Second Coming: Chapter 23

Not far from Capitol Hill was the rally. The planning for it had gone two whole weeks, longer than any previous event. Plenty of locals had pledged themselves to set up, decorating, or simply being around to help with the menial tasks. Even more people were called to join as special guests and speakers, including my parents and the mayor of Tallahassee who had helped Joseph with our fateful first rally back in January. As for myself, I was still being kept at an arm’s length, left to do my own thing, which was in fact very little.

I had seen some of the agents around during those two weeks, but I hadn’t heard from, let alone seen, Barth himself. The night of the event when we pulled into the rear of the venue in the RV was the next time I found myself within speaking distance of him. Nevertheless, he seemed to pretend as if I were not there the whole time that the event organizer was speaking to Joseph nearby. Finally, when the Pastor and his family went off to gossip with Mayor Malcolm, I encroached on his space while he was fiddling with his headpiece.

“Barth, how are things proceeding?”

“Huh, oh, it’s you, Jude,” Barth replied, barely able to look my way. He pressed his hand to his ear as if listening in to something certainly more important than himself. His eyes traveled about the plastic net fencing that kept the backstage area of the open-air venue from anyone unwanted. Farther up near the field of folding plastic chairs were miniature hoards of people awaiting entry to the event. A mixture of volunteers and dark-polo-sporting security guards were holding them in place.

“How are we moving forward? I’d like to be included if something is going to happen.” I asked again, attempting to step into Barth’s field of view.

He held me at the end of his arm. “Back off. It’s too late for you, Jude.”

“Just for me?” I asked, searching for a reason for my rising indignance.

“We both blew it, Jude, actually.” Barth frowned, giving me a shove away. “The Pastor caught us in the act, even if it wasn’t in the way he actually thinks.”

“You heard?”

“You think your phone was the only thing we bugged to listen in on you lot?” The agent said, looking down his nose at me. “We heard when he disowned you. Well, you could have spared yourself a bit of embarrassment if you hadn’t come out to the girl.”

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” I sighed.

“Of course not. At least not your sexuality. But you could try and be ashamed about still accepting a paycheck from Joseph this whole time that you’ve been deceiving and holding him back. Alas, that’s not illegal, nor any of my business.”

“Your business…” I said, arms crossed. “Your business is… should be… stopping all this nonsense. Iowa already gave him their delegates. Joseph is projected to win the upcoming primaries before Super Tuesday, too. The further you let this move forward…”

“Shush.” Barth butted in. “You’re good at the whole social media thing. You should know what’s coming tonight.”

“I haven’t been paying attention so much, actually,” I confessed. “Been writing a book, to let you know. Which rotten parts of the internet have I been missing out on?”

Barth clicked his tongue, and then pulled me to the side, out in view of the entrance of the venue. Right at the gates where the tickets were being checked were tall picket signs in cardboard and sharpie. Not our messiah, I was able to make out one. “Of course, I see. What are you going to do about them?”

“Hopefully nothing.” Barth shrugged. “Just if they get too rowdy. We can see how Joseph and JC deal with the rabble they’ve roused.”

A check-one-two of a sound-test echoed about the surrounding park of trees. Barth shoved on my shoulder and distanced himself, hand returning to his ear-piece. I checked my phone for the time and found a text from my mother, saying that she and my father had been able to make it inside the venue.

After finding them and making sure they were in a good enough seat to stay away from whatever crazy event was supposed to happen, I excused myself back to the rear of the stage. Joseph was primmed in his finest navy suit, and the supposed holy man’s crisp white robes were as pristine as they always were. Sharon and Jess were in nice ankle-length dresses and looked out upon the settling crowd. “Good luck to all of you tonight,” I said.

Joseph took notice of me immediately and took up my shoulders in each of his hands. “No luck needed, my boy. I’m just going to tell the crowd what they want to hear, it’s the same thing I want to hear as well.”

Before I knew it, the stagehands were pulling aside the curtains and allowing the first of the presenters out before the podium. The crowd died to a low hum, but somewhere beyond the muddled voices and shuffling were shouts of rejection. The master of ceremonies, someone from the main party office from there in D.C., opened for Joseph, warming up the already steaming crowd. Then came Mayor Malcolm, who told the story of the Tallahassee Rally, making up a tale of how he felt the divine energy. “…and at that moment, I felt my heart and body open up truly to Jesus Christ, and unto all of us, he appeared, joining hands with the very important man who will soon lead this one nation under God- Mr. Joseph Cummings!”

The crowd roared, deafening even from beyond the heavy curtains. The Pastor, his family, and most importantly the man departed from the back and took a stand behind the podium. Joseph and the women waved, and JC stood, looking as stoic and as indifferent as most other times. The voices finally died down, and Joseph took the chance to finally speak.

“Good people of Washington! Only a few blocks away we find one of the most important structures in America- The White House! And this November, it will be you all, passing your votes to me, to bring faith back to our great country and lead us to said place of power! As I have stood in front of my parish for so many years, speaking the good word and spreading God’s great bounty, I will soon stand before every single American and spread the same good word, and bring prosperity and morality to us all!”

The cheers rose with his words, but as soon as they began to subside, another cacophony of voices replaced it. At the front entrance, the weak borders of the plastic fence had been breached. The protesters pushed in, leading a parade of signs and shouts down the middle aisle and around the sides. “Not our Messiah! False Prophet! Sheep of God!”

From their seats, the attendees began to shout back or look for any sign that the interruption would be quelled. The protesters continued and finally arrived before the stage and shouted up at Joseph, who was speechless. Sharon pulled Jess back and looked for help from any of the others. Joseph glanced at the man, then to the backstage curtains.

The two sides of the audience began to argue loudly, passing back and forth angry gestures, and some threatened to strike out. Joseph attempted to clear his throat loudly into the microphone, then he spoke loudly. “It is a shame, for those people who do not wish to hear the word of God!”

The protesters booed in unison and marched about in circles, hoisting up their signs. To my surprise, the one who stepped up next was none other than the supposed holy man himself. He touched Joseph’s shoulder gently, before taking his place and leaning into the microphone.

“Foolish people- every single one of you here! You will listen!” His sudden cold words put an immediate stop to the marching and shouting. “The most powerful land on this insignificant blue planet. Yet you can only fight among each other. How can one lead such a group of people if not a single individual can agree with another? It is all I have seen during my time here. Things made up to speak down upon one another and attempts to create divides. Impossible. You are filth and are not deserving of our presence here. I will go and hope that there is another time when reason prevails you. Farewell.”

With those words, the man held his hands to the sky. The entirety of the gathered people stood and looked up at the sky, awaiting something. Just like in Tallahassee, the bright light arrived in the blink of an eye. Before my vision could clear, the man had disappeared from his place behind the podium, and the blinding aura was once again gone. Joseph glanced around, while the crowd and protesters stood in shock.

In the confusion, I had not noticed Agent Barth taking a spot beside me. “Well, that makes it easier, doesn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“Makes sense too. Rather than… ‘take me to your leader…’ you might call the plan… ‘we’ll make a leader of our own.’”

“You don’t mean…?”

Barth patted me on the shoulder and turned backstage. “All we have now is the inevitable fall of the Pastor, in our best-case scenario. Better collect your last paycheck quick, Mr. Jackson. Both of our jobs are done here. But, uh… feel free to get in contact with us if you ever want a job with the Bureau… or a date. Either way, my number is in your phone.”

Second Coming: Chapter 21

We managed another day of interviews before the weekend came. Those who had already been scheduled were interviewed that day, luckily with no large distractions. Friday afternoon, Joseph pulled himself away from the desk and returned to the RV with a sour look he had been mostly hiding the whole day. I joined the family for dinner that night inside, but Joseph held his sullen attitude even around his family.

That Saturday I remained alone in the office and continued to avoid Joseph and his sudden yet unsurprising melancholy. I even allowed myself to sleep in slightly, a luxury those days. Outside the windows was Washington D.C., I thought to myself, but as a result of the work I had been putting in up until then, I had barely ventured farther than a single block away. Out past the dirty windows of the rented office space was the capital, and with it, likely countless opportunities in the hopefully inevitable case of Joseph’s campaign falling through.

After freshening up, I turned to the internet to test the waters of employers in the area, constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure neither Joseph nor the others were going to sneak up behind my back. Despite the variety of positions, the likely unrequited loyalty to the Pastor kept me from sending in my resume.

The next morning, Sunday, I went to the RV to hopefully sneak in a shower when I was met with the groans of a broken man. Joseph was leaning on the table face first, and there was a certain something missing from the atmosphere. “Joseph?”

Joseph didn’t respond. I looked to the assumed holy man who was sitting, legs crossed, on the seat beside him, nonplussed. Sharon walked out of the back and shrugged. “He’s fine, Jude. Our coffee maker broke, and we’re having just a bit of a slump because of it,” she said, making puppy-dog eyes at her husband.

I had observed the daily consumption of decaf by the Pastor and his wife, but I had no idea that it meant so much to him, especially without the caffeine. “I actually noticed…” I spoke up, causing a slight reaction out of Joseph, “A coffee shop a couple blocks down. I don’t mind just running down there…”

Joseph sat up with a sigh, brushing down his face with his hands. “Can you do that, Jude? It would be wonderful. You know what we like?”

“I do,” I affirmed, looking to the wife. “I’ll be back. Just the two for you?”

Jess poked her head out of the bunk near the rear. “Can you… perhaps buy one of those fancy drinks? With the whipped cream on top? I’ll pay you back.”

I looked to her mother for the okay. She nodded, “Just no coffee, Jude.”

“Sure.”

I was just around the corner of the office when Agent Barth caught up to me on foot, nicely suited and pristinely groomed. “Jude, good timing.”

“I can’t imagine this is on purpose,” I said, eying him from the side. “Did you break their coffee maker just to guide us to this interaction?”

“Coffee maker?” He said indignantly. “What are you talking about? Well, allow me to keep up and borrow this rare moment from you.”

I sighed and continued walking. “I hate saying this, but can we hurry up this whole process? I feel bad about betraying Joseph, and it would be best off being able to find a new job before the primaries conclude.”

Barth scratched at his face. “I’d love that too, but so far nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“NORAD picked up nothing that would have been the craft that dropped off JC.”

“JC? Oh.” I mumbled back, realizing the meaning of the initials. “So, what then?”

“Well, my higher-ups have been discussing various things. One is to engage in the security clearance process, a fabricated one of course. We would have temporary discretion to attempt to take fingerprints and samples directly from our character. If you and the rest of the family go along with it, nobody should object. Unless that man has something to hide, of course.”

I huffed in surprise. “Well, that’s a whole lot,” I commented, keeping a lookout for the coffee shop’s sign. Barth kept by my side as we came across it and entered.

The Sunday morning line was fairly short. My desire for real coffee returned with the intoxicating odor of brewing grounds. Barth hung back while I ordered. “Hey, uh. Two medium decafs… black… a frappe, minus the shot… with caramel drizzle… medium as well, and a large latte, with soy, please.”

After paying, I stepped back and waited among my fellow caffeine compatriots. Barth was focused on the hefty stack of Sunday papers by the door. “Anything new?” I asked.

The agent simply pointed to the cover story, containing a distinct color image of the Pope. Vatican Chastises Presidential Hopeful Joseph Cummings and his Questionable Holy Entourage of One. “Well… First, I’m disappointed that they don’t want to include me in his entourage,” I said, picking up the paper for the bottom half of the article. I gazed at the story in awe, but the sudden call for my order forced my attention away.

“You might show that to Mr. Cummings,” Barth suggested as I was stepping away.

“He has enough on his plate,” I countered, taking up the cardboard drink holder, “let’s rein him in with a more civilized manner.”

I departed the shop and allowed the agent to find his way back on his own. When I returned to the RV, I was suddenly the talk of the town. “Perfect!” Joseph said, likely his first words of the morning.

I delivered the two other drinks and then sat down to enjoy my own. Joseph loudly slurped his own through the slot in the lid before slapping it down on the table. “Very good. Just what I needed. Thank you, Jude.”

“Not a problem.”

“I feel up to dealing with the world now.” The Pastor toted, “Can’t get the little things get me down.”

“Right you are.” Sharon praised.

A hollow knock came to the door of the RV, and outside was standing Barth, something in his hands. “Mr. Jackson, you left this behind.”

The wife was quicker than I, and took the agent’s delivery through the door, placing it on the table. As I feared, it was the uneven roll of newspaper, with the headline in plain sight. Joseph squinted at it and pulled it his way. I watched his brow furrow as he took it in. “Well, this is just unacceptable,” he said, not even daring to look at the words of the article itself. “Who does he think he is? No pope of mine!”

Second Coming: Chapter 20

Things started moving fast after we settled in. The new office space was furnished in a matter of days from donations from the local party offices, churches, and even individuals themselves. The RV was parked out back and served as our sleeping quarters still, but at least I felt some reprise from the prolonged contact with Joseph and the man.

Agent Barth and some other members of the impostor Secret Service kept continued watch and presence about the office building, but I was never approached for further instruction. No doubt the reason had to do with being unable to properly distance myself from Joseph and the man. I kept my head down and continued doing the absolute minimum to further Joseph’s desires.

The Pastor gave me the go-ahead to post the job listings I had written up. We began receiving replies within the hour, and before that weekend, the inbox I had setup was way more than either of us could handle. Many, predictably, were those who simply wanted to reach out and be in contact with the supposed holy man. Even with going through and deleting all of the spam, we were left with too many to filter through. Joseph folded and called up his wife. Two days later, Sharon and Jess had been flown out to meet us and join the cause once again.

With the RV filled up with the family, I was forced to sleep in the office space. All things considered, it was nice having a bit of privacy away from all of them. During the day, the four of us filtered through the many emails, ditching any that seemed less than professional. It only took a day or so from there to settle on a list of people to call and set up interviews with. The morning before the first of the in-person meetings, I was awoken early by Barth while the family was still away in the RV.

“Jude, are you awake?” He said, leaning over me.

“Huh, what?” I said sleepily, forcing myself to roll over and get a better look at him in the dim room.

“No need to get up, but take what I’m about to say to heart.” He said, leaning back against a desk. “Remind anyone that their employment is only on the basis of Joseph being nominated in the primaries.”

I rubbed at my eyes and check the time on my phone. “I… believe that’s… a given, right?”

“Yes, but the knowledge between the lot of you isn’t terribly conventional,” Barth said with a shrug. “Just know that none of these people will likely end up being employed here- ever.”

I sat up, shielding my face from the sunrise crawling through the dirty, unshaded front window. “What do you mean? Are you planning on something before the end of the delegation process?”

“Can’t tell you that now, but for the time being, just keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

When Joseph finally came into the office that morning, we began setting up the smaller room by the entrance to undertake the interviews in. As we sorted through the stacks of printed-out resumes and cover letters, I voiced a thought of concern to Joseph. “I was thinking… perhaps we should keep… his holiness… from the interview process. Just to keep them from being too nervous, you know.”

Joseph thought silently for a moment. “Good thinking Jude. I’ll tell him he’s best off staying in the RV for today.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and watched the front window for the first of the cars to pull up off the road. The list of people we had called in that morning came from a wide range of expertise. Some worked in journalism, or law and even some came from up near Capitol Hill. The first three that came to us that morning were mostly well-spoken and well-meaning and we let them know that they would be receiving a call-back at some point.

The fourth person to come in, a Hispanic man, was immediately shifty as he came through the doors, but as he settled at the desk before us, his energy suddenly concentrated. “Mr. César, thank you for coming today,” Joseph began like always.

“Good to be here, thank you for having me.” He replied with a smile and a nod. “Now, before we begin, I might offer you some information about myself.”

“Oh?” Joseph said, offering me a glance that was just short of wary.

César leaned his weight on the edge of the table. “I’d just like to say that if I get this position, I would require no salary for as long as you’d like to have me.”

Joseph’s eyebrows raised at the idea, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was coming next.

“The only thing I ask of you is this. My father- he’s dying of cancer. If I may borrow the divine power of our Lord and Savior here on Earth to cure my father and return his vitality, I will gladly offer my services and expertise to you for as long as you are in office.”

I attempted to furnish a response to the desire and looked to Joseph for help. The Pastor’s eyes narrowed, and he shoved the papers from his hands onto the tabletop. “Sir, while the situation with your father is regrettable-” he began, gritting his teeth in a way I couldn’t have imagined the Pastor doing, “ but his divine power is not something I can so easily offer up to anyone and everyone who asks.”

César stood, gently pushing the fine, heavy chair aside. His tone was aggravated, but even. “So, you won’t do this for me? You want to keep his holiness for yourself to only your own benefit?”

Joseph folded his hands as if to stop himself from rattling them about the table. “There are more than a few issues with your thinking sir.”

“All I need to know is that you are willing to let my father die,” He huffed, pushing out the door and nearly running over the following interviewee who was coming in at the same time.

Joseph and I exchanged glances, but couldn’t find it in myself to fully agree or disagree with either of their actions. Joseph stood and said a silent prayer to himself before sitting back down. With a shout out to his wife, the following person came to sit before us. By mid-afternoon, all of the question and answer sessions began to blur together. The final interview concluded sometime around three, and by then, we had already forgotten about the fiasco that morning.

The next day was a similar pattern of taking interviews, mostly of reasonable people. There was a trend of those citing their religious beliefs, or talking specifically of Joseph’s overarching plan, but regardless of their stance, I could do nothing but hope I would never see any of these people again. My hopes were crushed that very night, however, as I tuned into the news.

Mr. César, whom we had seen the previous day, was side-by-side with one of the major anchors on a particular station local to the area. I pulled Joseph out of the RV and dragged him back to the office space to have him watch.

“That’s right, Mr. Joseph Cummings doesn’t.” The man said, midway through a thought. “It isn’t about the power of God, the Son of the Lord, or either of their graces. It’s about him, and making every one about him believe that he, the Pastor himself, is the only one who is able to carry and speak the voice of the Lord. It’s as if he’s trying to bring everyone back to the Middle Ages when only the elite of the Clergy could read the word of God, and thus, were able to so easily rein over an unquestioning society.”

Joseph stomped his foot and separated himself from the screen. “Is Agent Barth around here?” He growled.

“Huh?” I replied, having not seen the man since the previous morning. “What for?”

“It seems that if we’re going to have any more interviews, it will have to be after proper background checks. We can’t have any agents of the mass media in here trying to smear our names and reputations.”