Absence of Faith (25 page)

They made love again, but Kyle did
not feel any bonding with this woman as he had had with Chantress.
If he never saw Nidal again, he would not miss her, he thought. He
was merely making the best of a good situation.

"Now that we know each other a
little better, what’s your real name?" Kyle asked.

"Janice. What's yours?"

"Kyle."

"I like that name. It has a sense
of power to it," she said.

"Were you and the Magus...you
know...doing it?"

"At first, then it stopped. It
wasn't good for either of us. We work together. I only did it
because he asked. Besides, he was married," she explained. "Want
another beer?"

"Okay."

She returned with another can of
beer and caressed his thigh.

"I don't think I can," Kyle said.
"I should be going."

"You can stay if you
like."

"Not this time. I need to do some
thinking," he said as he gathered his clothes and began to
dress.

"Let me give you my number. Call me
tomorrow. I have the day off," she said. "I can tell you more about
the group. I'll cook you dinner."

She got up and walked into the
kitchen. She returned holding a piece of paper and handed it to
him.

"What do you do for a
living?"

"I'm a nurse over at Ocean
Village."

"Oh. That explains the
blood."

She gave him a culpable
look.

"I never took blood. It was the
Magus."

Kyle turned and was about to open
the door when he felt her gentle tug at his arm. He turned and she
put her arms around his neck and thrust her tongue into his mouth.
He didn't resist. She ran her hand down his stomach and into his
pants. Her hand stopped when it reached his groin. They kissed for
several minutes. Kyle moved her to the sofa again and she helped
him get his clothes off again. When he was naked, she got up, took
his hand, and walked him up a narrow stairway into a small bedroom.
The queen-sized bed overtook the tiny room. A canopy covered in
white lace made a roof over the bed. A tiny lamp with a
multi-colored Tiffany shade on a nightstand spread a dim, sleepy
light throughout the room. A faint odor of perfume floated in the
air. Janice pulled the flowered quilt off the bed and climbed under
the covers. Kyle followed. They began to make love, first slowly
then quickening the pace. Kyle rolled over and was surprised to see
himself reflected in the overhead mirrors lining the inside of the
canopy.

"Nice," he said.

"I like it," Janice
replied.

* * *

Kyle woke up and squinted to a
bright white light that filtered through the lace curtains. It was
as if the light was alive and actually entered his brain and roused
it out of sleep. He went downstairs into the kitchen and found
Janice mixing several eggs in a large, orange bowl.

"Hi. Do you like scrambled eggs?"
she asked leaning towards him and planting a kiss on his
cheek.

"Yeah," he said.

"Good."

Kyle went back into the bedroom and
put on the rest of his clothes. He spent most of the day with
Janice talking about the cult and themselves and making love. He
drove home in a daze. Within minutes of walking into his apartment,
the telephone rang. He picked up the receiver.

"Hi, Kyle. This is Vic. Are you
working tonight?" said a deep, raspy voice.

"Yeah?"

"All right, I called you last
night, but I should have known better. A couple of us went over to
The Wall. You were out with your chick, right?"

"No. We split. Got a new one,
though," Kyle explained.

"You work fast!" Vic replied. "Who
is she?"

"One of her friends..."

"You slime!" Vic said
laughing.

"Well, I don't know about her.
She's all over me, all the time. It's not the same as Chantress.
She's great in bed, but I don't feel anything - its just
sex..."

"So? What's wrong with that! I wish
I had your problem. Every time I meet some chick, she's married
with kids and wants me to play daddy. No, thank you!" Vic said.
"She have any kids?"

"No, none."

"Lucky dog."

"I don't feel lucky, though. You
know, Vic, for the first time, I miss Chantress. I know that sounds
corny, but I had this thing with Chantress," Kyle explained. "At
least when we had sex, I felt something. With Janice, there's
nothing."

"You are really getting weird on
me. Chicks are good for only one thing anyway. Once you start with
that serious shit, they start putting the screws to you. Just go
with the flow until something better comes along," Vic
said.

Kyle was silent.

"Kyle."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. You know, I
am better off without her. She was like my mother - always nagging,
and pushing me to do what she wanted. She wanted to run my life!"
Kyle shouted into the phone. "I won't let anyone tell me how to
live my life! She was going to ruin my life and I had to stop her.
She was a bitch! She punched me in the eye. If she were walking
across the street right now, I'd run her over!"

"Whoa! You never told me that!
Intense. What are you on anyway?"

"Nothing, asshole!" Kyle shouted
back.

"Hey, chill out. I'll see you later
at the club. Hang in there, buddy," Vic said.

Kyle slammed the phone
down.

"Bitch!" he said.

C
hantress
sat at a small oak desk in the corner of her bedroom. A small lamp
with a black shade lit her face with a soft glow and cast a bright
light on the book she was reading. A stack of new books was piled
on one side of the desk. The books included several on the New Age
movement - Nostradamus' prophecies, holistic medicine, near-death
experiences, and heightened spiritual awareness. She skimmed
through the pages of a guidebook on New Age, looking for a
definition for her newly formed group. In the first section, she
found,

New Age follows the teachings and
heritage of ancient visionaries who, throughout history, have
dreamed of a radically transformed society. New Age promises a
spiritual awakening, a fundamental change, a world based on
different values. Nostradamus is one of the leading prophets of the
New Age movement.

She had already read books by Carlos
Castaneda, Edgar Cayce and several by Raymond A. Moody, Jr.,
MD.

She was looking through the pages
of
Millennium
, a book written about the prophecies of
Nostradamus, the 16th century prophet and visionary of the future,
when there was a light knock on her bedroom door.

"Come in," Chantress
said.

"I don't get it," said her mother,
a slim, tall woman in her forties with short auburn hair and round,
clear blue eyes.

"Get what?" Chantress replied. She
turned to face her mother.

"You never go out anymore. Your
friends call, you never see them. Is there something wrong? You
want to talk about it?"

Chantress looked back into the
pages of the guide.

"It's just that I'm really into
this New Age stuff and I'm trying to learn as much as I can,"
Chantress said. "I have to organize my group, hold
meetings..."

"Well, that's no excuse for not
seeing your friends. You've been cooped up in here for weeks. The
only time you leave is to go to work. You should get out,
honey."

"I'm really into this
now."

"And what happened to that nice boy
you were seeing, Kyle?"

Chantress' eyes flared
white-hot.

"Oh. I'm sorry. You didn't tell me
you had a falling out," her mother said trying to conceal her
fear.

Chantress heard the concern in her
mother's voice and pulled back her anger.

"Yeah, we had a big fight. I threw
him out and that's the end of it," she explained.

"Do you want to talk about it? Your
father won't be home for a few more hours and I don't have to start
dinner..."

"No. I'd rather not. It wasn't very
pleasant."

"Okay. Well, that's no reason to
stay up here. There's plenty of fish in the sea, and you're not
going to get any if you stay up here and read all the
time."

"It's just that I don't feel like
going out right now. I'd rather stay here," Chantress
said.

"Well, I'm here if you need me,"
her mother said.

Chantress went back to
Millennium
, but she could not comprehend what she was
reading - her mind was an angry, burning fire. It had been
smoldering since Kyle raped her. She had tried to put the entire
experience out of her mind, but the fire would not go out - it
smoldered somewhere hidden in the depths of her mind and heart
burning a hole in her sanity, her goodness, her very being. All of
her love and decency were transformed into hate and evil like a
burning piece of wood is turned into worthless ash after it burns.
She put the book down and cried. She cried for herself because she
didn't want to become hateful and malevolent like the people she
left in the cult. There was enough evil in the world and she didn't
want to add to it.

She wiped her burning eyes and
began to read the chapter on the coming of the third Antichrist.
The first Antichrist, according to Nostradamus and historical
accounts, was Napoleon, the second was Hitler, and the third was
still unknown. Nostradamus predicted the third Antichrist would
appear during the 20th century. She read Nostradamus' eighth
century, 77th quatrain:

The third Antichrist very
soon

annihilated

Twenty-seven years his bloody
war

will last:

The heretics are dead, captives,
exiled

Blood soaked human bodies,
water,

and a reddened

icy rain covering the entire
earth.

What does all that mean?
she
thought. She continued reading Nostradamus' second century, 62nd
quatrain.

Mabus will soon die, then will
come

A horrible slaughter of people
and

animals,

At once vengeance is revealed
coming

from a hundred lands.

Thirst, and famine when the
comet

will pass.

She sat back in horror. An icy
chill ran down her spine and numbed her very existence. She
shivered in fear. She closed the book and sat there staring into
the blank wall not wanting to believe the horror she thought she
knew. Kyle’s last name was Mabus and as far as she was concerned
his spirit had already died.

L
inda
stepped out of the shower and dried off with a white towel - a
souvenir of the Holiday Inn in Bermuda, where she and Carson spent
ten days on their honeymoon. The towel always reminded her of the
honeymoon - the hot, white beaches, burning, ocher sunsets and
plenty of good food and happy music played by equally happy
Bermudian men and women. She remembered it as a happy, beautiful
place. She held the towel close to her as if the memories passed
through the towel and into her mind. When she had finished, she
hung the towel back in its rack to dry, and then put on a light
blue, quilted housecoat that zippered in the front - a gift from
Carson's mother.

"You'll need it, honey," she
recalled Carson's mother saying when she received the gift last
Christmas. "Winters are cold here and it will suit you well in this
old, drafty house. I've had one all my life."

Linda forced a smile as she
unfolded it from the box and held it up for all to see.
How
frumpy,
she thought.
I'll never wear it. Maybe I can give it
to my sister.
Carson also forced a smile and looked at Linda.
When their eyes met, they both knew each other's thoughts. Linda
thanked her mother-in-law and later that evening placed the
housecoat on the top of a shelf in their clothing closet out of
reach. About a week later, a cold front from Canada settled into
the area bringing with it twenty-degree weather. A wind came out of
the northeast creating a wind-chill factor of seventeen below zero.
Linda had the thermostat up to 90 degrees that evening, but the
house remained cold and drafty. She went into her clothes closet
for a sweater, but couldn't quite reach one on the top shelf. Her
fumbling caused the housecoat to tumble down onto to her head. She
stared at the pile of material, then picked it up, and tried it on.
She was surprised by its warmth and comfort. She had worn it ever
since.

The wind whipped off the ocean this
night and carried with it a dampness that made the air much colder.
The powerful wind hit the old Victorian house rattling the loosened
clapboards and putting Linda on edge. She hated when the wind blew
off the ocean - it made the house very drafty and cold, and the
noise from the loose boards made her feel vulnerable to the
violence outside. If there had been a prowler outside, she would
never hear him. And she hated when Carson had to work all night. He
wouldn't be home until nine the next morning and then he would go
to sleep after a few hours and not awake until dinnertime. She
wouldn't see him all day since she had to be at her teaching job at
eight. She would miss him.