Richard Paul Evans: The Complete Walk Series eBook Boxed Set

  I just looked at him.

  “Of course you’re skeptical. It’s safer that way. But believe me, they are as real as you or me.”

  “You’re telling me that you’ve seen an alien from another planet?”

  He smiled. “I’ve sat in councils with them. I would say that we are, intellectually, like children next to them, but I would be doing them a disservice in the representation. We are more like apes, our spiritual and mental development so rudimentary, it would be like enrolling a chimpanzee in advanced Harvard physics and theology classes. Their translators speak our crude language so exquisitely, it’s like listening to Mozart.” He leaned forward. “Let me teach you something, Alan. Have you ever wondered why it is that whenever there’s a major technical breakthrough, it seems to appear around the globe at the same time—advancements like the pyramids, the airplane, the electric filament or radio waves? That’s because when the Guardians believe our species is ready to advance the idea is released to us.”

  “Guardians?”

  “That’s what I call them, but that’s only because our inefficient language doesn’t have the proper title for them. They call themselves the Ahn, which roughly means ‘parent’ or ‘enlightened caregiver.’ But most people just call them God. The truth is, they are a collective—a fully cohesive society.”

  “You’re telling me that Marconi and the Wright brothers spoke to aliens?”

  El grinned. “Heavens, no. As brilliant as those men were, they weren’t ready. Even Moses had to view them through a holographic light wave transmission, which he, out of ignorance, called a burning bush. The Guardians don’t need to reveal themselves to teach us. They have their means of feeding our minds. It’s fascinating, really, a technologically produced telepathy. Think of it as a mental download. They’ll seed a half dozen people at the same time with the same revelation, and let them compete to come out first with the invention—much the same way a farmer will overplant his field to ensure a bountiful harvest.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Alan, I know this is difficult for you to accept. Changing a paradigm is never easy. But think about it. There is nothing more globally ubiquitous than the belief in extraterrestrial existence. The president of Russia spoke of aliens living among us, President Kennedy was caught on tape talking about secret alien captures, even Jimmy Carter publicly claimed to have seen a flying saucer. What surprises me is that you, or anyone else, would be surprised. Or, in this age of ‘reason,’ insist on living in denial.

  “It is, perhaps, the only common ground that religionists and scientists share, both fighting to defend the indefensible argument that we are alone in the universe. And why? Because they don’t want to know the truth.”

  “Why wouldn’t they want to know the truth?” I said. “It’s in their best interest.”

  El laughed. “Is it? Forgive my amusement, but for an advertising man you have a poor understanding of the human mind, Alan. People have always preferred mystery to truth. Most people don’t even know the truth of their own beliefs. Ask them about the inner workings of their own religion or their religion’s history and they pull their heads in like turtles. It’s understandable. Religion is like sausage—it’s best not to know what goes into it.” He laughed again. “But there are those who are not afraid of the truth. People like you and me. It is our obligation and burden to act as shepherds to guide the flock.”

  Just then, the blue-haired man brought out our dinner. Sliced turkey breast, cranberry sauce, and mashed potatoes and gravy. I was as glad for the distraction as I was for the food.

  “Ah, time to eat,” El said.

  “Looks like Thanksgiving dinner,” I said.

  “We are thankful,” El said. “Our path is the way of gratitude. Please, allow me to give thanks for this food.”

  He raised his hands above his head and said in a loud voice, “Our God, who looks favorably upon thy chosen vessels, we praise Thee for thy goodness and power and our knowledge of Thee, the only truth, the only way, the only salvation. In the name of He who is worthy of worship throughout the universe, Jesus the Christ, Amen.”

  A chorus of “amens” filled the room. El looked at me. “Please, partake. The food is delicious. DarEl was a chef at the Four Seasons New York before he was enlightened.”

  El was right, about the food at least. Everything was exceptional. Thankfully, my host allowed me a moment to eat in silence. As I ate, I observed what was going on around the room. There was a bank of tables near one side where a dozen or more people were sitting with headphones on. There were others reading, all from the same book, a hardcover volume with a bright red and gold cover. A few others were cleaning. Everyone was busy.

  A few minutes later I pointed to the group of people with headphones. “What are they listening to?”

  El turned around to look at them. “Sermons. They listen for three to four hours a day. Usually after they finish their chores.”

  “Whose sermons?”

  “Mine, of course.”

  “And the red books?”

  “The Celestial Scripture. Prophecies I’ve received, including those of the last days before Christ returns and the earth receives its nuclear baptism of fire.”

  “Then you believe Christ will return?”

  “Of course we do. And what a sight it will be, when legions of crafts in the thousands and tens of thousands descend upon the earth, ushering in a new age of power and glory. The AhnEl will be there to assist in the transference of that power. Then we will be called up to our rightful place, and the kings and queens of this earth will be as our servants and our enemies will be as dust.”

  I gestured to the people in the room. “These people?”

  “They shall rule the world.”

  “Where are they from?”

  “The earth, of course.”

  “I assumed that.”

  “Assume nothing,” El said. “They are the children of light. They are like the first stars in the twilight sky before nighttime is upon us and the fullness of the galaxy is seen in all its brilliance. But these are only a few of the enlightened. I have thousands of followers, in dozens of countries. I have nearly a hundred ordained missionaries out gathering the pure in heart, those not so darkened by their lusts and fears to hear truth. They are out seeking the tinder that is ready for the spark of enlightenment to blaze in their hearts and souls.”

  “These followers will do whatever you say?”

  “I am their teacher and representative to the Guardians. Though, truthfully, I am merely a substitute teacher, filling in until the real teachers arrive—the Gods hasten that day! They could step in anytime. They are all around us. They have been for millennia.”

  “Your followers seem . . .” I hesitated.

  El squinted. “They seem what?”

  “. . . Brainwashed.”

  His expression turned fierce. “Do you even know what that term means?”

  “People whose brains have been coercively washed clean by some outside force,” I said.

  “. . . And filled by another? Or should I say, programmed by another. You, of all people, should not be casting stones,” he said, his voice ripe with disgust. “An advertising man.”

  “Our job was to inform,” I said.

  He laughed. “Is that what you told yourself?” He leaned on one elbow. “Your job was to change behavior to profit your clients. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” I relented.

  “My motives are much more pure. I’m informing these people of the truth and providing them a practical structure in which the truth can flourish. Tell me, do these people look unhappy?”

  I had to admit that they looked content. “No.”

  “Their service to me, is it beneath them?”

  “Some would say—”

  He pounded his fist on the table. “Don’t patronize me. I’m not talking about some ambiguous cultural psychobabble. What do you say, Alan?”

  His sudden outburst unnerved me
. “Making others serve you seems self-serving.”

  He looked at me for a moment, then said with a softer voice, “Fair enough. But it is in losing themselves that they find themselves. It is in their service that they find use and meaning. Do you think they are suffering?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He tilted his head. “Then why don’t you ask them? AshEl,” he said, motioning over a young, strawberry-blond woman. She walked over to us, knelt at El’s feet and kissed them. “Yes, Master.”

  “This Earthman wants to know if you are suffering.”

  “Suffering?”

  “Yes, he’s afraid you might be suffering here,” he said. “You may speak to him.”

  She looked at me with a vacant expression. “Why would you think I’m suffering? Outside these walls the world is full of confusion and hate. For the first time in my life I feel peace.” She turned back to El. “My master is to be praised for my salvation.”

  “Tell the Earthman about your life in the dark.”

  “I was an exotic dancer and an alcoholic. For the first time in my life I’m free.” She again kissed El’s feet.

  He ran his hand over the crown of her head. “Thank you, AshEl. You may wait for me in my pod.”

  A large smile crossed her face. “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.”

  She glanced back at me, then ran off.

  “Suffering?” El said. “She’s never been happier.”

  “What about the woman I met by the road?”

  “Her sanctification is the most important thing she’s done in her previously inconsequential life, as it is for all of them. I take their mental and spiritual anarchy and organize it, even as the Gods organized the chaos of space into this world and universe. I’m giving them order. And with it, joy, freedom and peace.”

  “I can see peace,” I said, “maybe even a sense of happiness, but freedom?”

  “Definitely freedom. Freedom from the burden of choice. The human mind, cynical as it may be, is seeking to be controlled. And, when you understand the mechanics of the human brain as the Guardians do, it is a very easy thing to control. Even one as intelligent as yours.”

  I said nothing and he looked at me with a dark, wry stare. “Well done, Alan. You’re as wise as I thought.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You didn’t say that you couldn’t be controlled. Ironically, the most susceptible to mind control are precisely those who don’t believe they are susceptible.”

  My head was hurting. “Are you saying that your followers will do anything you say?”

  He looked at me for a moment, then said, “Anything and everything. As they should.”

  “Would they kill for you?” I immediately regretted asking the question, realizing that I might have endangered myself.

  His eyes turned dark. “I would not ask.” Then, to my relief, his expression softened. “Enough of this. How was your dinner?”

  I breathed out. “It was good.”

  “It was exquisite,” he said. “I am fatigued. Do you have any other questions?”

  “Just one. Do you believe in the devil?”

  “Of course. But, again, we actually understand him. Actually, them. Like God, Satan is a group. More of a movement, a faction if you will.”

  “Explain,” I said.

  “The Guardians are democratic. They support the Father, Alpha and Omega, as their Supreme Leader. But, in all societies, there are dissenters. Especially when it comes to the issue of homo sapiens. The Guardian Supreme, or Godhead, believes that mankind has intrinsic value. They believe, if you will, in our potential. But not all of the Ahn are of the same opinion. Many, especially the Satanists, believe that humans are beasts, only good for servitude. They believe that too much knowledge has been given to humans already, wasted on us. They, like the Guardians, have access to the same telepathic technology. They use it to tempt us to defy the Guardians and to follow our baser, animal instincts, proving that we are, truly, primitive beings—something not easily disputable given the current state of humanity.”

  “Tempt?”

  “Yes, temptation. Think of how inspiration works. It is simply the enlightening of the mind with an idea. Isn’t temptation just inspiration with a negative bend?

  “We are living in a spiritual war zone, Alan. Deny it at your own peril. Let he who has eyes see, the war rages on and soon everyone must choose a side. Freedom or eternal bondage. That is the only question. So let me ask you, Alan. Which side are you on? Will you join us? Or will you continue to wander, as you have, lost in a dark, confused world?”

  “You’re asking me to stay?”

  “I’m inviting you to stay. At least for the night.”

  I hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Alan. Where will you go tonight? Sleep in the woods somewhere? It’s late.”

  I looked around, weighing my options, not sure that I had any. I still wasn’t sure what El was capable of and I was definitely outnumbered. If I needed to escape, it would be better at night. “All right,” I said.

  El tapped his glass with his fork and the blue-haired man appeared. “DarEl, please show Mr. Alan to a suitable pod. Show him the restroom facilities as well.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Thank you for dinner,” I said to the young man.

  “It was my pleasure,” El replied. “A most enjoyable conversation.”

  DarEl showed me to the bathroom, which was unisex with no stalls and no locking door, then he took me to a “pod,” as they called it, a small bunkroom with six beds, just off the main room where we had dined. I claimed a bottom bunk and slid my pack under the bed. I didn’t sleep. Even though El hadn’t threatened me, I still felt like a prisoner. The entire experience was surreal. I wondered if this was how all of El’s followers had begun. Had they initially been as skeptical as I was? Frankly, I was terrified. I knew that I had to get out of there.

  Five others came into the room during the night and fell asleep. I just lay there quietly, waiting for something to happen. I wasn’t disappointed.

  CHAPTER

  Thirty-one

  The shackles of belief, when reinforced by fear, are difficult to break free from and rarely done.

  Alan Christoffersen’s diary

  The sound I heard was a strained, painful whimpering, like the muffled cry of a wounded animal. I checked my watch. It was three thirty-six in the morning. No one in the pod stirred. I reached into my pack and felt for my gun. I didn’t take it out, I was just reassuring myself of its presence. Then I got out of bed and crept to the door and looked out.

  It was dark in the main room, illuminated only by the moonlight through the windows. In the far corner, near the audio tables, a woman was kneeling on the ground. Her hands were clasped around the back of her neck and her forehead was pressed to the rug. I looked around to make sure we were alone, then stole out, crossing the room. I knelt down next to her.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered.

  She jumped, startled by my voice, but, like the woman tied to the tree, didn’t answer.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  She hesitated again, then, with her face still to the ground, whispered, “I’m being punished.”

  “Why?”

  “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  For a moment she lay there, struggling with what to do. Then she looked up at me. She was young, probably not even twenty. She had short, sandy brown hair and dark brown eyes, large with fear. “Who are you?”

  “You can trust me,” I said.

  She swallowed. “I asked to see my sister. I shouldn’t have asked. So I’m being punished.”

  “Why can’t you see your sister?”

  “She’s not a believer. It’s for my own good.”

  “No it’s not,” I said. I put my hand on her back and she flinched. I looked to where her blouse was raised over her waist. There were red welts. “They did this to yo
u?”

  “I deserved my punishment.”

  “You need to get out of here,” I said.

  “I can’t,” she said. “Master El said I can’t leave.”

  “I’ll get you out of here.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then looked into my eyes. “You will?”

  “Yes. But we have to leave now.”

  “The gate is guarded.”

  “We’ll get out,” I said. “Come on.”

  We silently crept back to my room. I took the gun out of my pack, checked the safety, then shoved a magazine into it and put it in my trousers. Then I put on my pack. The young woman sat on the floor next to me, shaking with fear.

  “What’s your name?” I whispered.

  “EmEl.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  “My real name?”

  “Your earth name,” I said.

  She hesitated and I wasn’t sure if she’d forgotten it or was afraid to say it. “Emily,” she said slowly, breathing out. “It’s been a while since I’ve said that name.”

  “I’m Alan. Just do what I say and stay close to me.”

  We crouched down next to the door until I was sure no one was awake, then we crossed the main room to the entrance I’d come in through. I turned to Emily. “Is there an alarm?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Be ready to run.” I unbolted the door, then slowly opened it. Nothing. We quickly slipped out and I shut the door behind us. About five yards from the door we must have tripped a motion detector as several floodlights turned on.

  “Hurry,” I said, taking her hand. The gate was closed and we ran to the guard booth. A man was standing inside reading the red book. There was a red button on the wall next to him.

  “Open the gate,” I said.

  My voice startled him. “What are you—”