Chapter Six

Part Two:

Fifteen Years Ago

Fall, 2002

“Lily, stay after class,” Professor Weaver called out to me after we’d been dismissed. I was a little perplexed by his request because he hadn't asked me to stay after since my interruption six weeks ago. This was strange, and some of my classmates arched their eyebrows while others glared with jealousy at the gorgeous man singling me out. Once the room emptied, he said, “I have a special topic that I’d like to assign you for your term paper.”

Ah. No inappropriate activity here. At least he knew my name, I sighed. “I’m doing my assignment on Planned Parenthood.”

“Do you know how many papers on Planned Parenthood I will grade from this class alone? Very close to half of them are going to choose that topic because it’s easy. I thought you were a little more out-of-the-box than that,” he said. “Will you at least hear the topic I’d like to recommend--before you turn it down?”

“It’s just that I’ve already devoted about a couple of hours to research it.” My eyes cast downwards to my paint-peeled fingernails.

“You’ll find it to be highly interesting, and I believe you could have what it takes to cast light on some very dark dealings.” He paused for a moment. “But maybe you aren’t up for the challenge. Perhaps I have made a mistake in choosing you.”

His words piqued my curiosity and I sure as hell wasn’t going to look weak in front of him. “Do I have to play Guess the Topic?”

He shuffled papers into his briefcase. “I would like for you to research the Order of the Father church.”

My hands balled into a fist. I reached up to the straps of my backpack and tightened my fingers around them to play off my anger at the suggestion and laughed. “You want me to research Greenies? You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s no freakin’ way.”

His face maintained its resolve, but his shoulders dipped. “There’s something amiss with the church, and I surmise that it has an interest in governance beyond a religious context,” he said. “I’d conduct the research myself but my profile is too high here in Bloomington. I’m too influential and they’re aware that I’ve made scathing remarks about the church in class; they wouldn’t let me in the door without me obtaining plastic surgery and another identity.”

And he was right. He was easily the most popular professor on campus. The coeds made every effort to have a class with the man who should be a movie star, and the guys took the class purely to be where all the women were. They also made sure to utilize every minute of his office hours, though I kept my time with the professor limited to our time in class. A man of his clout could easily bring hundreds of students as members to the Order of the Father, so it made little sense to me that he’d be rejected and I said as much. Well, I left out the movie star part.

“They know I frown on those types of organizations and that I’ve labeled it a cult,” he countered.

“But if that’s the case, wouldn’t they balk at me once they connected me to your class?” I asked. “Maybe I should just stick with Planned Parenthood. The Greenies make me shudder.”

His chuckle filled the room. “I think a myriad of the population has the same reaction; that’s why I’d like for you to investigate them. That, and I believe there’s cause for concern.”

“I just don’t know why you think I’d be successful.”

He cocked his head to the left, and a chestnut curl grazed his temple. He righted himself and ran his fingers through the wave, brushing it back into place. “You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?” I looked at the clock; twelve minutes until my next class began. Fortunately, it wasn’t far away.

“The effect you have on people,” he replied. “You’ll have no trouble getting into that church because there’s something special about you. Not everyone can make a room instantly brighten simply by smiling.”

I scoffed at his assertion. “I have the personality of a cardboard box.”

“I would beg to differ. Your peers look to you in a way that I’ve never seen in my ten years of teaching. And you command the room when you speak. You are a natural leader, and with your looks, that can make for a lethal combination.” My eyes glazed over as he commented about my looks.

“I’m no supermodel,” I whispered. I wasn’t a Plain Jane either, but I was a far cry from what he was saying about me and I knew it.

“Maybe you should ask your boyfriend or someone who knows you well, because you don’t give yourself enough credit,” he said. “Please reconsider and let me know soon. I’ll approach someone else if you can’t conduct the research.” He walked away before I could voice any objections, and I stood dumbfounded by his remarks.

Professor Weaver didn’t have to hear the boyfriend and I had stopped dating several months ago or that I hadn’t been on a date since we broke up. He didn’t have to hear that the boyfriend left me for someone a whole lot prettier. Nor did he have to hear that my roommate and I barely spoke to each other. We didn’t hate each other, but Holly and I weren’t really friends. We were civil to each other, but we maintained different schedules and social circles. I had friends, and got along well with my co-workers, but few would attest to this lethal combination. The professor was deluded, but deep down I didn’t mind that he thought I had looks. Granted, it could be the looks of a gila monster that made me so lethal, but he hadn’t said that. He’d implied that I was more akin to beauty than beast.

I walked to my next class in deep thought of our discussion. If researching the project only entailed looking up information regarding Order of the Father, it wouldn’t be so much of an issue. But a requirement of the assignment was that we had to attend one of the organization’s meetings or interview its leader. I had no desire to do either when it came to those nuts; I wanted to stay as far away as possible.

The Greenies were a strange bunch. Ten years ago, they were a crackpot religion, but now they were actually gaining a following at college campuses throughout America. The first one I ever met was right outside the Tippecanoe Mall when I was fifteen. Five years ago. My mom had forgotten her cell phone in the car, and I waited near the mall’s entrance while she retrieved the phone.

The second my mom was out of earshot, a nicely dressed man with a four-leaf clover pin on the pocket of his button-down shirt approached and presented me with a flyer that announced the start-up of a church in Lafayette. As he told me that the Order was the only church in America that truly respected America’s youth, I guessed that he was probably in his mid-twenties. He was well put-together and sounded intelligent enough as he blathered on about how his church would be the one that saves America from herself. His words came off as rehearsed.

It was after the ‘America’ comment that my mother walked up to me and yanked the flyer from my hand. She read the flyer, wadded it, and tossed it into the trashcan as the man watched, his lips tightening. “They don’t believe in Jesus,” she said as she ushered me inside. “And they’re a bunch of weirdo hippies. As un-Godly as they come.”

Over the next few years, more and more clover pins sprouted onto the clothing of college-aged shoppers, and whenever I ventured to the mall, I could barely walk a hundred feet without being accosted by a member wanting to spread the church’s message; sometimes they walked through the shopping centers in their robes of varying shades of green.

Thankfully, neither the clovers nor the robes made it to our small town of Monticello, about forty-five minutes away, while I was in high school. Or at least no one was ever openly a Greenie; they were simply too strange for the regular folk of that town.

“We must repair the damage we have done! God is coming! Are you ready?” Mad Max shouted, his voice booming throughout Dunn Meadow as I hurried to English class. He raked his fingers through matted hair and continued, “Order of the Father will give you light in the dark days ahead!”

“We’ve got batteries and matches!” a deep voice behind me yelled. “I wonder if that guy ever shuts up.”

Must be a freshman. Otherwise he’d know that answer. Mad Max proselytized here rain or shine, and in the middle of blizzards. Every so often, he stopped shouting, but it was only while he was conversing with individual students as they ambled off to their next class with flyers in hand.

*     *     *

“I’ll do it,” I said to Weaver’s delight after the next class, “but I’m going to need more time since the assignment is due in two weeks. Will you give me extra time?”

“That won’t be a problem. I didn’t think there was an iota of a chance you would accept after our last conversation. Why did you change your mind?”

Because I’m afraid there will be some sort of retribution if I don’t, and I don’t want to risk a lower grade. Because I wonder what the church is hiding. Because this looks like an opportunity to spend extra time with you and I just might be able to extend it beyond this semester. I wanted to say all of them, and each was a motivation, but instead I replied, “For a number of reasons. I’ve decided that I don’t know much about the Greenies and I could be wrong about them being weirdos. But mostly, I would love to be able to walk through Dunn Meadow without that obnoxious voice urging me to attend church at Order of the Father. If I can shut Mad Max up for good, I’ll consider my work a success.”

“That would not be a success; it would be performing a miracle.” He chuckled. “I know if anyone can uncover any incongruities concerning the Order, it’s you.”

*       *       *

“Suck it up, Buttercup,” I muttered as the tattered “You Reek, I Seek” long-sleeved t-shirt worn by Mad Max came into view. Prayers of becoming a great actress filled my thoughts as I approached the man yelling about how the Order would thrive when America was no longer alive. I sat on the concrete bench next to where the man stood, and listened to the timbre and cadence of his voice as the chill of the bench seeped into my legs.

It took approximately seven minutes for his rehearsed loop to repeat itself. After hearing the spiel twice in its entirety, I worked up the nerve to call out his name. “I’ve seen you out here every day for over two years now. Why do you continue when you know everyone is mocking you?”

Surprised by my conversation, he stopped mid-sentence and asked for my name. He then shouted as though he was beginning his speech anew. “Lily, I risk ridicule so I might help save your soul and the soul of every person who strolls these grounds. Soon, a punishment will be meted out by our Father, and the world as you know it will come to an end. The Order of the Father Church will provide redemption for the transgressions you have perpetrated against humanity.”

“I’ve committed no crime against humanity,” I answered incredulously. “But as far as redemption goes, every church promises that. What makes the Order different from the others?”

Mad Max looked to the sky, then offered, “Because when the world falls apart—and I guarantee it will happen sooner than you might expect—the Order will be picking up the pieces while the others live their lives in servitude or end up dead.”

The conviction in his voice enhanced the crazy factor, and I shivered as his words reached my ears. His statement afforded me the opportunity to ask a few more questions. “How do I learn more about the church? Can I just walk in?” Passers-by gawked at the two of us, craning their necks to witness who had managed to silence the raving lunatic. I couldn’t blame them; I would have done the same.

“No,” he said, “You’ll receive a much warmer welcome if you’re accompanied by a member.”

A little startled by his brusqueness, I said, “They won’t welcome me if I don’t come with someone?”

“The Order has dealt with persecution since its inception—first, by being forced into German concentration camps. And America has been less than welcoming of us, mocking us with every opportunity. Surely you can understand why we might desire to worship in peace?”

“I hadn’t thought of that. So how can I learn more?”

His lips curled into a smile. “Do you know where the church is on the corner of Fourth and Grant?” I nodded. “Meet me in front of it on Saturday at quarter to ten.”

“I’ll be there.” I scribbled a reminder of the appointment on my hand and said good-bye to Mad Max before I headed home.