Sunday, August 17, 2014

LRH: The Target 2 Chronicles, Chapter 20 "Over And Under The Rainbow"

  "You never even wrote me a letter."

  In his brief time since waking from his loop, he'd faced some intense people from his past, but this one was too much. Hubbard just turned and headed back down the long hallway of the prison. He didn't even say a word to the woman who'd taken what was undoubtedly the biggest of the many bullets life had sent his way. Like he'd always justified to himself, she had 'pulled it in.' She was out ethics. That's all there was to it. As the last great hope for planetary clearing, as mankind's bestie, he owed it to himself to KSW, and especially to keep himself out of prison.

  He knew he should've never set foot in this place. Now the hall felt like it was closing in around him. He reached the end of the hallway but the door that he'd come through was now locked.

  He turned around and there she was again, in her dress whites, not five feet away from him. Her face wore the same sad, disappointed expression she would get whenever he'd fucked up royally and she'd had to make excuses for him when they were alive.

  "You never even wrote me a letter" she said stoically.

  "I don't have to put up with this" Hubbard muttered as he brushed past her trying to find another way out of the cell block. Only the long hallway now seemed shorter by half, and there was Mary Sue at the other end of it. How the hell was she doing that, anyway?

  "You never even wrote me a letter." This time she said it holding the Scientology Justice Manual up in front of him.

  "So, what are you going to do Mary Sue, hit me with my own book? Lock me up? Beat me?" Hubbard sneered.

  "You never even wrote me a letter" she said again, with that expression that ate into his empty core.

  "Shut up woman! Shut the hell up! What the fuck do you know about what I went through after you went to prison? I may have been on my last legs, but I know that you only served a goddamn year! Do you have any idea what you and your GO fuck-ups did to me? I had the big plan and the tech in place to safepoint the whole fucking government and you ruined it! I had to spend the rest of my life in hiding! And because of you, that little shit Miscavige got into power and now he's destroyed my legacy! Didn't write to you . . . why the fuck would I you stupid bitch!?"

  "You never even wrote me a letter."

  They were like armor piercing rounds, her simple words. Every time they hit, they dug a bit deeper. He knew he couldn't take too many more direct hits. Soon he'd feel something, and well, that was just not going to happen. He grabbed the large binder of the Justice Manual from her hands, closed his eyes and swung it directly at her head. He had to silence her. 

   He got nothing but air.

  From behind him now, "You never even wrote me a letter."

  What the fuck? How was she doing that? In a blind rage he dropped the manual and lunged at her throat pinning her against the cinder block wall. He squeezed as hard as he could. She didn't even put up a fight. He finally let go and Mary Sue's lifeless body slid slowly to the floor.

  He backed away from her, beet red, gasping for air. She lay there, open eyes staring lifelessly at the fluorescent overhead lights. He shut his eyes. Now he'd really done it. He couldn't stand to look at her corpse.

  "She shouldn't . . . have said . . . that . . . to me. She just shouldn't have said that . . ." he was still panting heavily.

  "You never even wrote me a letter" he heard from his left. 

  There she was again! Just as he had first seen her. He looked back to where she'd slid down the wall, but she was gone. How was she doing this? Why was she doing this to him? Why was she being so . . . selfish?

  "HELP! Let me out of here, goddammit!" he yelled with manic intensity. He pounded on the cell block door. He couldn't breathe. Everything was closing in on him. "Where are my messengers?Get me out of here you fucking little bitches! You're all in treason!" he yelled so loudly his voice cracked. 

  "You never even wrote me a letter" came the words, now barely a whisper from his wife's lips, so close they brushed his right ear.

  He spun around and pushed her back, "So goddamn what!? So I didn't fucking write you a fucking letter! What, am I supposed to do, get down on my hands and knees and beg your forgiveness because you spent one fucking year in the clink? I'll bet you spent the rest of your life spending my money!"

  "You never even wrote me . . ."

  "A FUCKING LETTER! Yes, yes, I know! Shut up! Shut up! Shut UP!" The hallway seemed to be contracting now, so that it had become a cell itself. He was trapped. With her. 

  "You never even wrote me a letter." This was hell. Plain and simple. Hell. 

  "Okay, okay. I give up. I'm, uh, sorry I never wrote to you. I was ashamed of what I did and I just couldn't face you after your selfless act" he added with a theatrical bow. "Isn't that better? See how sorry I am?" he tried looking friendly and happy, but instead of a smile it was more of the kind of grimace one gets when straining on the toilet.

  She said her line again.

  "God, I need a cigarette! I need a fucking cigarette!" he patted himself down to see if he had any on him. He remembered his manifesting the lighter and the Cadillac this morning. "Okay, calm down. Calm down old boy. Use command intention. Breathe." 

  Mary Sue repeated her plaintive line yet again.

  "Okay, okay, I can do this." He he tried to breathe and quiet down. With great, studied nonchalance he said "now, where's my key to this door?"

  He waited a second or two, then patted down his pockets. Nothing. He listened at the door. Nobody coming. He was trapped.

••• 

  The huge Escalade in which the missionaries picked them up was beyond the most luxurious vehicle Polly had ever imagined. Both she and Sara had their own large, leather chairs in the back. Amazingly, they also had their own little televisions set into the seatbacks in front of them. They cruised in isolated silence. Things had come quite a long way since 1963. Vixie was dozing on top of Sara's coat in yet a third row of seats.

  "So boys, do you know where we're going?" asked Sara.

  "No, not really." The squeaky clean young man in the passenger seat chirped cheerily.

  "Well, how exactly are we supposed to find Hubbard?" said Polly with a note of concern.

  "Don't worry ladies, intersectionality will find him. Just relax and enjoy the ride."

  Just as the the missionary in the passenger seat said those words, two things happened, the driver let out a splendid obscenity, followed by a sudden spin that left the huge SUV in the opposite lane, facing the direction they'd just come from.

  After checking to see if Vixie was okay, Sara spun back around and said "What the hell was that all about, I thought we were going to flip over!"

  "Golly, I'm so sorry ladies, I really am. There was a little dog! I hope I didn't hit him." The driver was gripping the wheel tightly and deep-breathing to compose himself.

  Sara and Polly looked at each other with stunned disbelief. Another dog in the road incident?

  "Well, pull off the road, we don't want to get hit either" said Polly.

  Once they pulled over the two missionaries set about the grim task of checking on the dog.

  "That's just too weird, Polly. A dog runs out in front of us and we almost run off the road . . . lightning striking twice?" said Sara.

   In the distance the ladies heard, "Here he is! He's okay!" It was the driver talking. "Come here little guy . . ."

   Sara and Polly strained to see through the heavily tinted glass of the Escalade. They could just make out that the boys were returning with the dog. When they arrived at the car Vixie started barking, wagging her stub of a tail excitedly. Sara lowered the window to have a look at the latest wandering canine.

  "He's kinda dirty. Maybe we should leave him here" said the taller of the two missionaries.

  "Not on your life. You hand him to me and we'll worry about the rest." The new dog was a soiled, bedraggled little thing. It had a collar that was strikingly similar to Vixie's with a little brass plaque on it that said 'Tzu.' But more intriguing than that coincidence, was the key hanging where a license would normally dangle. Odd, that.

"How about it girl? Shall we bring Tzu along?" Sara said to Vixie, as if she could understand every word. Vixie let out one solitary bark.

  "Look, she's wagging her stump!" said Polly. "I think she likes him . . . or her. Hard to tell with all that hair."

  "Well, whatever this dog is, something tells me that it and this key, are all part of the puzzle we're in the middle of."

  "Alright boys, drive on!" said Polly. And with that the big Cadillac roared off into the night and out of the universe that Polly and Sara had known as home.

•••

  How long had it been? Hours? Days? It didn't matter, it was the closest thing to hell Hubbard could imagine. Mary Sue, who had been so bright and intelligent in her life was reduced to this . . . broken record of recrimination. At least they didn't have to go to the bathroom. That was about the only good thing Hubbard could think of at the time. None of his command intention seemed to be working. His Messengers were nowhere to be found and nobody was showing up to let him out of this cramped space. 

  All he wanted was for this woman to shut up about the goddamn letter he never wrote. Wouldn't someone come rescue him? Anyone? Nibs? That crazy Perón woman? And where was Sid? He always knew what to do. Ron didn't have the little Apple phone on him, it was just beyond the perimeter fence in the Cadillac . . . with his smokes. Smokes! Oh, god, why did he think of smokes! He craved nicotine worse than wanting to get out of this place. Where were his newfound, godlike powers when he really needed them?

•••

The Diamond White Escalade emerged into the universe next door. The missionaries knew that they'd end up wherever intersectionality took them. With these two women on board, the draw to Hubbard would be powerful, so they just drove calmly through the wooded hills they found themselves in once they'd crossed The Bridge. It was a muggy day, the air felt heavy as though it might storm at any moment. The sun was just up and they could make out a leaden gray sky above the bright green of the hardwood forest. The roads were still damp from a recent downpour. 

  Their passengers were asleep in the back, a dog on each lap when they came upon two young, scantily clad women standing by an old, silver luxury car. They blocked the roadway, waving their arms above their heads. The missionaries brought the SUV to a smooth halt and looked at each other, blushing.

  The dogs both went crazy, startling Polly and Sara out of a sound sleep.

  "What the hell's that all about?" said Sara trying to blink the sleep from her eyes.

  "Your guess is as good as mine" replied an equally groggy Polly.

  "Uh, ladies, we have a problem" said the driver. "I think these girls need some help. Looks like they broke down."

  "On their way to a strip club from the looks of it . . . " said Sara under her breath. That set Polly to laughing.  

  "Now, now, Sara. We were all young once." said Polly smiling knowingly.

  "Alright! Vixie! Tzu! Hush up! Be good dogs." Polly got the dogs calmed down as the two almost identical, young Amazons approached the driver's window.

  "Can I help you ladies?" said the clearly flustered missionary.

  "Our . . . grandfather is missing." said the taller of the two.

  "Oh, yes, our poor grandfather! We got a flat, and he wandered away from the car the other night, and we've been looking for him. Did you see an older man walking about out here?" said the younger girl craning her neck to get a look inside the Escalade.

  The dogs growled menacingly at the girls despite Sara and Polly's attempts to soothe them.

  "I guess they don't like hookers" muttered Sara, just loud enough for Polly to elbow her in the ribs.

  "Well, maybe we can help you girls find your poor grand-dad" said Polly, lowering her window. The girls came to peer in and recoiled at the sight of the growling dogs. 

  "Oh, don't be afraid of them, they're really quite sweet when you get to know them" Polly assured them. "What are you names, girls?"

  The scantily clad twins looked at each other for a moment too long and then said in unison "Sally!"

 "No, I mean she's, we're . . . I'm Sally and she's . . . uh, . . . Cindy! She's Cindy. We are Sally and Cindy . . . Smith!"

  "Are you sisters?" asked Sara.

  "Yes. We're sisters. The Smith Sisters. Can you help us find our grandfather?" they asked in unison.

   "Uh, sure. What say we help the Smith sisters find ol' gramps?" said Sara drily.

  "Are you sisters?" the taller of the two asked with her head cocked to the side, Vixie style.

  "After a fashion," said Polly.

  "Oh" said the girl blankly.

   There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation as the twins stared blankly at Polly and Sara. "Well! That old man ain't gonna find himself, now is he?" said Sara in her best hillbilly voice. The two missionaries looked back at the ladies with no small amount of alarm.

  "What is it boys?" Sara asked.

  The missionaries both looked sideways toward the twins.

   "Well, put the windows up!" Sara hissed miming a window crank.

  "We'll be right with you girls!" said Polly as she and the boys raised their windows. 

  "Now, what's with those faces you two? What's the problem?" said Sara.

  "Uh, well, um, those aren't really normal girls" said the driver.

  "No shit Sherlock! What are they, then?" sniped Sara.

  "They're like us. They're caretakers. We're not really people, I mean we were never really, alive people. We come with the territory to serve our masters." said the missionary in the passenger seat.

  Sara and Polly seemed stunned. "You mean you're robots or something?" asked Sara. She was trying not to look too freaked out.

  "No, no, we're . . . manifestations of following. It's hard to explain."

  "Try me" said Polly looking down her nose in disbelief.

  "Everyone in this reality has a following, was a leader of some kind. In our case, we appear as Mormon Missionaries to serve The Prophet. It's what we do."

  "Uh huh" said Sara, drawing out the 'huh.' "So who exactly are these two following, Hugh Hefner?"

  "We don't know. We've never seen them before. But I don't think they're looking for their grandfather" the driver said with dead seriousness.

  Sara and Polly exchanged eye rolls. "Could it be that they're looking for Hubbard? Is that why we've run across them? Isn't that how things work over here with that intersectionality thing you keep telling us about?"

  "Possibly, we must call the Prophet for more instructions."

  With that the driver pulled out a small tablet and tapped at its surface. He held it to his face and spoke. "Sir, this is Orbel . . ."

  "Wait! You have names?!" interrupted Sara.
  
  The missionary called Orbel grimaced and mimed the international symbol for 'pipe down' with his free hand. "Yes, sir, we're here sir . . . looks like the American mid-Atlantic area . . . yes . . . daytime . . . yes, and I think we've encountered some other caretakers. We think they could be the target's."

  Polly and Sara mouthed 'targets' to each other in unison. The as yet unnamed missionary glowered at them.

  Orbel continued, "Yes sir. I will sir. No, we did encounter a small dog in the road. No. No, sir. It's with us now. Uh huh. Yes. I will, sir. Goodbye." Orbel pressed the surface of the tablet again, and turned to face the women in the back seat.

  "Yes, we do have names, but it just never came up in conversation, sorry about that. Yes, I'm Orbel and this is CalDean, but you can call him Cal. We will help you find Mr. Hubbard. The Prophet has instructed us to do as these girls wish. They may very well be Hubbard's caretakers, they're not to be trusted." said Orbel gravely.

  "So, what do we do now?" asked Polly.

  "Take these leashes and put them on the dogs, we'll bring them along as they may have a part to play in this as well. Anything can be a clue or a sign."

  "Like my fish?" said Sara.

  "Yes, like your fish . . . whatever that means" said CalDean.

  "It's a long story, let's get on with this, shall we?" Sara said as they exited the back seat. They stretched out a bit and got right to business, asking the girls what had happened and where they had looked for their missing pater familias so far.

  After a long confusing tale, they figured that the girls had investigated the direction that they'd been driving in rather thoroughly, but hadn't gone beyond the back end of their disabled Brougham. So the whole search party set off along the tall fence capped with barbed wire that ran along the road until they came to a series of open gates. The dogs were growing more agitated as they went further inside the compound, a series of a dozen long concrete buildings.

  "I say we let them go, Polly. They're itching to find something out there" said Sara.

  The 'Smith' girls looked horrified that these snarling curs would be free to attack them.

    "Don't worry girls, like I said, once you get to know them, they're really quite sweet." And with that Sara and Polly unleashed the dogs who took off like a shot toward the first bunker-like structure. They all jogged along behind the dogs, all of them except the twins who remained frozen in fear.

•••

   Tears. Tears were very likely next on Ron's agenda as he lay in a heap in the corner. He had been reduced to a seething mass of frustration, anger, nicotine addiction and just plain petulance. Mary Sue would simply not shut up. There was no silencing her. Nothing worked. "Someone save me" he mumbled to himself as he stewed in his self-pity. "Please, someone save me . . . anyone. Anyone!" He began to blubber softly to himself, as the hunger for nicotine clawed at him like Mary Sue's accusing litany. And then he heard it . . . it sounded like scratching at the door. He heard it again. Yes! Yes! Someone was out there. And then the most blessed, most glorious sound of all, the sound of a key in the lock. He was saved.

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