Chapter 64: The Erinyes

THE BETHANY CONSOLIDATED CHURCH of the Holy Grail did not fall apart when it was discovered that several dead men had been found in their preacher’s torture chamber and the preacher had disappeared. Instead, they doubled down on him and the church grew in membership.

“It is obvious to anyone who looks that our beloved Pastor Ron has bravely taken to the underground to visit retribution on those who would harm God’s people,” said a deacon in the church. “He laid a trap for these criminals and they fell into it. I would not be surprised if forensic evidence emerged that one of those filthy men was Bob.”

Well, that was disgusting. Perhaps I should have left more evidence. But, the disappearance of ‘Pastor Ron’ served to keep all attention off me. I was not considered a person of interest in the case. Oh, when I got back to the mansion, I was visited by a detective wanting to know if I’d seen the man. They were following up a lead that suggested he might actually be one of my own people. There was no evidence linking us together other than his preaching about my evils. We’d never met and I never mentioned him.

I’ve seen it happen before. Seems the world goes in cycles of denying what is plainly in front of them.

People can’t view the recent past with any perspective. They are still caught up in living it. So, let me go back a few generations. In the Civil War ... Um ... No, people are still living in that past. Let me go back further.

In American history, much is made over the Mayflower arriving at Plymouth Rock and the pilgrims founding a new settlement. You’ve probably heard the romantic tale of John Alden going to Priscilla Mullen to propose on behalf of Miles Standish. Her famous line, “Why don’t you speak for yourself, John?” is known to us through the poem of Longfellow. Understand? Poem. Not an eyewitness accounting.

We are led to believe through this poem and popular ‘history’ that the Pilgrims were religious refugees coming to the new world for religious freedom. In reality, they were roughly the same as the Spaniards invading the Caribbean and South America. They used a religious ideal to fund a trip in search of gold, jewels, and wealth. They would come to America and convert the natives to their religion in return for all their wealth.

We are told of the kind natives who helped the strangers through their first winter and celebrated the first Thanksgiving with the kind pilgrims. We are not told that Miles Standish was a murderer. He invited the native chiefs to parlay in one of the new cabins the Pilgrims built. Then he closed the door and killed them all, burned the cabin, and blamed it all on the evil Indians who were attacking the village.

No. The Pilgrims were righteous and God-loving people, spreading His word to the heathens. Miles Standish was the protector of the Pilgrims who made it possible for them to establish their village. John Alden was a poetic master of the language who...

Let me just say that we double down on the lies even when the evidence is right in front of us. We deny that anything bad was occurring or that our cultural heroes were anything less than what we wanted to believe of them.

History is not true. I know. I lived there. What you believe tells me nothing about what is true. It tells me only about what kind of person you are.

That’s why it is getting harder and harder to choose people to join me in the infinity room—Areola. It isn’t about whether they are nice people. Hitler was nice to Eva Braun. Until he killed her. Standish was nice to the Indians. Until he killed them. Columbus was ... Never mind. Columbus wasn’t nice.

The problem comes down to what kind of person he or she is deep down inside. Does he believe he is superior to everyone else (or even most people)? Does she use sex as a tool to manipulate people? Do her religious beliefs send everyone who disagrees with her to hell? Is he willing to sacrifice you for money? Or just for a better deal? These are all things that nice people will do.

Reverend Ronald Richards could preach love and reconciliation in his church and gain thousands of followers, but at his heart, he was a demon possessed man who had sold his soul for the pleasures of the flesh.

Not every rescue the priestesses made was quite so bloody. Some were simply reported to proper authorities. Try finding who to report 200 sex slaves on a barge in New Orleans to. Yes, you can call the National Human Trafficking Hotline at 1-888-373-7888. And if you or someone you know is a victim, call it right damn now. But they aren’t equipped for rapid response when there are 200 involved.

In the US, nearly three-quarters of a million people are reported missing each year. Many, I’m happy to say, are quickly found, but 3-10 thousand each year are not found. There are nearly 100,000 active cases of missing persons. Of that number, 35% are under the age of 18. Back in the late ‘60s, I was responsible for some of those who went missing. I collected them off the streets just before they died and restored them to health in Areola. All elected not to return to the natural world. They were looking for Nirvana and found it.

We found that barge, and it was a mess. I’d like to say it was a foreign entity transporting boys and girls into the US, but this was a US-based mob I’d been tracking for some time. They specialized in collecting runaways, homeless, and abused teens.

Once they had a barge full, they towed it out into international waters and held an auction. Most of their cargo would be sold to bidders from around the world. The leftovers were discarded into the ocean.

I’d never been able to locate them before they set sail.

This time was different. But we needed help to rescue the children.

I called the FBI from an anonymous phone that could feasibly be tracked to our location. I wanted them to find it. I explained that I was about to liberate two hundred captive children from a barge in New Orleans and even gave them the pier number.

During the time I was on hold, I unleashed the priestesses. There were alarms on the barge, of course, but even after we set them off, the kidnappers could not locate us as we moved stealthily around the barge. I went room to room, delivering concubines from Areola to aid and feed the kids.

I said we were not as bloody as the previously related affair. Well, not quite. About half of the two dozen guards on the barge were dead when they were nailed to the side of the barge. The priestesses had advanced in their technology and in addition to their traditional weapons, they carried high-powered nail guns. The other dozen guards were needed as witnesses. They watched as their comrades were displayed.

I personally checked all the enemy for demons or signs of demon possession. Finding none, I approved the priestesses to complete the job. The remaining dozen were nailed next to their comrades, often with nails through body parts they thought were safe. All they saw were black clad ninjas who perversely glowed with an inner light.

I collected all the ninjas and the concubines who were assisting the prisoners, dropped my cellphone (still on hold), and fled into the night. I took up a post on a roof nearby where I could see as the first local policeman arrived to check things out. He was frantically on his radio, urgently requesting backup as there had been a massacre on the docks. When they entered the barge and discovered the kids, their tune changed.

“We saw angels come to bring us food and water. They said not to be afraid because help was coming for us,” a fourteen-year-old girl told investigators.

“Demons!” declared a critically wounded man in the hospital. “Angels of death rained down upon us and made us pay for our sins. We couldn’t see them at all as they killed and captured us. They glowed in the dark when they had us all and seemed to get brighter with every nail they drove through our bodies. I wish I had been killed instead of living to witness their retribution.”

Most importantly, the twelve men arrested and held in the hospital put the finger on another fifty who had not been present that night. They included two of their chief operators who organized the auctions. I was sure more would be identified.

The Furies had struck again.

I promised May that I knew several people at Space Pioneers and could get her in to see them. She was doubtful at first, but I convinced her with a first class ticket to Houston where the main offices were. Doug met us there. She recognized him from the television show.

“I’ll take it from here, Bob,” he said, using the name I’d adopted for my travels. “We’ll give you a call and let you know how things turn out.” He led May to a conference room. I went into a bathroom and transformed to The Bob. Twenty minutes later, I entered the conference room.

May gasped when she saw me.

“Hello, May. I’m Bob,” I said. “We’ve had a lot of applications to be on the show, but I think you’re the only one that tracked us down here.”

“It uh ... wasn’t really me who did the tracking. The import/export guy I met in Cleveland made all the arrangement. If you don’t mind, this uh ... Doug didn’t give me a chance to say a proper goodbye. I’d like to see Bob again.”

“That’s not a problem. I hope he was civil and decent to you.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve never met someone quite like him. I really like him, you know. I mean, I’m sure I’ll like you, too. I did apply to be on your show.”

“And so you are,” I said, pointing out the cameras in the room. She caught her breath again.

“So, tell me about your design for a space station that would fly away from earth. Do you have drawings? Specifications?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “They’re probably too much for the budget of a television show. I was hoping to talk to the people at Space Pioneers because maybe they could get funding for it.”

“I see. You didn’t know I’m the majority shareholder in Space Pioneers.”

“You are? I thought that president fellow, Leroy Reese, founded and owned it. He’s always in the news as the spokesperson.”

“Yes. He runs most things on a daily basis. The Mars Mission is all mine. So, tell me more about yourself.”

We got into quite a conversation. Many of the things she was telling me were a repeat of what she had told Bob of Cleveland. But there was significant new information, as well.

“It’s almost impossible for a woman to get a hearing in the science and technology arena. And what’s worse, using just a first initial is as much a red flag to reviewers as a woman’s name. Their first assumption is that it is a woman trying not to appear to be a woman. I have to ask, did you ever select a woman for your crew who wasn’t sexually active with you? That seems to be the expectation.”