Crisscross Page 8

  Wall Drone (WD)—Most of humanity. They are content to allow things to remain as they are. They aspire to nothing better than their present circumstances. It is the Church’s mission to win them over to Dormentalism so that they may proceed with the fusion of their xelton with its Hokano counterpart.

  Unwelcome Person (UP)—Anyone who unintentionally causes ripples in the tranquil pool of Dormentalism. These are often people with disruptive personalities incompatible with the Church’s goals.

  Detached Dormentalist (DD)—LFAs who have become too frustrated or have lost their direction and refuse to accept their punishment from their FPRB. They are banned from all temples and no Dormentalist is allowed any contact whatsoever with them. The DD has a high potential of becoming a WA.

  Wall Addict (WA)—The greatest threat to Dormentalism: These are ruthless, disturbed persons who, for whatever reason, want the Home and Hokano worlds to remain separate. They infiltrate and attempt to interfere with, undermine, and sabotage the Church’s mission to break down the Wall of Worlds. They act as roadblocks on the path to maximal human potential and should be treated as enemies of humanity.

  Negative Null (NN)—A WA subset; as a rule, nulls are to be pitied, but there are some nulls who, out of spite, envy, or resentment, try to undo the Church’s work.

  In Season (IS)—A WA, DD, or NN who poses such a threat to the Church that they must be brought down by any means necessary—lawsuits, character assassination, wiretapping, physical and mental harassment, the works.

  Jack shook his head in amazement. “These folks are crazier than I ever dreamed.”

  “Just don’t confuse crazy with stupid. Look how they’ve covered their asses with the Null category. If someone spends a small fortune going through a whole bunch of rungs on the FL and still isn’t finding any new powers, he must be a Null. But no way he gets his money back.”

  “I think I’ll designate myself LFP now, just to save them the trouble.”

  Grant’s laugh broke up into a phlegmy cough.

  He glanced at the two sheets again. This would save him hours and hours of reading.

  “Can I have a copy?”

  Controlling her cough she waved at him. “Take it. I’ve got it filed on my computer.”

  “One more thing,” Jack said. “You mentioned you might have a better source. Mind telling me who that might be? Once inside, maybe I can—”

  “Forget it. That’s my exclusive. And believe me, it just might overturn the Dementedist rock and shine a—you’ll pardon the expression—light on all the slimy things beneath.”

  Jack watched her. What—or rather, who—was she hiding?

  “You told me The Light isn’t afraid of anyone. How about you? These Dormentalists scare you?”

  “Shit, yes. But that doesn’t mean they’re going to stop me. Installment two hits the stands next Wednesday.”

  Jack smiled and nodded. “Good for you.”

  This Jamie Grant was one tough broad. He liked her.

  4

  Jack left The Light and turned east, heading for Lexington Avenue. He put in a call to Ernie as he walked.

  “It’s me,” he said when Ernie answered. “My shipment ready for pickup?”

  “Not yet, sir. I have confirmation that it’s in transit, if you know what I’m sayin’, but it ain’t here yet. I expect it tomorrow.”

  “What’s the holdup?”

  “Well, sir, this item was pretty freakin’ hard to find and took longer to track down than I originally thought. Plus it’s real delicate, so the packin’ has to be perfect, if you know what I’m sayin’.”

  Jack knew what he was saying. “Let’s hope it’s worth the wait.”

  “Oh, it is, sir. Some of my best work.” Ernie’s voice took on a gleeful tone. “You might even say it’s a, whatchacallit, work of art. Yeah. A work of art, if you know what I’m sayin’. Should be ready first thing in the morning.”

  Jack kept walking toward Lexington. From what Jamie Grant had told him, he wouldn’t need a full set of ID when he signed up. Might as well get the intake process out of the way so he could set up his first Reveille Session for tomorrow.

  He remembered Grant’s vaguely malicious grin when she’d mentioned the Reveille Session. What was he getting into?

  5

  When Jack arrived at the Manhattan Dormentalist temple, he had to admit it was pretty impressive: twenty-plus stories of red brick and white corner blocks, with setbacks at the tenth and twentieth floors. And spotless. Looked like it had been scrubbed with a toothbrush. No New York City building had a right to be so clean.

  According to Grant’s article, the Dormentalist Church owned and occupied the whole thing.

  As he approached the arched entrance he saw a group of half a dozen people, four men and two women, exiting onto the sidewalk. All wore steel gray double-breasted jackets buttoned all the way up to their high military collars. Two of the jackets sported braided fronts.

  Jack occasionally had seen similar uniforms on the subway and around the city, but hadn’t connected them with Dormentalism. As the group approached he considered asking them whether they were going for the Sergeant Pepper or the Michael Jackson look, but decided against it. He simply nodded and they smiled back and wished him a good afternoon.

  Such happy people.

  He stepped through the etched glass front doors and stuttered a step when he saw the metal detector. Another one? Why hadn’t Grant mentioned it? Not that it mattered; he was still unarmed.

  The detector stood to the left; to his right was a turnstile. A smiling, young, uniformed woman stood behind a barrier table between them.

  Jack opted for the turnstile but the young woman called to him.

  “Sir? May I see you over here?”

  As he turned and approached her, Jack put on an uncertain expression that was only partially feigned.

  “This is, um, my first time here and…”

  She beamed at him. “I could tell. My name is Christy. Welcome to the New York temple of the Dormentalist Church.”

  Jack detected an uppercase C in her tone.

  Christy wore her dark hair long and couldn’t have been much past twenty. A college girl, maybe? She had three braids across the front of her jacket. She also had circles under her eyes. Looked tired. Probably one of the volunteers Grant had told him about.

  “How may I help you?” she said.

  “Well, I’m interested in, um, joining the Church, or at least looking into it, and—”

  “Were you at the rally yesterday?”

  “Rally?”

  “Sure. In Central Park. We were there to spread the word.”

  Jack remembered passing a cheering group on his way to Maria Roselli’s.

  “Oh, yes. I heard some things that interested me and I…” He pointed to the metal detector. “Why’s that here?”

  Her smile held. “Just a necessary precaution in this world of terrorists and fanatics from other religions who feel threatened by the miraculous spread of Dormentalism.”

  Jack wondered how long it had taken her to memorize that.

  “Oh. I see.”

  “If you’ll just put your keys and change into this little bowl—just like at the airport—I’ll clear you through.”

  Just like the airport…Jack’s last airport experience had had a few shaky moments. But he expected none here.

  As he emptied his pockets, he looked beyond her and saw other gray uniformed people of all ages bustling around the two-story lobby—

  Lobby…right. That was what it was. This place hadn’t been built as a church or temple; it looked like a hotel. A balcony ran along the rear wall. A closer look revealed a lot of old Art Deco touches still hanging on; enough so you might expect to see George Raft or William Powell hanging out near the registration desk.

  Instead, with all these uniforms passing back and forth, he felt as if he’d wandered into a Trekkie convention.

  “Do you wear the uniforms all the time?”
/>
  “Oh, no sir. Only in the temple—and traveling to and from, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  He saw a uniformed woman enter and walk to the turnstile. She swiped a card through a slot, waited a couple of seconds, then pushed through.

  Jack put on a smile. “You take MetroCard here?”

  Christy giggled. “Oh, no. After you reach a certain level, you get a swipe card that’s coded into our computers. See that Temple Paladin over there?”

  Jack spotted a burly man seated in a kiosk a dozen feet away. His jacket was like Christy’s but deep red, almost purple.

  “When you use the card your face pops up on his screen and he lets you through.” She smiled apologetically at Jack. “But newcomers like you, I’m afraid, have to go through here.”

  For the second time in as many hours Jack stepped through a metal detector. As he retrieved his change and watch, Christy picked up a phone and mumbled something into it. She hung up and grinned.

  “Someone will be here soon to escort you to one of the interview rooms.”

  “Who?”

  “Atoor.”

  She said it the way some women still said “Bill Clinton.”

  6

  A few minutes later a good-looking guy, maybe thirty, approached and extended his hand.

  “Welcome to our Church,” he said, smiling like everyone else Jack had seen. “I’m Atoor and I’ll guide you through the introductory phase.”

  Jack shook the guy’s hand. “Jack. Jack Farrell. Pardon me, but did you say your name was Atoor?”

  “It’s my xelton’s name.”

  “He’s Fifth Rung,” Christy said, beaming up at him with a gaga look. “He has powers.”

  Atoor had a good build, brush-cut blond hair, a fresh-scrubbed face, and an air of confidence and serenity. If he had any powers, they weren’t showing. But he made an excellent poster boy for Dormentalism.

  Christy gave Jack a friendly little wave. “Bye.”

  “Live long and prosper,” Jack said.

  Atoor led the way toward the left rear of the lobby. “What brings you to our Church?”

  Jack had been expecting this. On the way over he’d rehearsed a mixture of fact and fabrication.

  “Well, I was raised Presbyterian but that never gave me what I needed. I’ve tried a number of things but I still feel walled in, like I’m marking time, not going anywhere. I think there’s more to me than what I’ve seen so far. I’d like to open myself up and, you know, achieve my full potential.”

  Atoor’s smile widened. “Then you’ve come to the right place. You’ve just made a decision that will change your life forever—and only for the better. You’ll be more fulfilled, more satisfied, even healthier than you’ve ever been. You’re taking the first step toward unlimited potential.”

  Jack couldn’t detect a single false note. A true believer.

  “I hope so. I’ve tried Transcendental Meditation and Buddhism, even Scientology, but none of them lived up to their promises. Then I read The Book of Hokano and…”

  “And lightning struck, right? That’s what happened to me. I read it and thought here is the answer I’ve been looking for.”

  “But I’ve got questions…”

  “Of course you do. The Book is confusing to those who have a dormant xelton. But once it is awakened and you’ve started the ladder toward fusion, it all becomes crystal clear.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  Atoor led him down a short hall, then ushered him into a small office furnished with a three-drawer file cabinet and two chairs flanking a small table. He closed the door and directed Jack to a seat while he pulled a folder from the filing cabinet. Seating himself opposite Jack, he opened the folder and pushed it across the table.

  “Okay, Jack. The first step is for you to tell us about yourself.”

  Nice way of saying, Fill out these application forms so we can get the lowdown on you.

  Jack looked down at the forms and frowned. “I have to apply to join the church?”

  A laugh. “Oh, no. It’s just that the better the Church knows who you are, what your life is like, what your goals are, the better we can help you. We don’t want people coming to us with unrealistic goals and then leaving disgruntled because we couldn’t achieve the impossible.”

  Sounded good, but if “the Church” was already promising the sun and moon and stars, was any goal out of reach? He wondered how many were turned away for any reason.

  But Jack said nothing. He wasn’t here to make waves.

  As Atoor watched, Jack filled in the blanks with mostly phony information. He wasn’t surprised to see a box for his Social Security number—tracking down members’ financial data was probably routine. He made up a number and stuck it in. The only true data was his Tracfone number.

  He finished up, leaving only one box blank. Atoor tapped it with a finger.

  “Did anyone refer you?”

  “No. I don’t know any Dormentalists.”

  “Well, then, might as well stick my name in there—just so all the blanks are filled.”

  Jack glanced up and caught a hint of hunger in Atoor’s eyes. He wanted the headhunter discount.

  “Should I put in your real name?”

  “Atoor is my real name now. When you reach the Fifth Rung you learn your xelton’s name and can choose to use it or not.” Pride filled his voice. “I choose to use it.”

  Jack remembered how Maria Roselli had said that her Johnny now wanted to be called Oroont. Must have reached the Fifth Rung.

  He glanced at Atoor and couldn’t resist. “I can’t wait till I reach the Fifth Rung. I’m going to name my xelton Pazuzu.”

  Atoor, though still smiling, looked scandalized. “You can’t name your xelton. It has its own name.”

  Jack shrugged. “Well then, I’ll rename it.”

  “That…that isn’t possible.” Atoor looked like he was having a real hard time holding that smile. “Your xelton isn’t some sort of pet. It’s had its name for billions of years, since the beginning of time. You can’t just up and change it.”

  “No?” Jack put on a hurt expression. “I really like the name Pazuzu.” Then he brightened. “Maybe its name really is Pazuzu!”

  “Highly unlikely. How is it spelled?”

  Jack spelled it for him.

  Atoor shook his head. “All xelton names have a double O.”

  “Well, maybe we could compromise and spell it with double O’s instead of U’s. You know, Pa-zoo-zoo?” He glanced at Atoor’s strained but still smiling face. “Or maybe not.”

  Jack asked Atoor to spell his name, then printed it in the referral box. That form was snatched away to be replaced by another.

  “And here is a simple nondisclosure agreement.”

  “Why…whatever for?”

  “The Church has enemies and at this point you are an unknown quantity, so we must ask you to agree not to reveal anything of what you see, hear, or learn here. Even though you might have good intentions, your words could be taken and twisted and used against us.”

  Jack had to ask: “Who are you afraid of?”

  Atoor’s expression darkened. “Just like any movement that seeks the betterment of mankind, Dormentalism has fierce enemies in the outside world. Enemies who, for their own selfish reasons, want to keep humanity from bettering itself and reaching its full potential. A man or woman who has reached Full Fusion bows to no one. And that terrifies the oppressors of the world.”

  Good speech, Jack thought as he signed the form.

  Jack Farrell would not disclose a thing.

  He let himself be talked into donating five hundred dollars to the church and paying another five hundred in advance for his first five Reveille Sessions. Atoor was a little taken aback when Jack pulled out a roll of bills.

  “We’d prefer a check or credit card.”

  I’m sure you would, Jack thought.

  “I don’t believe in them.”

  Atoor blinked. “But
we’re not set up to take cash, or make change…”

  “Cash or nothing,” Jack said, sliding one of the Roselli thousand-dollar bills across the table. “I’m sure you can find a way to handle this. No change necessary. All I need is a receipt.”

  Atoor nodded and took the bill. After some fumbling around in a drawer he found a receipt book. A few minutes later Jack had his receipt and his appointment for his first Reveille Session at ten tomorrow morning.

  Atoor glanced at his watch. “Almost time for the afternoon AR.”

  “The what?”

  “Affirmation Recital. You’ll see.” Atoor rose and motioned Jack to follow him. “Come on. You’ll love this.”

  He led Jack back to the lobby where a couple of hundred Dormentalists, uniformed in an assortment of hues, had gathered. They all stood facing a man in a sky blue uniform on the balcony.

  “That’s Oodara, the TO,” Atoor whispered. Before Jack could ask, he added, “The Temple Overseer.”

  “But what—?”

  “Here we go.” His eyes were alive with anticipation.

  “First,” Oodara the TO intoned into a microphone, “there was the Presence and only the Presence.”

  Jack jumped as hundreds of fists shot into the air and an equal number of voices shouted, “IT IS TRUTH!”

  “The Presence created the World, and it was good.”

  Again the fists and the shout. “IT IS TRUTH!”

  “The Presence created Man and Woman and made them sentient by endowing each with a xelton, a Fragment of Its Eternal Self.”

  Atoor nodded, and smiled and nudged Jack’s right arm upward. “IT IS TRUTH!”

  Jack closed his eyes. Don’t tell me they’re going to run through all the Pillars of Dormentalism. Please don’t.

  “In the beginning Man and Woman were immortal…”

  Yep. That was exactly what they were doing. He fought the desire to run screaming for the street. He was supposed to be a Dormentalist wannabe and had to act the part. So he clenched his teeth and, when it was time for the next response, pumped his fist and shouted with the best of them.