This was not where he wanted to be right now. It was not what he wanted to be doing with his life. He was not a killer; he was a priest. But what did that even mean anymore? Did it ever mean anything? At first it did. He was a priest, a real priest at first. He knew who He was serving, and he was proud to serve Him.
And then, slowly, things began to change. The secret meetings, the private instructions, the things whispered in the dark by people who, officially, did not exist, about things that, officially, were not even real. But even through all of that he thought he knew whose side he was on. And even after he was told to kill Adam—even then he still believed he was serving God, and that his mission was to kill the anti-Christ. He was so blind! He realized now that’s why they chose him. They wanted someone they could fool, someone blinded by their ideals, someone so zealous for good, so committed to the church, and all it stood for, that they would not ask questions; they would not doubt.
But the doubt crept in. Gradually. That was the key word. The unseemly things of a religion—any religion—were revealed gradually, and only to a few. And by the time those few knew the truth, they were a part of the lie; they were invested in it; complicit, and that made it hard to back out, or to even want to back out, for that meant incurring the wrath of a system they could not possibly defeat, along with giving up their livelihood. It was easier just to believe what they told you and go along with the program.
But he knew. He knew who he was serving, who the entire Christian church was serving. At best, it was a thinly veiled secret among the church hierarchy, although those on the lower rungs would be shocked to know.
7
Jack said good bye to the cat and started making his way down the narrow gravel path that lead to Main Street. The cat followed him for the first few yards, then stopped, sat down, and watched him go. He hoped it would still be there when he got back. He had grown fond of the little critter.
He turned onto Main Street and continued his trek, his mind a restless pool of nervous anticipation. Main Street was coming alive; the streets were filling with cars, the sidewalks with pedestrians shuffling along to their appointed tasks; merchants were busy opening shop, unlocking the doors, putting the open signs in the windows, preparing for the morning onslaught. Here and there people passed with their dogs, sniffing around at the end of their leashes for the best place to relieve themselves. A middle-aged woman with a Scottish Terrier gave him a big smile as the creature pulled her along the sidewalk. He smiled back. He had a lot to smile about today.
He crossed the railroad tracks onto Old Hook Road, made a left, and stopped at the sprawling edifice that was Manus Manufacturing. He checked his watch. Three minutes to nine. Right on time, if he hurried. He didn’t want to be late for his second day at work. He walked briskly through the lot, through the doors, and to the elevator. He pressed 3, waited, then got off, heading straight for the punch clock. He made it by seconds. He dumped off his back pack in the locker area and arrived at his station at about one minute after nine. Kurt was already there, a slight smile on his face. He took his place next to the older man and took up where he left off yesterday, slinging filters onto the conveyor belt. “Congratulations,” Kurt said, “You made it to your second day. A lot of people don’t.”
“It’s not that bad,” Jack replied. “Just boring and hot.” As he spoke, he was looking several rows up, at the spot she had been yesterday. She had not arrived yet. “Yep,” Kurt said. “Boring and hot.”
For the next half hour, he made small talk with Kurt. He learned that Kurt had spent ten years in the merchant marine, then another thirty as a truck driver, until he lost his eye in a boating accident and had to retire. That, and a run of bad luck and some health issues, is how he ultimately wound up working in a sweat shop in a two-horse town for nine bucks an hour. Kurt finished his story by saying “It’s not as good as your story, but it is what it is”, to which Jack laughed heartily, and said nothing.
By that time, he was getting nervous. Eve had still not arrived. He had begun to wonder if perhaps she had quit. Maybe he just happened to catch her on her last day and would never see her again. Except, of course, in his dreams. The thought made his heart sink. Or what if she had gone on vacation? How would he even know? He didn’t know her name; he couldn’t ask anyone about her. Maybe he would have to come here every day for the next week or two, stand there all day slinging filters, and wait for her to return from Cancun or the Caribbean or wherever else she might be.
And then another thought, equally horrible, occurred to him. What if she had a boyfriend? Or a husband? She was pretty, and usually pretty girls did have boyfriends or husbands. How could it be that this hadn’t occurred to him? Because he was drunk, that’s why! Drunk with this stupid, childish idea that he had just discovered the woman of his dreams—literally—and that he and this woman were destined to go on a great journey together. Other than the voices in his head, some dumb-assed dreams, and a psycho who was always trying to kill him, what reason did he have for believing any of that? None. None at all.
And yet he did believe it. At least he thought he did. One thing he did know: he knew this girl. In his dreams, they made a deep connection—a connection of body, mind, and soul. He knew her, and he loved her. And now that he knew she actually existed he could not imagine the hurt he would feel to find out that she might never love him back. If that were so, he thought that maybe he would just stop running and let himself be killed. There would be no reason to go on.
“You all right there, kid?” Kurt asked. “You seem to be kind of zoning out.” Jack smiled, embarrassed. “Oh . . . Yeah. I guess I’m just a little tired. Didn’t sleep too well last night.”
“That’ll do it,” Kurt said, “There’s no substitute for a good night’s rest. I remember when . . .”
Jack did not hear the rest of the man’s words, because at that very moment, he saw her. She passed right by him, on his right-hand side, walking quickly, and turned down the corridor that lead to the locker rooms. She was there. And suddenly all the heaviness lifted and all of the hope returned. She was there, not in Cancun or the Caribbean, or anywhere else. She was there, at Manus Manufacturing, on 66 Old Hook Road in Silverton, Illinois. And he would, at some point, have the chance to talk to her. The thought at once terrified and exhilarated him. Did she know him the way he knew her? Had she dreamt about him? What if she knew nothing about him, about their mission? What if she didn’t want to know anything about it? What if he told her and she just looked at him as if he were crazy? And what if she had a boyfriend or a husband?
Too many what-ifs. He was driving himself crazy. Maybe if he found out something. Anything. He waited for her to return from the locker room, which she did moments later. She walked over to her station, exchanging a few pleasantries with the woman next to her, and commenced work. Her job was to take the finished, fully boxed filters and place them next to her on a pallet. She worked with a kind of calm, rhythmic ease.
“So,” Jack asked, “What’s the story with that one? The first one on the first belt up there.” He pointed. Kurt smiled at him. “Oh, you mean Diane?” he said. “Yeah,” Jack said, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “She got a boyfriend? Husband?” As he waited for Kurt’s reply, he could actually feel his heart suddenly accelerate to what must have been about a hundred and thirty beats a minute. So much hinged on his answer to that question. Too much. He didn’t like to feel so helpless. “Definitely no husband,” Kurt said, then stopped and thought for a moment before continuing: “And . . . I don’t think she’s got a boyfriend either. Nope, I think the path is clear.” He gave Jack a smile. For the second time that morning, Jack felt a wave of relief. But he also felt a bit wobbly. The excitement, along with the heat, was getting to him. He turned to Kurt and said “I’m gonna take a five.”
“Make it a ten, no hurry,” Kurt replied, giving him a thumbs up sign.
Jack went to the break room. It was an average sized room, with three long rectangular tables in a row. Off to one side of the tables were two vending machines—one