritually, and emotionally. That world, we can be thankful, is far away from all of us on this day.”

He pauses now, and I sense Him growing taller. Larger. The energy level in the room has spiked. Pale faces we have, yet none is without some variation of a smile: smirk, grin, even smiling eyes.

“Now let me speak of another world, as well. Not the one behind us, with its coldness, but the one in front of us, with its warmth.

“You are such brave and humbling creatures. If my heart swelled any larger with pride, it would burst within my chest. For despite so much propaganda, despite so much pressure and conformity, you are taking it upon yourselves to part with the physical plane. You know, as well as I do – if not better -- that this is not where we were meant to live. That the souls within us itch and squirm, wanting always to grow and grow...until they crack out of their shells.

“You know that at six p.m. tonight, you will be releasing more than just breath, more than just blood, but furious, blinding, magical energy. Energy that will buzz and whiz around the universe. And hopefully the energy of an old being such as myself will be able to keep up with that of you all.”

A sound to my right. Beth again is crying.

“For those whose minds are locked in the world behind us, this day might be committed to memory as a day devoid of beauty. But I count myself as a lucky soul, for beauty is all that I see before me, both right now and in the hours to come. So as you take in this morning’s meal, think not of the wings of the butterflies in your stomachs, but of the wings soon to grow from your own backs. Tonight we soar. We soar and soar...and soar.”

And now, unless I’m (again?) hallucinating, I think that I spy tears within His eyes. I’ve seen them before, yes, but that was different. That was after the detectives left. This, now, is passion in release.

For this man, I am certain, I would kill.

He takes a moment to catch His breath.

“I am made up of love for all of you, my friends.”

Edgar Pike’s Journal

November, 2009

I hope this isn’t holiday sentimentality, but I feel the need to put into writing that I Do Love Them. Them, my mother, myself. Period. The rest of the world, it’s not hatred, but it’s certainly disappointment. We Can Be Better!

Even the most conformist white collar spoiled brat knows that time doesn’t exist. He knows! He knows some hours feel longer than others, and that some memories from 20 years ago snap back in an instant. But what does he do? He rushes to work every day. He gets an ulcer. Poison inside.

Here, we have no poison. Here is the house where Eros lives. Thanatos, too, if you consider all the come we shed. Massacres! Massacres and holocausts of love!

Last Day –
9:07AM

It is then when we realize that we haven’t been breathing. For all of us, at once, exhale with force.

“Now let’s eat, shall we?”

His smile, ambitious, seems to stem from real deep. As He takes His own seat, we all – I’m sure – feel as though we’re sitting down for the first time since jogging.

From BREAKING NEWS L.A.’s exclusive interview with Jed Bracken (10/12/11):

You have to understand that he was very sensitive in terms of language. That was his weapon, essentially. He wasn’t much to look at; kind of a clumsy guy. Very tall, overpowering; I’ll give him that. And great eyes. Symmetrical face. But not handsome. He managed to make a lot of people think he was, but that was all smoke and mirrors.

With language, he could do whatever he wanted. He could talk all all-American: “Hey buddy, thanks a million!” That kind of shit. When he worked in sales, that’s what everyone responded to. Or at least enough people to keep him busy. But once our thing got going, slowly but surely, it became less goofy. Or more goofy – depending on who you ask! He got flowery, man. I tried not to let it bug me. Seemed sincere enough. But sometimes I’d stop and think to myself – This is not the guy I met when I met him.

The guy I met in Venice Beach was more modest. Commanding presence; could get you talking for hours, but not in this overheated, mythological way. That all came later. After he realized that a good amount of people were willing to listen.

Last Day –
9:08AM

He’s looking at me. I’m now to rise. Softly – no aggression – He snaps His fingers. I’m on my feet as though pulled by strings. Over to the island at the kitchen’s center. A circle of color on its surface: fruit of shrieking brightness in a pale blue bowl.

I take it.

“One apiece,” He says to me as I pass the back of His head. Bald and gleaming, it’s like a rock with a brain inside of it.

I go around the table, mind underwater, and pass each of my friends a piece of fruit. Susan gives her banana a look. “Is this all for now?” she asks.

A chirp in her voice, but the question bears weight.

“Yes, Susan.” His answer’s as fast as a thought. “We keep breakfast and lunch light today. The energy it takes to digest, we need to preserve and devote to other things.”

If Susan pauses, then I don’t see it. She nods her understanding, starts to peel her banana. To me, the crack of the peel sounds loud.

From THEHEALINGMIND.NET (10/11/11):

My name is Lana Hynes and my sister-in-law Susan has been featured on the news a lot lately. Susan is one of the ones called The Missing Nine. When they show her picture on the news, it is of a sad woman with her hair not combed and her face very stoic-looking. My sister-in-law Susan was known to me and our whole family as a very good baker and a very good accountant. She had two cats, Sampson and Tramp, who she loved and who I know miss her. She was not a person that was not regular. And our family believes she is being mind controlled by the man Ed Pike who took them.

From THEHEALINGMIND.NET Message Board (10/11/11-10/14/11):

Shinealight4410: I’m glad Lana Hynes was brave enough to present another side of this. The media is enjoyin counting down to their deaths too much.

MaryMaryP: I agree. Was good to stop and think that there’s more to this than a bunch of weird people.

TedGoesUp: I’m not trying to start an argument, but they did decide to go. They are sending a message. It’s about getting over death. Not taking your life so seriously. I’m sorry the poor lady’s cats miss her, but we’re part of a giant universe here.

Shinealight4410: TedGoesUp, I think what you’re sharing is very dangerous. I think if you think it through you’ll see this is a waste of life. These people are not sick. They have families who love them, cats too. I for one am not interested in whatever message they or their sick Father (the only sick one there with them) are sending.