The Great Assumption

SIX

  Whosoever truly is from God, the world will always detest.

  Julius Mann, Traditions, vol. 5, ch5.

  As Roy unlocked his garage and climbed into his car he did not notice the two young men watching him from behind the low fence next to his drive. They were crouching; hiding from him. Both were in their late teens, but their muscular, artificially enhanced bodies made them look at least five years older. The Thompson brothers both had their heads shaven, but that was not their strongest feature. Both wore army surplus clothes that had been dyed black and covered with pins, but neither was that their main attraction. Both had their shaven heads colourised; even their lips and eyelids. The latest thing for young people who wanted to rebel, the technology enabled their skin to turn whatever colour they wanted, whenever they wanted. Today one was bright orange, the other bright blue. Their father Bernard hated it, whatever colour they had.

  The scowl they usually carried was now levelled at Roy, although he did not see them. They had been awake all night, as usual. They watched him back his car down the drive and speed away.

  There was no other traffic on the road, but Roy still stopped at every light and followed the speed restrictions. As soon as he turned his car into a narrow private street his eyes went to Doug Paull’s house. It was one of many identical houses crammed together. Roy visited only once or twice a year, part of the ongoing task of staying in touch with what the other churches were doing. He had been impressed with Doug’s standard of living. It was an exclusive area, and one never accustomed to such vandalism. He could see the wreckage even from down the street.

  The windows were broken out and glass and pieces of furniture were scattered along the driveway, as if their belongings had been hurled out with great force. The door had been broken off its hinges, and the first impression was that anything of value had been taken. The walls had been sprayed with paint. Roy tried not to read the obscene messages, but he did anyway. As he walked inside, glass crunched beneath his shoes. It was the remains of their TCS, mostly from the screens. Roy tried to imagine who it was who last used it, whoever he had disturbed. He could not understand why anyone would stop such carnage to answer his call.

  He could not help thinking of the possibility that Doug’s family had been part of the rapture, even though Roy knew the theology belonged to simplistic Christian fundamentalists and an embarrassment to someone like Roy. But he knew Doug believed it and taught it in his church, and whenever Roy talked to him he always made some playful reference to “leaving soon”.

  He looked at the mess before him and wondered if Doug had ever made any sort of humorous remark about what would happen to his home after he was taken to heaven. Had Roy followed the same doctrine, he would probably teach that no one is able to take worldly things with them. As he looked at the mess he had a good sermon idea. “You might not be able to take it with you, but you don’t have to leave it for the vandals”.

  He kicked at a piece of broken chair leg and wished he had another explanation for it all. Whether or not Doug would have approved of the state of his worldly home, Roy was not prepared to stand back and do nothing. He felt more determined once he told himself the rapture did not occur and Doug’s family could be safe and sound and soon to return home.

  Roy looked out a window at his car parked on the street and thought he could alert the police faster if he used his cell instead of the TCS in his car. The network was only open for emergency calls, but that was what he considered this to be.

  As he tapped the controls to list the city’s emergency numbers, the door from Doug’s closest neighbour came open. It was an elderly woman, probably in her mid-seventies, minus the facial doctoring and hair colouring. Strapped to her waist was a large but lightweight MaserRifle, a kind that was surely illegal.

  “Who are you?” she demanded from Roy.

  “My name is Reverend Roy Hoyle. I’m reporting a crime.”

  “Are you a real Reverend?”

  “Of course.”

  “How do I know you are?”

  “I assure you, I’m the leader of the Church of the Kingdom of God.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “I’m sure you have. The Kingdom of God church is situated at 318 Morton Street. Kingdom churches were founded in 1674 by Julius Mann, and the St Antipas community has been here since 1860. I succeeded Reverend Jacob Parks when he passed away in 2019. I have two deacons under my authority, both fine young men; Grant Westwood and John Morey. The church elder is Russell Heslin and the board is—”

  “All right, all right,” the woman said with annoyance. “But don’t you take too long about it,” she warned. “It’s still not been declared safe enough to be out in the sunlight. You might want to go missing, but I don’t. And they can track those cells, too.”

  “Did you hear anything?” he asked as he tapped the emergency number.

  “Hear what?”

  “The vandalism here. It must have happened not long ago.”

  “Don’t know about anything.”

  Roy was about to demand information from her, when a male police receptionist came on the line. He was pleased to find it was different from the last one he had spoken to, although he also sounded tired.

  “Hello, my name is Reverend Roy Hoyle. I want to report gross vandalism to a house, part of a housing village at 19 Wilson Terrace, in Casey. Don’t tell me this is not urgent, because it is. It happened only a few minutes ago, and the offenders may still be in the area.”

  “Is the house your own, sir?” the receptionist responded with a harsh tone, clearly agitated.

  “No, it’s a friend’s.”

  “Are you a neighbour?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Where is your home address, sir?”

  “21 Lavinia Street.”

  “Lavinia Street is in Riley, isn’t it?” the receptionist asked after a pause, anger clearly in his voice.

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Casey is a fair way from Riley, isn’t it, sir?”

  “Yes, of course it is. Have you recorded this report? It’s only recent. If you send a car now you might be able to catch up with them.”

  “I need your personal information for the record, sir,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “All right, then.”

  “How did you get to Casey?”

  “I drove over.”

  “How recent was that?”

  “The vandalism? I told you, a few minutes ago.”

  “No, how recent did you drive from Riley to Casey?”

  “Just a few minutes ago, I suppose.”

  “The Chief of Police has ordered all vehicles off the road unless in the case of an emergency.”

  “I have an emergency.”

  “What was your emergency, sir?”

  “The emergency is what I’m reporting.”

  “I mean your personal emergency, sir. One that explains why you are in transit and using a cell.”

  “What are you talking about? Why are you hassling me? I came over as soon as I found out my friend’s house was being disturbed.”

  “Why didn’t you call in from your house? You have a TCS.”

  “I don’t know. Look, I just want to report this crime. If you send a car now you might get them. They might just be down the street at someone else’s place, for all you know.”

  “What is the crime?”

  “I have already told you. A residence on Wilson Terrace has been badly vandalised. I rang my friend, and someone else answered. It was one of the vandals who answered my call! Is that an emergency enough for you? Whoever it was smashed his TC, as well as everything else in his home. It’s a total wreck, and they might be doing it to someone else’s home, for all you know. You have to do something about it, and do it now.”

  “I will have to ask you to remain at your present place of occupation until the travel restrictions are lifted.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Why are you worried about me? There
are criminals around here and far as I can tell, you have a good chance of catching some of them, if you come now.”

  “Our orders are to ensure no one travels except for circumstances of emergency, and I must warn you that the offence carried with it a considerable fine and possibly prison sentence.”

  “Now you look here, I haven’t seen one of your officers or emergency personnel on any of the roads I’ve been down, so I don’t see why it’s so necessary to keep the roads clear for them. And if you think I’m going to do nothing but sit back and listen to you people tell me you don’t know what’s happened, you’ve got another thing coming. Crimes are being committed, and something has to be done to stop it. The church I run may be small, but it’s a close family, and I care for every one of them. I’m not going to let this go by without trying to help them, to help find what’s happened to them.”

  “You say you run a church?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “What church is that, sir?”

  “The Church of the Kingdom of God.”

  “And what address is it?”

  “318 Morton Street. But I still don’t see what any of this has to do with this man’s house being vandalised.”

  “Have you been to that address recently, sir?”

  “Just tell me you’re sending a car over here to deal with this crime!”

  The woman at the door caught Roy’s eye and he could not help returning her glare as the receptionist asked him to confirm for the record where else he had been to that day. The woman then prodded him with the rifle, to make him leave. Roy wished he could shout abuse at her, but he did not allow himself. He closed the call and returned to his car, where he waited for any sign of a police car. Forty minutes later he gave up in disgust. He was about to call for the police again before he told himself he was too anger with them and he might lose his cool.

  His Kingdom church seemed a safe haven that he desperately needed to reach. The world might have turned against him, but he knew he at least had the solitude of his own private office, even if his secretary was one of the missing. Many times he had told Annie that she worked wonders in helping with the daily organisation, even writing out long reports and laborious statistics on each church member for the private files. She never once complained. Roy could not imagine running the office administration without her, even if the church was but one scared and fanatical young man, which was all he knew he had left.

  When he turned into the church car park he slammed the brakes, just stopping short of a rusty old van that blocked his way. In front of the van were all kinds of half-wrecked vehicles, including a large old bus. He hastily backed his car out and parked on the street. For a few minutes he sat and looked at the unbelievable sight before him. He had never seen any of the vehicles before and he had no idea who owned them.

  You’ve got to face this, he told himself as he opened his car door and stepped out.

  As he walked up to the impressive glass front door of the church he began to feel shaky over the prospect of what he might find inside. The doors were wide open; broken open. He felt a chill rush down his spine as it reminded him of the front door to Doug’s house.

  Inside the foyer was a large black dog, and when it saw him it leaped up from where it had been lying and bellowed out a continuous stream of barks. As it stood eyeing him and barking, Roy walked close to the wall to get around it, thankful that it was making no move to attack him.

  Pushing the main doors open, he froze as his mind tried to adjust to the sight before him. The once beautiful hall was now a clutter of noise and anarchy. Dirty little children dressed in rags ran around and screamed at each other. Adults shouted at each other over space on the floor and over rights to one of the pews, most of which had been divided up and destroyed. Around the hall were makeshift houses, built with pieces of the pews plus old wood and cardboard.

  Homeless people Roy knew about, and cared for, and his church offered charity and donated money to government housing projects. But never had he dreamed they would take over his church, without notice, and with a total disregard of the building itself.

  “What are you people doing here?” he shouted at them.

  “Go and find your own place,” came an instant and obnoxious reply from a toothless woman who then looked him up and down and mumbled abuse.

  Two tall men in thin loose black clothing approached him, looking at him as if they could see he does not belong. They were both so dirty that their tattoos were hardly noticeable.

  “What do you want here?” one demanded.

  “This is my church! You have no right to come in here and take it over like this. You have no right to destroy this place. This is a place of worship. Don’t you have any respect for what is holy and sanctified?”

  They laughed at him as one and said, “This ain’t no church no more. Man, the Kingdomites have gone.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Tell me where you found that out.”

  “Everyone knows the Kingdomites have gone,” one said with a sly grin.

  “Who told you?”

  “Word’s out on the street. What was it again?” he asked his amused companion. “All three hundred from this church have been confirmed lost? There ain’t no church coming back here. This makes this a free building, as far as we can tell.”

  “Look, I am the leader of this church,” said Roy, “and I can tell you we haven’t gone anywhere. What you heard was wrong.”

  “Word was all have been reported missing.”

  Roy paused, but not long enough to lose face. Something must have intercepted the report sent to the police. These people move fast!

  “That may have been reported,” Roy said as others started to gather around, “but I’m still here, and I have not given up this building. And until we find out what’s happened to them, I’m not giving up on any of the missing ones. Whatever’s happened, this is still my church, and you have no right to come in here like this.”

  “Far as we can tell, this is just an empty building, and we need a place to live. You never even used it much anyhow except for your Sunday holier-than-thou services.”

  “You were always free to attend our services. And this church plays its part in not neglecting people like yourselves.”

  “What was that you say?”

  “We help provide a hall for you, and food. We contribute to the city shelters. And now you try to take advantage of that? I want you all out of here, now!”

  “What did you call us?”

  “We have always helped people like you.”

  “People like us?” he shouted.

  As one, they went for him, and shoved him to the door. A few punched his head and one landed a kick in his side. Once outside, they pushed him down on the tiled entrance-way with the words “The Way to God’s Love” that he had once thought was a nice way to greet visitors.

  He scrambled to get up when he realised their dog was running after him, encouraged by those who threw him out. The dog ran with its face curled to show its teeth, and it growled loudly. Roy sprinted for his car, and once safely inside he watched the dog jumping and scraping at the door, and bellowing at him. From behind the church’s broken glass door he could see a large group of people giving him abuse and laughing.

  He looked to the left of the self-satisfied group, behind the mess that was once the car park, to the church offices. He could not imagine what kind of state they could be in, and if any of the computers were intact. There were also the private records, some containing scandalous material and only kept to help the congregation’s spiritual, psychological and social growth. It was never meant for the eyes of the public, and certainly not people off the street. Roy hoped they would lack the inclination to look for the material. Perhaps they had no idea such files were kept, or perhaps they had some respect for the church’s most sensitive property. As he looked as his facial wounds in the car mirror he doubted that hope.

/>   He grabbed the TCS car phone and called the police.

  “Now listen to me. This is Reverend Roy Hoyle. I have been attacked by street people who have taken over my church and vandalised it! Do something about it, and do it now!”

  “Are you seriously hurt from the attack, sir?” came an alarmed reply from a female receptionist.

  “No, I’m all right. I’m more concerned about my church. They’ve taken over the building. They’ve wrecked it! Do I have to remind you that churches are deemed by law the property of St Antipas and are thus under police protection? Do something about this!”

  “What’s the address?”

  It’s all right, he told himself, they need to know the address this time.

  “318 Morton Street.”

  “We’ll send a car there right away.”

  “Good. Thank you.”

  They were acting normal, doing their job, but Roy felt uncomfortable with it. He had expected the same problems he encountered earlier.

  “I need more details about you, sir. What is your current home address?”

  Here it comes; just give them what they want.

  “21 Lavinia Street.”

  “My information shows you’re calling from a TC car phone. Is this correct?”

  “What about it?”

  “Is this true, sir?”

  “Yes, I’m sitting right outside my church. Can’t you hear that dog barking? They set it on me!”

  “Did you drive your car to your present locality, sir?”

  “Yes, of course I drove it here.”

  “Do you know that’s an offence at this time, sir?”

  “Look here, I have an obligation to the people of my church. I’m not going to sit back and do nothing while you people mess around asking stupid questions!”

  “We’re doing all we can, sir.”

  “Yes, I know that. I reported a vandalism case not one hour ago. Have you done anything about it?”

  “I don’t know anything about that, sir.”

  “Have a look in your records. I’ve only just recently called it in. Surely there’s a car heading there right now?”

  “Have you travelled far in your car today, sir?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve obeyed all the rules perfectly and sat back to let you handle everything so professionally. That’s why I’ve yet to see any single one of your emergency personnel out here!”

  He slammed the phone down and took his stunner out of the glove-compartment. After checking the battery level, he opened the door and did not hesitate to give the dog a light blast. He was ready to give the dog a full blast if the first shot proved immune, but it yelped with pain and scurried back to its owners in the church. Roy walked up the path behind it, determined to take control of his church. Some of the few who had remained at the door began to retreat, seeing his hand clutching the weapon. It may have been a light-duty weapon, but it was still capable of inflicting severe pain if applied in the right way, and Roy knew how.

  They all ran back inside, and at first Roy thought it was because of him. Then he realised they were more afraid of what they saw behind him. Roy stopped and looked back to see three police HoverJets landing alongside his car. The vehicles made no sound, and even their sirens were off. Police officers wearing full protective armour bolted from them and charged toward the church. They passed Roy like he was not even there, as if they knew who he was. A long series of gunshots rang out, followed by hysterical screams.

  Embarrassed, Roy pocketed his stunner and followed the offices inside, but slowly due to the danger. He stopped in the foyer. The dog was lying still, and blood oozed from its mangled midriff. Upset at the sight, Roy pushed open the main doors. Two armoured men nearly walked into him as they pulled some people to the door. One had an old woman by her head and she could hardly stand up, let alone keep up with him. Roy recognised her as the one who had abused him when he first walked in. He wished he could help her, or at least ask the officer to treat her better, but he was too stunned by it all to offer a protest.

  He looked about him to see various officers hitting at anything in their way, either the people or their makeshift homes. The children who were not lying unconscious were wailing and looking about in panic. Roy went to try and comfort a boy but he screamed louder and backed away in terror. An officer came up behind the boy and coldly gave him a blast from his powerful police stunner-rifle. The child collapsed and the officer stepped over him as he walked toward Roy.

  “Was that necessary?” Roy shouted at him as his voice burst with emotion.

  “Are you Reverend Roy Hoyle?” the officer shouted back.

  “Yes, I am. This is my church.”

  “The Reverend Roy Hoyle who reported this?”

  “Yes, of course. Is this really necessary?”

  “Show us your ID.”

  “You’ve gone too far,” Roy started as he fished for his wallet and handed it over.

  “You wanted these people removed, didn’t you?” the officer said as he waved the ID over a gadget on his belt and then handed it back. “They attacked you, didn’t they? That was the information given to us.”

  “Yes, that’s right, but—”

  “We’ll need your signature on the arrest forms.”

  Roy gave up trying to argue with him and complied with the police procedure. He realised he had lost his cool and made the situation far worse than it really was. He had brought the wrath of the police down on people who did not deserve it. He knew he should have remembered how brutal they could get in carrying out law-enforcement.

  When all the intruders were cleared from the church, Roy insisted no further charges be laid and he would personally take care of the mess. In half an hour both the police and the street people with their various forms of transport were gone.

  Roy walked through the building to inspect the damage, expecting the worst. His own office had been lightly ransacked but it appeared that nothing was stolen, or even damaged. Even those people had respect for a TCS screen when they saw it. The other offices seemed to have survived with all their materials intact, yet spewed around the floors.

  The last room he checked was the library. He found it still locked, and with relief saw it had not been visited. But then he found the outside door was broken and unlocked. Someone had indeed entered.

  He looked back at the books, all still in neat rows, and could not understand why they had not been disturbed. The photocopier was an old model and mostly unreliable, but had some value, yet neither that was stolen. The only difference he could see was one shelf had but a few books lying on it, with a few on the floor below. Roy stood looking at the shelf for a few moments, trying to remember what Annie had stored there. She had always taken full charge over the library and Roy was only too pleased she had done so.

  With a smile he recalled what books had been there, and he laughed at the thought. The amusement gave him some relief from the recent trials, and he was almost pleased to find the books stolen. He shook his head in amazement as he glanced at the prized collection of Julius Mann Expository Bible Notes, all thirty-five volumes and worth hundreds of dollars. After a good laugh he felt pity for the thief who seemed to treasure the superfluous and sloppy theology of the popular books and not the real treasure of Mann’s timeless wisdom and spiritual insight.

  Thinking of the books made him remember the one friend who enjoyed discussing Mann. Jamieson Laturette had borrowed Roy’s volumes and other related commentaries several times, and over the years it seemed as if they had discussed every facet. Jamieson had become a good friend. He could not imagine him to be one of the missing thousands.

  About the same age as Roy, Jamieson was a Judait Priest. He never tired of telling Roy that the sacred writings of Dionysius de Oscar, the founder of the Judait Society in 1596, showed similarities to some of Mann’s thought. Jamieson was one of the elder brothers of the large monastery that dominated not only Carlow but all of St Antipas.

  Situated on the river island in the
centre of the city, the monastery was the first real building ever built in St Antipas. It dated back to the mid-eighteenth century when fearless Judait missionaries established trust with the native Pravan people who lived in primitive and quite inhuman conditions. Roy felt honoured to have Jamieson as his friend, due to the fact that the Kingdomite church was the first non-Catholic church allowed on the island.

  Roy went to his office to call him. He needed to hear a sound voice of reason. He was familiar with the difficulty of reaching his friend at the monastery, as all the priests had different times in which they devoted themselves to prayer. He hoped Jamieson was free from his sacred duty, and able to speak with him. It seemed ludicrous to think that they could also be missing; they were just too much a fixture of the island.

  A monk new to Roy answered with the usual pious welcome. Roy requested that he wanted to speak to Jamieson, and he was pleased to hear he was indeed available.

  “Hello there, Roy,” came the soothing sound of his friend’s voice after a brief break while the line was switched to Jamieson’s office. He voice at once made Roy feel better.

  “Jamieson, it’s good to hear you are safe.”

  “And you too. Where are you calling from? Are you home right now?”

  “No, I’m down at the church. I’ve had a really difficult time, these last couple of days.” His voice broke with the weight of emotion. He knew he was now talking with a true and understanding friend. He could let his feelings be known. He could be himself.

  “You want to share your hurts with me, brother?”

  “Jamieson, I overreacted, and it caused the police to beat up a group of homeless and lost people. It was my fault.”

  “Really? What did you do?”

  “I let myself get angry with the police. They seemed more concerned with me than with a crime I was reporting. Because of that, when I called them again, they thought I meant my church was being invaded or something. The reality was those poor people just wanted somewhere to stay. They only needed love and kindness, and I gave them police brutality.”

  “Were any killed, God forbid?”

  “Not that I know of, no.”

  “Then it was not too bad.”

  “I guess not.”

  “I’m sure they have somewhere else to go.”

  “Of course. My own church helps sponsor shelters, and there’s always plenty of room there.”

  “You see? I don’t think you need to punish yourself with guilt.”

  “I just feel I owe them something, for what I put them through, for setting the police on them.”

  “Then go out and look for them, and give them food and money, and whatever they need. Or if you can’t find them, find any homeless person, and treat them kindly.”

  “Yes, that sounds a good idea.”

  “I understand what you must be going through. We are all prone to let our emotions run away with us at this time. We all have friends and loved-ones missing. It’s all very hard to take, isn’t it?”

  “My case is worse than that. My entire church is missing; all except one I’ve located so far.”

  “I’m grieved to hear that. But you say you have someone remaining? At least the Lord granted you that one blessing, brother. I’m so pleased for you.”

  “I’ll be looking for the others too, don’t worry about that. If one is safe then I’m sure others are too. In fact, that reminds me: I’ve yet to check if I’ve had any replies on my answer-mode. I’ll do it now.”

  He tapped a button to see if he had any answers on his home TCS.

  “It’s so good to be optimistic at such a time,” said Jamieson.

  “Have you lost any there at the monastery?” Roy asked as he waited for the answer to appear.

  “The Lord has blessed us in keeping all present and accounted for.”

  “Good; I’m pleased for you.”

  “We are all safe and secure in here, you know.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “A safe haven.”

  “That’s not the first time you’ve told me that.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  “I’m beginning to believe it.”

  “Good. So tell me, who is this blessed one you have found safe and well?”

  “A young man; a good friend actually. He’s a bit mixed up by what happened. Thinking all kinds of strange things. I don’t know how he got them into his mind. I’ve tried to teach him properly, and gave him the best tutoring I could on Mann. But he’s gone off and followed some other teaching, and one quite worthless, and I fear it’ll be damaging to his spiritual growth.”

  Roy stopped himself before he told Jamieson about Lenny’s rapture theory. It was not the time to discuss such “popular” doctrines, and Roy feared Jamieson might think he too believed it.

  “Perhaps I could help this young man,” said Jamieson. “I would be so pleased to. I would love to talk with him.”

  “Whoa!”

  “What is it?”

  “Jamieson, I’m sorry if I startled you, but I’ve got replies! I’m looking at three replies on screen, right now!”

  “Praise be to God!”

  “Jamieson, I’m starting to find my people. I’m doing it, Jamieson. I’m getting to the bottom of this. I’m getting my church back!”

  “I’ll be praying for you, Roy. We will all be; I will invite all the monks to think of you I their private prayer time.”

  “Whoa!”

  “What now?”

  “Another reply has just been logged. Right now, just as I was looking at the screen, another number has come up. I can’t believe this!”

  “Who is it?

  “The number’s 236-067. Hang on a minute while I get the name for that number on screen. Here it is. It’s the Carters. Pete and Susie Carter. Such nice people, the Carters; always have a good word for me every Sunday. They’ve replied right now. They must be home. They’re safe! I can’t tell you how pleased I am. This is all starting to work for me.”

  “You call them now. Don’t you let me get in the way. I know you’ve got important pastoral work to do, so go to it. That’s what you excel at, Roy.”

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am that I’m finally getting on top of this thing.”

  “I understand, but don’t you let me hold you up. You go call them.”

  “Thanks, Jamieson. You’re right; I’ll do it right away.”

  “And you keep me informed about how everyone is. Remember you’ve always got a friend here. We all need to stick together at such a time.”

  “Thank, Jamieson. I’ll keep in touch.”

  “Please do.”