Angel town, p.16
ANGEL TOWN, page 16
‘The Guardians have incredibly deep pockets. The group boasts architects, engineers, builders, lawyers, nurses, doctors, accountants, and teachers among its members – you name it, they got it covered.’
‘And the locals sounded them out?’
‘Sure, and so did the press. Communes that disengage from reality are profoundly fascinating for those of us leading normal lives. They attract the very thing they’re trying to avoid. Scrutiny. The leader was more than happy to answer the press and public’s questions. The journalists dug but were unable to find any dirt, so they moved on.’
Donna waves her arms in exasperation. ‘So, they’re harmless.’
Todd frowns. ‘But when the rumours started a few weeks ago, the media’s interest was piqued again. Only this time, the leader clammed up.’
‘Rumours? What rumours?’
‘That all was not well in Edenville,’ Steve says in a horror-film voice, finally breaking off his conversation and turning to face them.
‘The clue is in the tight security,’ says Todd. ‘The guards, of course, the guns, and the razor wire on the wall.’
Donna follows the line of his finger, wondering how she hadn’t noticed it before.
‘That’s why we’re still here.’
Donna wraps her arms around herself. Everything Todd says makes perfect sense. But, then again, the press have a habit of pissing people off. They’d certainly managed to in their coverage of the Greenham protests. Perhaps the group felt they’d been demonised for being different and upped their security. It wouldn’t be the first time.
‘One evening before Christmas, before the razor wire appeared, I managed to climb in,’ continues Todd. ‘I wanted to see the place for myself. A storm was brewing, so it was an unusually dark night, which was ideal. I’d taken a camera but, unfortunately, the flash attracted the attention of a patrol of those black-clothed guards. They were searching for someone, I’m sure of it. But seeing my flash came after me. I got away, thank God.’
‘Maybe they just value their privacy,’ says Donna.
Todd shakes his head. ‘You’ve seen them. They’re armed.’
‘Isn’t everyone in America?’
Steve rolls his eyes. ‘Oh yeah, sure they are.’
‘It freaked me out,’ Todd says. ‘I honestly thought they were going to shoot me.’
Donna flinches. However you dress it up, it isn’t good.
‘What did the guy who escaped have to say about it all?’ Rupert asks.
Steve runs a hand through his mop of blond hair. ‘We haven’t had the opportunity to ask him yet. He’s in hospital guarded by a local cop.’
Donna blinks rapidly ‘Why? What happened to him?’
‘We don’t know,’ says Todd.
‘I’m sorry about your son.’ Steve looks her directly in the eye. ‘And I don’t want to worry you, but I think you’re going to struggle to get him out.’
‘But that’s absurd.’
‘Only a select few ever leave, and we think that’s to harvest new recruits. Thing is, if people can’t leave, this ain’t no commune, it’s a cult.’
Donna’s hand flies to her mouth. If Steve’s right and if Jos is in there, then he’s essentially a prisoner. Unless … unless he wants to be there. But why would he want to hang out with a crowd of people with guns? Darling Jos who wouldn’t harm a fly.
But then she remembers the squirrels. Mrs Patterson’s cat.
‘Why do you think that a group of apparently harmless people have armed themselves?’ Rupert asks, breaking the silence. ‘What do they see as the threat?’
Steve shrugs. ‘That’s the six-million-dollar question.’
‘Okay, so what about their leader?’ Rupert asks. ‘What’s his message?’
‘His name is Michael but, other than that, we know zip. It’s like he breezed in under the radar. Which is why I’ve got my feelers out. Got a man back in San Francisco doing some digging.’
Donna throws up her hands again. ‘This is ridiculous. What do you think they’re going to do? Start a war?’
‘I don’t know, but I intend to find out before it’s too late.’
Chapter
Nineteen
There is only one store in Blythe, and Rupert is in it, shopping for provisions. He thinks Donna is having a lie down in the cheap motel they booked into. The first place they spotted on the main thoroughfare running through the town, only a double was available but, thankfully, the room offered two single beds. Donna would never have agreed to it otherwise. Her nerves on edge, she’s far too anxious to rest. If she can’t get past Edenville’s gates she at least needs to find out if her son is actually in there. Rupert is convinced he is, but Donna needs proof, which is why, despite her jet lag, she’s on her way to the hospital – the only one in town, according to the man at the gas station. She hasn’t left a note telling Rupert where she’s going. Why should she? When it comes to detailing his whereabouts, the stupid scumbag has form.
Palms and other indigenous trees Donna can’t put a name to stand in occasional lines in front of the low buildings bordering the road and, looming in the murky distance, the jagged outline of the Big Maria Mountain Range. Gas stations, Mexican restaurants, and fast-food outlets make up the rest of Blythe, giving the town the feel of a two-mile drive-through. She’s not sure what to make of it all. The desert, the unrelenting sunshine, the overpowering smell of insecticide, a total contrast to the cosmopolitan bohemia of Brighton. She’s never been to California, never been to America, never been in such close proximity to a cult.
She shudders. Nobody has any proof The Guardians of God is a cult and not a harmless religious sect as previously thought.
But the guns, her conscience nags. What about the guns?
Seated on a plastic chair in the waiting area opposite the runaway’s room, Donna flicks through a long since out-of-date copy of Time magazine, plotting her next move. She’s been keeping an eye on the police officer guarding the door for almost an hour, knows every detail of his young, acne-strewn face, but the only idea she’s come up with is to sneak into the room when he leaves his post for a bathroom break. Wishful thinking, but what else can she reasonably do? She can hardly walk in pretending to be a concerned relative. If the Guardians of God is a cult then the man probably hasn’t seen his family for years. But speak to him she must, because if she’s to succeed in getting Jos out of Edenville, she needs to know what she’s up against.
A blond-haired doctor wearing a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and a white coat approaches the officer, brandishing a clipboard. A dead-ringer for the journalist from the San Francisco Chronicle, she thinks, as he opens the door and strides into the room. In fact, I’d bet my life it’s him.
She tosses the magazine onto the table and crosses her arms and legs. Damn. Why didn’t I think of that?
By the time the journalist re-emerges, Donna has bitten her nails to the quick. Bold as you like, he thanks the officer and sets off down the corridor. She follows at a discreet distance, but when he turns a corner into a far more crowded area, she loses sight of him. Making her way against the tide of hospital staff and visitors, it’s not until she’s in the lobby that she spots him again but, by then, he’s way ahead of her.
‘Oi,’ she says as he walks outside. ‘I need to talk to you.’
But the man either doesn’t hear her or assumes she must be talking to someone else because he saunters into the car park. Donna breaks into a run but, by the time she reaches him, he has shed the white-coat-and-glasses disguise and is sitting in the driver’s seat of a baby-blue Buick.
She grabs hold of the door. ‘Please. Wait.’
Scowling, he yanks it closed and fires the ignition.
‘Please.’ Donna hammers on the glass, desperately trying to catch her breath. ‘It’s me. Donna. We met earlier. Outside Edenville.’
A flicker of recognition crosses his face. Smiling, he winds down the window. ‘Well, hi there. I’m sorry, I thought you were a loony hotfooting it from the psychiatric wing.’
She frowns. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Great. How ’bout we grab ourselves a drink?’
‘Oh. Yes. I’d like that, thank you. Er …’
‘Steve.’
Yes, of course, Steve.
Grinning, he reaches across, opens the passenger door, and she folds herself into the seat beside him. ‘Coffee? Or something stronger?’
‘Something stronger sounds good.’
‘Husband not with you?’
‘Er … no. He’s taking a nap.’
‘Right.’
‘It’s been a long day.’ Why explain, she wonders, cringing. It’s not as if I’ll ever see this guy again.
‘Bit of a coincidence bumping into you like this.’
‘What are the chances?’
He clicks his tongue. ‘Pretty damn slim, I should say.’
A ponytailed man in a plaid shirt is playing pool with a bald, bull-necked guy, their bottles of beer balanced on the side rail, but other than that, the dimly lit bar is empty. Steve leads her to a booth that’s seen better days and flings his keys on the table. A pretty young waitress in a short, tight dress, zipped up the front, rushes over and takes their order. A bourbon for him, a white wine for her.
‘Oh, and some peanuts, please,’ Steve says, winking at the girl.
Donna frowns.
‘My daughter.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Jeez. I’m kidding. Kid’s seen a lot of me these last few days. This bar’s become like a second home.’
Donna takes in the sticky tabletop, the cracked linoleum floor, and the nicotine-stained ceiling. Some home.
‘So, are you going to tell me what you were doing at the hospital?’ he asks. ‘Or do I have to guess?’
‘I’d have thought that was obvious.’
‘Hey, Donna. Loosen up a little.’
‘I’m perfectly fine.’
‘No, you’re not. You’re coiled up ready to explode.’
The waitress returns with the drinks and nuts. Donna watches, appalled, as Steve’s eyes settle on the soft swell of the girl’s breasts. He flirts with her for a bit while she sets down the glasses. To her credit, she doesn’t seem the least bit bothered and even throws him a pretend kiss when she leaves.
‘Bright girl, that one. Knows how to work a good tip.’
Donna slaps her palms on the table, slightly louder than intended. ‘Look, Steve. I’d really appreciate it if you could tell me what he said.’
‘He raises his eyebrows. ‘What who said?’
‘The runaway.’
‘You been spying on me, Donna?’
She shifts uncomfortably. ‘No. Yes. I mean, you had the same idea as me. Well, almost. I didn’t dress up as a doctor.’
‘Psychiatrist, actually. Neat, huh?’
The weight of her jet lag bearing down on her, she strains to keep a lid on her temper. ‘Frankly, I’m amazed he believed you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
She rises, but Steve grabs her arm. ‘Sit down, Donna.’
What is it with this guy, always manhandling me? She tries to wrest herself free, but Steve clings on, so she glares at him through gimlet eyes.
‘I’m sorry, okay?’ He lets go. ‘Now, please, sit down.’
Donna’s not sure why, but she does as he says.
‘Right. I only had half an hour with Thomas, and he thought I was a psychiatrist, so he was a bit guarded.’
‘Did he … did Thomas tell you how he got out?’
‘Over the wall a way back from the gates. He made a dash for it in the dark, climbing over with a ladder he’d found in a barn. Somehow, he managed to evade the guards, who incidentally, only appeared since he went into hiding.’
‘Really?’
‘Apparently so. He had no money on him, no idea where he was going. He was severely dehydrated, too, skinnier than a rake, his arms and legs ripped to shreds by the razor wire, and could barely walk. Lucky for him, a car happened to be passing. The driver stopped and offered to take him to hospital.’
Donna shudders. ‘Why did he leave?’
‘He wouldn’t say.’
‘If the guards had seen him, do you think they’d have shot him?’
‘Thomas is certain they would. And you heard how scared Todd was.’
For a split second, Donna’s breathing is suspended. When she manages to speak, her voice is little more than a whisper. ‘But why?’
‘To stop him talking, I guess. When I asked him why he’d been so intent on leaving, he simply said the dynamic of the group had changed.’
‘In what way?’
‘I don’t know. He clammed up. Refused to say another word. Poor guy is clearly terrified of speaking out.’
Donna shoulders slump. She’d been hoping for more. ‘I wish I could speak to him.’
Steve’s grin returns, broader than ever. ‘Swell idea.’
‘No, I’m serious.’
‘So am I.’ He downs his bourbon and grabs his keys. ‘Drink up and we’ll go.’
Donna is not remotely convinced Steve’s plan will work. It’s so foolhardy as to be laughable. Yet, despite voicing her reservations, he’s managed to persuade her to tag along.
‘I can’t see what the problem is. The cop outside his room is barely out of diapers. The worst that can happen is he won’t believe you. It’s not as if he’s going to sling you into jail.’
A witness to his earlier success, Donna assumes that Steve’s unwavering confidence is the key. That and his refusal to take no for an answer. Fortified by the wine as much as Steve’s cavalier assurances, Donna hovers in the background, curling and uncurling her fingers as Steve approaches the young officer. The youth listens intently to the preposterous story Steve concocted in the car, nodding sagely while he explains that this unexpected, but most welcome, visit from Thomas’ long-lost and deeply concerned aunt, will speed up the laborious deprogramming process.
‘Go ahead,’ the officer says, opening the door. ‘Poor kid needs all the help he can get.’
Donna bites her lip to stop herself smiling and walks into the room, followed by Steve who swiftly closes the door behind him.
‘Hello again, Thomas,’ Steve says to the prone figure with bandaged arms, hooked up to a saline drip in the bed. ‘Meet Donna.’
Startled awake, the young man heaves himself into a seated position. His gaunt, pale face and the dark hollows beneath his eyes make it difficult for Donna to put an age to him, but she’d guess he’s probably younger than he looks. The same age as Jos, perhaps.
‘I hope you don’t mind, but she has a few questions she’d like to ask you.’
Thomas sweeps his lank shoulder-length hair off his face. ‘Who is she?’
‘A learned colleague. You, pal, are a most interesting case.’
‘I am?’
‘Indeed you are, which is why it’s important we find the underlying cause of your dilemma before the press get hold of you.’
Thomas’ wan face turns even paler. ‘The press?’
‘Yup. So, we need to get your story straight. The press can be merciless if they smell a rat.’
‘A rat?’ Thomas pulls the sheet to his chin with quivering hands.
‘You’re hiding something, Thomas. Why? Because you’re frightened. But there’s no need. We’re your friends.’
One by one, the lies trip off Steve’s tongue. There’s something sinister about his oh-so-friendly manner that makes Donna uncomfortable. The lad is clearly terrified, his blue eyes darting about as his fingers worry the crisp, white bedsheet. And is it any wonder? Steve clearly intends scaring him into submission. She knows what they’re doing is unethical, but the fear she feels for the safety of her son is walking roughshod over her morals. Any attempt to reassure the poor chap would mean blowing their cover.
‘Donna has a few questions. I’d like you to answer them. There’s a good fella. Let’s start with the group’s dynamic? You mentioned it changed? Why do you think that is?’
Thomas rests his head against the bank of pillows, as white as his face, and closes his eyes. He looks exhausted. Haunted, too, and vulnerable, Donna thinks, pricked by another stab of guilt.
‘An extremely dangerous man has wheedled his way into Michael’s good books. Michael doesn’t realise it, but he’s poisoning him.’
Donna’s hand flies to her throat. ‘What, literally?’
‘Michael is going to appoint him second-in-command,’ Thomas continues in the same monotone.
‘You make it sound like an army,’ says Donna.
Thomas eyes snap open. ‘It is an army. A celestial army. Michael is the leader. He is God’s warrior, the Prince of the Seventh Heaven.’
‘Oh great. Another lunatic with a Christ complex,’ mutters Steve.
Thomas jerks upright, his cheeks flushed crimson. ‘Michael is the Divine Protector. He is the only person who can save us.’ Eyes narrowed, he points a trembling figure at Steve. ‘Save you.’
Steve laughs. ‘So he says.’
‘So God says. But you don’t need to take my word for it. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough.’ Thomas folds his arms and, pressing his lips together, reclines against the pillows.
Steve taps his leg. ‘You’re talking about the Apocalypse, right?’
Donna throws him a questioning look, but Steve’s eyes remain locked on Thomas who tilts his chin and turns to stare at the wall.
‘Do you have a date?’ Steve asks.
‘The twelfth of May 1983.’
‘But that’s only a few months away,’ says Donna. ‘Surely you don’t actually believe that?’
‘It’s not a question of belief. Michael knows.’ Thomas’ head whips around. White spittle has collected in the corners of his mouth, and his flushed skin has taken on a mottled appearance. ‘And on the day of enlightenment, he will lead his heavenly army into battle against the forces of Satan. They will win the war and lock Satan in the abyss for a thousand years. But only the members of The Guardians of God will be saved.’
Donna clasps her cheeks. ‘But that’s crazy. Completely nuts.’
