Making God

  *

  “What kind of nonsense is this?” Dr. Gald asked Chief Psychiatrist Farrow.

  “Since you didn’t seem to understand it the first time, I’ll repeat it. The FBI’s research at the hospital has been concluded. Agent Mansfield will not be returning. Secondly, there is no solid medical evidence that Mr. Trigenomen’s delusional patterns have abated. So, your request to have him released has been denied. Further, it is my feeling that in this case your objectivity has been seriously compromised. Mr. Trigenomen will be placed back on his medication and immediately transferred to the Violent Ward where he will be placed under the care of Dr. Webster,” Farrow said, oddly pleased to be causing Gald such discomfort.

  “You can’t do this!” Dr. Gald shouted.

  “Of course I can, Dr. Gald. I run this hospital. I can do whatever I want.”

  “That man is healthy, that man is my patient!” Dr. Gald protested.

  “No, Dr. Gald. He is your patient no longer,” Farrow assured him.

  “I won’t let go of this! I’ll bring it up to the board! I’ll have your license!”

  “Please, try to bring it up to the Board. I think you may be surprised at the result.” the hospital head said laughing.

  As Dr. Gald stormed out, his blood pressure still rising, Chief Psychiatrist Farrow leaned back in his chair and let his mind fill with calming thoughts about the beautiful, peaceful, dancing moon.

  16. Okay, so maybe I’m not forever…

  As she tentatively trudged down the hall to her office, distracted and disturbed, idly saying “Hi” to familiar faces, Beth Mansfield realized that she didn’t really know anyone at all. She’d seen her-co-workers often enough to recognize them. She’d spoken with them often enough to feel comfortable around them, but now she knew that all the little assumptions she’d made about each of them were guess-work at best. Behind even the most recognizable eyes was a cipher as old as humanity.

  How many saw the moon move? She had no way of knowing. She knew she hadn’t. To her it was just what it had always been, the beautiful still-moon, beating down with indifference on snake-oil salesman and priestess alike. Even when the crowd first rose from their seats, weeping, impassioned, she thought them all utterly mad. Now she felt surrounded. She couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps it was she, always she, who’d been the odd man out.

  The brief hope that her office might provide some comfort vanished as she entered. There was nothing different. Even the computer seemed the same for a change. But the normalcy, the terrible dailiness as she once called it, was gone. Dizzy, distressed, she sat behind her desk and picked up the thing closest to her. It was a pencil, a yellow pencil. As she stared at it, trying to see where it began and ended, she thought she was experiencing the start of a nervous breakdown, a complete mental collapse. She wondered whether or not this yellow pencil was the last thing her mind would ever comprehend.

  It wasn’t the fact that people were changing that rattled Beth, it was the fear that they had always been different from her. There were no prejudices for her to cling to, here, no judgment available with which she could appraise them. They weren’t just gullible types or superstitious types or sad and needy types. Presidents and peasants alike were joining the Church of the Ultimate Signifier. Their membership cut across all age groups, all socioeconomic classes, all levels of education, all, all, all. All because of Hapax and his stupid book.

  Hapax. He was still in the hospital. She had half a mind to leave him there, but her report was already logged into the main system. How would a believer react to her proof that Hapax had written the Word? Not well, she imagined. Then there was the question of what Hapax would do back out in the world on his own. Would Beth’s favorite mad genius do the sensible thing and shut-up? No, and without the FBI, without her to protect him...

  Deciding that it was at least something to do, she reached for the phone, then quickly realized it was gone. The pencil snapped in her hand. Just before she growled in frustration, she remembered the computer now had a phone in it. She glared at it, grateful that it at least, had remained simply vile. She fired up the dreaded beast and forced herself to wait patiently through its booting procedure.

  “Hey, Baby, this is the king. You have one new message with an A/V file attached,” the computer said in a synthesized Elvis-voice. Someone had been tampering with her settings.

  Eyebrow raised, she was about to ignore the gregarious king and try to dial Dr. Gald when the message name caught her eye. It said, simply, “Keech.” Apparently word had not reached Glen or Ken or whatever his name was in the Computer Division that the investigation was over. Pressing a few keys, she managed to access the message. It said:

  Beth – just before the project was shut down, one of our hacks managed to break into Keech’s personal system and downloaded the following – it’s terrifying. Still, looks like Prophecy was wrong on this one. A hundred million strong and no disconfirmation. I don’t believe this moon nonsense – do you? - Ben

  Curious now, Beth clicked on the A/V file. Some cheery music filled the air as the Official Logo of the Church of the Ultimate Signifier filled the screen. A tag line indicated the file was confidential and presented as part of the “Campaign 2002” proposal, whatever that was. After a moment, the screen cleared and a small image of Keech appeared, dressed in a smart suit, and standing in front of an American flag.

  “What’s he doing, running for president?” Beth thought. Then she realized he was.

  As the little computer screen Keech smiled benignly, something flashed quickly in the right corner of the screen. She assumed it was some sort of glitch, but whatever it was continued intermittently throughout the presentation.

  “My fellow Americans,” he began, “We live in an invented nation. We have no natural history. We are not indigenous to the region. The founding fathers invented this nation, this democracy, and we, we came from all over, to live and take root in their idea, the idea that the world can be made new again. But today we are trapped in a cycle of materialism and violence, a cycle reinforced and propelled by the notion that the race for financial success is tantamount to existence. The American Aeon remembers its obligation to reinvent the world, but it has forgotten how.

  “Our politicians are helpless bureaucrats hemmed in by special interests and the sin of appearances. Our proud law enforcement officials are caught like flies, trapped by the illusion of the power of force, helpless in the face of problems for which force has no solution. Yet, like our forefathers, any man among us, any woman, can reinvent our country in a moment, provided they have the courage to stand apart and the conviction to live out our lost ideals in spite of the appearance of hardship it brings – by living in spite of death.

  “Calico has done that for us. She rose above our image of what mortality should be and is now reborn in each of us. Today, countless Americans are following her example, unearthing their own buried hearts. Today, I pledge, with your help, that I will try to do the same for our nation, to re-awaken our proud Aeon, to live by it, for it and beyond it, as your next president.”

  Beth stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed as the sequence ended. The strange flashing continued in the right corner as the image of Keech faded to black. Breathing quickly, she slapped the pause key and looked down at her hands. They were shaking. He couldn’t win, could he? Yes, of course, he could.

  This was too much for her. She was a researcher. She was sorry she had ever even joined the Bureau. All she ever learned about were things she was helpless to change. If only she’d been a teacher, or an artist, she’d be living her life somewhere else, comfortably unaware of civilization’s rise and fall. Half-seriously she wondered what cruel Aeon had carried her to this fate. Too late. All done. She had unlocked the secrets of the world. She knew what would happen next.

  Or did she? Suppose Keech did win? Suppose the Church did become the dominant religion? We’ve survived worse, Edison had said. What would it matter to a farmer or a construction worke
r, so long as the sun rose and people continued to live in buildings? What kind of crime was this, if any?

  She picked her head up and looked at the paused image on the screen. Her finger had accidentally caught the first frame of one of those funny glitches. It wasn’t quite legible, but she thought she could make out the beginning of a word. She closed her eyes, inhaled and grabbed the manual, desperate to find out if there was a “frame advance control.” As it turned out, a simple click on a double arrow in the corner moved the video ahead one frame. Now she could see it clearly. It wasn’t a glitch at all. It was a short sentence. Ages ago, Beth had read about subliminal messages. They were meant to be disregarded by the conscious mind, but perceived on a deeper, subconscious level which supposedly influenced the observer’s behavior. They were popular in advertising. Apparently Keech planned to bring them into politics.

  The sentence said: Come, recognize yourself in me.

  It was the opening of one of Calico’s speeches. It appeared on bumper stickers and buttons everywhere. Beth reversed the sequence frame by frame, until a second message appeared: Feel the need, find the power.

  And then a third: Calico lives.

  That made her stop. What did it mean? What would Calico be doing if not living?

  Then it hit her. Keech had read When Prophecy Fails. He’d been following its theory all along. That was why the biggest megalomaniac of the century was content to stay in the background. He was waiting, planning, trying to push the Church to its limit without a disconfirmation, so the pay-off, in proselytizing, in converts, would be huge.

  And what would that disconfirmation be? It was simple, really. Beth cursed herself for not spotting it sooner. According to the press releases, on New Year’s Eve, Calico declared herself immortal. All Keech had to do to ensure the complete domination of the church and the rise of his own prominence was to kill her.

  17. The King of Things

  “Hey, Baby, the king says you have a request from the Computer Section waiting,” the synthesized Presley said to Beth’s empty office. The message had repeated once every minute for thirty minutes now, and no one was answering. Across the building, Leonard, a young software installer, blew a raspberry in annoyance. Beth Mansfield was scheduled for today, but he also had ten more installations to make before lunch. Pushing away from his laptop, he called across the room.

  “Ben, no answer from your girlfriend. Now what?”

  “She doesn’t like talking to me much either,” Ben said, tapping a few keys on his keyboard, “Funny. She’s logged in. Maybe she’s in the bathroom. Head on up and install the program. Just make sure you save anything she’s working on.”

  Leonard nodded and dutifully pushed his cart full of “1,000 Words” packages out towards the elevator. Once he was sure Leonard was gone, Ben clicked a few more keys erasing her sign-in, deleting her phone log and giving her an extra personal day. He could always change it back, if necessary.

  Miles away, at the rear entrance to the Jesus Ward, Beth stepped out of her car. The garbage piled in big blue bins made her hold her breath as she made her way to the darkened service entrance. The thick metal door was covered with one too many coats of cheap red paint. It didn’t look like it could be opened, even with a key. She glanced at her watch then tapped on the door lightly with her car keys. With a loud, heavy squeak, the door did indeed open, and there stood a distraught Dr. Gald.

  “I want to thank you for this,” Beth began.

  Gald held his hand up, “I don’t see you. I don’t hear anything you’re telling me.”

  Beth nodded. She remained silent as they headed up the stairs to the violent ward. Hapax had already been transferred. Gald hoped there would be no witnesses, but peering out into the hall from the stairwell, he spotted two interns.

  “Wait here a moment,” Dr. Gald said. He stepped out into the hall and said something that Beth couldn’t hear. The interns seemed a little surprised, but ultimately, they shrugged, turned and headed away. When Gald was certain they were gone, he returned to the stairwell.

  “I’ll meet you at the exit in exactly two minutes,” he said, handing her a key. Then he vanished down the stairs.

  The bottoms of her shoes seemed unbearably loud against the tile floor as Beth raced down the hall and unlocked the door to Hapax’ room. At the sight of him, strapped tightly to his bed, she let out a small gasp. His face was covered again and eyes were glazed over from heaven-only-knew what. She quickly pulled the mask off.

  Though groggy, Hapax recognized her immediately and said, “Beth, what the hell is going on?”

  Not bothering to respond, she started removing the straps, as quickly as she could.

  “What are you doing?” Hapax asked, genuinely confused.

  “Getting you out of here,” she said, “I’ll explain later. There are some clothes for you in the car. We’ve got to hurry.”

  “Beth. Wait. Wait a minute. I’ve thought about it, and I’m not sure I should leave just yet. I don’t think I’m quite ready to face what’s going on out there,” he said sadly.

  She stared at him, incredulous.

  “Hapax,” she said, grabbing his face and staring into his eyes, “A lot has happened. The book is yours, okay? I think I know a way to make everything all right again. I am prepared to throw my career, and, quite possibly, my life away on the assumption that what I am about to do is somehow, in some way, the right thing, but I need your help. Are you with me?”

  He thought about it, then pushed her hands aside and hopped off the bed.

  “Okay,” he said.

  His legs were a little wobbly, so he had to lean on her as they made their way down the hall. By the time they reached the stairs, he was able to maneuver the steps mostly by himself.

  At the exit, a silent Dr. Gald stood by, a few tears in his eyes. Seeing this, Hapax gave him a big warm hug and whispered, “Thanks. You take care of yourself now.”

  While Beth and Hapax made their way to the car, Dr. Gald slipped back into the hospital. He wondered how long he could delay Farrow’s discovery of the empty room, but realized that whether it was an hour or a day, his time here was over. Oddly, Gald felt relieved, and more than a little grateful for the souls he’d encountered along the way.

  Once they made their way into the city traffic, Hapax, breathing free air for the first time in many months, turned to Beth and said, “The hospital doesn’t know I’m being released, does it?”

  Keeping her eyes on the road, Beth said, “No.”

  Hapax was silent for a while. Then he turned to her and said, “This is some sort of FBI mission, right? I mean, your boss at the Bureau must know I’ve been released, right?”

  Again, Beth did not move her gaze from the traffic as she said, “No.”

  Hapax nodded to himself.

  “Uh, Beth?” he asked, “What’s going on?”

  “Half the world belongs to the Church now. The FBI investigation has been shut down, Keech is planning to run for president, and I have reason to believe he’s going to have Calico killed sometime in the next two years,” Beth answered.

  Hapax nodded, “Okay, give me a minute, I’ll catch up. Half the world, I understand. Investigation shut down, okay. President, okay. Calico killed. Why, why, why? The disconfirmation of her immortality, right? The succession of Keech. He wants it all. See, I would never have been that greedy. Too dangerous. Excuse me, did you say your investigation was shut down?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” Beth said.

  “Okay, your investigation was shut down, you broke me out of the hospital with Doctor’s help...” he began, then his brow furrowed until Beth broke the silence.

  “I’ve gone rogue,” she answered.

  Hapax looked ahead, then out the window, then at Beth.

  “Where are we going, Beth?”

  “The Paradise Regained. A four star hotel in the middle of town, one of six owned by the church with similarly beatific names. Tomorrow, Keech, Calico and the entire Church
board of directors will be meeting there. It’s surrounded by thousands of converts, but thanks to a friendly computer hacker I happen to know, I think we’ve got a room reserved, just below the penthouse suite.”

  “Go on.”

  ”Well, it seems obvious that Calico’s unaware of her impending death at Keech’s hands, but why would she believe me? You two, however, can swap notes on the Great Word or Work or whatever. I’m going to try to get you together so you can convince her that you wrote the book, and that Keech is out to kill her. Then we sneak you both off to the press,” Beth said.

  Hapax leaned back and started laughing.

  Beth looked at him, imagining she knew what he was feeling, and smiled, “Congratulations. Here’s your chance to convince everyone you’re sane.”

  Grinning, Hapax asked, “So, what’s the difference between being sane and being able to convince people you’re sane?”

  “Well,” Beth said, spying the crowds that surrounded the hotel, “I always thought it was the same as the difference between not being in pain and being able to convince people that you’re not in pain.”

  “Touché, Agent Mansfield,” Hapax said, thoughtfully, “Touché.”

  They ditched the car in an alley about twenty blocks south of the hotel. As Hapax looked on with concern, Beth removed and hid the license plates.

  Within ten blocks, no traffic was permitted. People, in singles, groups, cliques and every other imaginable collection, filled each nook and cranny, drinking, talking, praying, dancing, chanting. It was as though New Year’s Eve had never ended and the party had barely begun.

  A block later, an arm from the crowd had jutted out and grabbed Hapax by the shoulder. Beth was certain the jig was up.

  “Feel the need, find the power!” the reveler harmlessly intoned.

  “I intend to,” Hapax said, smiling back.

  The hotel itself was cordoned off, forcing Beth to show her badge. To her relief, an officer simply nodded and waved them inside.

  At the reservation desk she rolled her eyes and bit her tongue before giving the name the computer nerd decided to use. He had made the point that if he could find her via her mobile phone, anyone could, making the pseudonym necessary, though embarrassing.

  “Fatima,” she said to the clerk, “I have a reservation.”

  And, miraculously, they were admitted.

  The Paradise Regained was, if anything, luxurious. Beth was impressed, but Hapax seemed awed. In the glass elevator, he insisted on pressing the button for their floor. In the hall, he almost broke into a run. Finally, upon seeing the room, Hapax blurted out, “This is amazing!”

  He ran in, giddy as a school-child. Larger than his attic, more comfortable than the hospital ward, it was the finest place he’d ever seen. He rolled on the bed, tested the drawers and laughed when he found the little coffee maker.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” Hapax said.

  “Try the shower,” Beth said, “You could really use it.”

  “There’s a shower? Really?”

  Beth rolled her eyes and pointed the way, hoping he wouldn’t sing. By the time he stepped back out, wearing the complimentary terry-cloth bathrobe, Beth was curled up on the bed, cursing softly to herself as she tried to make sense out of the schematics of the building’s elevator system that the computer geek had faxed her.

  Hapax stepped over and dripped on the pages.

  “Can I help?” he said absently. His gaze was already elsewhere.

  “A private elevator leads straight up into the Penthouse,” she explained, “I’ve got to figure out how to operate it without a passkey, so we can get in.”

  “We’ve got cable!” he said, beaming.

  “Do you know anything about electronics?”

  Not quite listening, he idly slid open the top drawer of the bureau and gazed inside. There, next to a copy of Gideon’s Bible, was a copy of The Great Word. Eyeing him from the bed, Beth stood and slid the drawer shut.

  “Don’t let it go to your head, Hapax. The Church of the Ultimate Signifier owns this hotel,” she said.

  “What are they now? Ten? Twenty million strong?” he asked.

  “Before the miracle, maybe fifty million. Now, I don’t know. Nobody does,” she said, “We’ve got a lot of time before the meeting tomorrow. Why don’t you try to get some rest?”

  “Rest?” Hapax said incredulously, “You must be joking. I’ve been asleep for months. A decade, if you ask Doctor.”

  “All right then, what do you want to do?” Beth said.

  Hapax looked at her, made an odd face, then kissed her hard on the lips. She pulled away.

  “Ask a stupid question,” he said, shrugging.

  She glared at him and paced around the room a few times as he watched. Throwing her hands up in the air, she kissed him back. The look on his face was so endearing she hugged him tightly. Then she pressed her forehead into his as though in the silence of the room she might finally hear what he was feeling. Hapax tentatively wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her closer. Suddenly, he stopped and withdrew.

  “Um… is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?” he asked.

  At first, she didn’t know what he was talking about, then she remembered.

  “Aw geez,” she said, “it’s a gun.”

  Hapax took a step back and said, “Excuse me?”

  She smiled, slipping the holster off, “It’s for tomorrow. Just in case.”

  “In case of what?” Hapax said.

  Instead of answering, she put the gun in the drawer, between the Bible and the Word, then clicked off the lamp.

  “In case of what?” Hapax repeated in the darkness.

  Then he figured he could always ask her later.

  18. Pseudo-man

  As the awkward memory of their last meeting faded further to black, they encountered with relish each additional degree of their utter success. Eyes glistening, hearts light, heads giddy, they hoisted their glasses in joyous offering to their mentor and master, Albert Keech.

  “Six million strong in South America,” Molloy said, gleefully, “And we haven’t spent a dime there.”

  “Any drop off in the convert rate?” Bensen asked.

  “A straight and true fifty per cent, across the boards,” Molloy read, doing a little dance with his hips, “Anyone who sees the moon move converts within a week.”

  “We’ve done it, Keech,” Mannon said, his great frame sprawled on a couch, “We’ve climbed above the markets, above the governments. Hell, we’ve climbed above the whole bloody civilization. We’ve built that pyramid of yours. We’ve created a religion.”

  “Where’s Calico?” Bean said, drunkenly, “She should be with us. Haven’t seen her since the moon-dance.”

  “In her room. Tired, I’m afraid. It isn’t easy being the Spiritual Mother of the new age,” Keech said with a little smile.

  Mannon giggled, “They’ve already started calling her ‘Mother Calico.’ Even the papers. All by themselves. It’s a living thing. I feel like a daddy.”

  “It’s a great and wondrous world that allows moments such as these,” Bensen said, knocking back some more scotch.

  “No, no,” Bud Bean corrected, “it is a great and wondrous Keech that allows worlds such as these.”

  Agreeing, Keech slowly walked to the center of the room.

  “I have another miracle to announce,” Keech said, raising his glass. Thinking he was about to make some sort of toast, they raised their glasses in response.

  Keech smiled, broad enough for his teeth to show, and said, “In a matter of moments, you’ll all be seeing Michael again.”