I continued to stare at the curving gold lettering that almost seemed to ogle back towards me with a taunting smirk. The full name of the book was "God Doesn't Like Tattletales: The Veiled World of Hans Mueller's Children."
"Yuh'right, suga?" Ms. Eckhart's voice dragged me back to reality.
"Yeah, I'm good. I'll take the book." I said.
"Yuh mean 'borrow'?"
"Yeah, sorry, borrow." I responded, thinking about Jason's overdue copy of The Antichrist. "Of course, sunshine." Ms. Eckhart exclaimed. "Come 'round with me t'thuh back, I'll show yuh
the tapes."
I had completely forgot about the tapes as my mind had diverged that afternoon, but now my palms grew sweaty with the anticipation of what was to come.
I followed Ms. Eckhart, snaking between the towering bookshelves once more, until we came to a solid looking door that imprinted itself next to a white brick staircase. She fumbled in her pockets, coming up with a set of keys chained to a ring, and inserted one, unlocking the door.
Ms. Eckhart tugged at a bronze pull chain light switch that dangled on the side of the doorway, and turned on a small, warm light-bulb embedded in the wall that cast a hazy light over the entire room. It was clearly a storage closet, with most of the shelves and boxes having a thin layer of gray clumpy dust. However, I could also make out an old CRT that rested on a wooden cabinet. Next to it was an old, black VCR of some sort, an ancient piece of technology – at least to me.
"Youse gonna have to step 'round the mess." Said Ms. Eckhart. "Come 'ere to the TV."
I followed her as we walked towards the middle of the room, which the large CRT was. "There's a whole lot more 'bout the Children then what's been said in the news." Ms. Eckhart began. "I swear on the lord, they were one of the most devilish groups of people ya could eva' hang 'round."
"What do you know about the cult?" I asked curiously.
"I know 'nuff to make me hate 'em." She continued. "Their propaganda used'a be everywhere. They 'ad self-help books, alternative medicine, little ''magic' rings you could find in ere' hippie coffee shop south of Dallas."
"Really? I never knew they were that big."
"Oh, they were big, alright." Ms. Eckhart scrambled around a metal shelf, clawing together a few tapes, and began sorting through them, seeming to look for one in particular. "Ah-ha." She clutched one of the tapes and threw the other back onto the metal shelf with a loud thud. "The BBC did an interview with The Children, comin' overseas to Texas, 'round 1996 at the height of 'er popularity."
She popped open the top of the VCR and set the tape down into the cartridge slot, closing the lid. She sauntered over to the shelf again, grabbing a dusty TV remote.
"This tape is that." Said Ms. Eckhart. "I think –" She turned on the TV as a picture appeared on the screen, "That it'll give ya' some good insight. I know youse into all that spiritual stuff, ain'tcha Fletch?"
I smiled, "Yeah, kinda."
She gave me a smile before unpausing the tape.
"The Children of Reconstructed Consciousness was founded by Hans Mueller in 1989. Their main goal? According to many followers, is to transcend the body and mind, while following a mixed religious canon of both Buddhist and Christian beliefs. Or, as me and my crew believe rather skeptically, to follow whatever Hans Mueller tells them to follow."
There were panning shots of what seemed to be the religious grounds. It was astonishingly beautiful – there was a white building with ornate architectural decorations, nature trails, and even a shot of what looked like a Koi pond.
"But no matter, my team and I had come to Texas to interview the man himself, in the hopes of uncovering the truth of one of the most popular alternative religious movements of our time. We sat down with Hans Mueller in the company of some two hundred followers to ask a few questions."
The scene then quickly cut to a view inside the temple, as a young looking male interviewer with a British accent sat on a cushioned chair, resting on a stage in front of a seated audience.
"Since my crew and I came to The Woodlands two weeks ago, we've seen a great amount of... I guess you could call it polarization – whenever the topic of your organization comes up in conversation. Some folks around here love you, some around here hate your guts-"
There was an uproar of laughter and giggles from the audience of followers.
"I guess what I'm trying to ask here is – in relation to those who oppose your methods, why should people believe that your way of life is the correct way?"
I couldn't control my breathing – my chest rose and fell in shallow intervals, my back tight and cold. I watched as the camera panned, slowly, over to Hans. It was then when my eyes laid upon the first sight I had ever gotten of the all-encompassing man, the god who hates tattletales:
Hans Mueller sat on a cushioned white chair, draped in long black robes that complemented his black hair, a few strands falling onto his forehead. He had a short black beard, thick eyebrows, and eerie, narrow eyes with a pupil of blue that floated along the white sea of his eyeballs. He had a faint smile, communicating an air of confidence and superiority, and sat there for a few seconds, in silence, before deciding to speak.
"Those that you speak of, who criticize me," He began slowly, "Who are they? Do you speak of the farmers, who possess little spiritual knowledge? Do you speak of sheltering parents, who block anything they don't understand from reaching the minds of their children? Or do you speak of priests, or rabbis, who continue dragging the chains of organized religion, unable to think clearly? And so I ask you again, my friend, who are they? Who are they?"
There are claps and cheers of approval from the crowd, with the interviewer sitting beside Hans
giving off a light, awkward chuckle.
"Well, they could be all of those, I'm certain they could be all of those, and more." The interviewer began again. "But... I guess what we're trying to get at- is that all these individuals- who come from different walks of life, how can they all be sure that your way is the correct one, as you and so many of your followers insist?"
"They can be sure," The camera panned back to Hans. "Because The Children of Reconstructed Consciousness is not a religion. Nor is it an ideology, or philosophy, or any sort of -ism. We are nothing but the truth, the transcendent that rises above all worldly matters. That is how all can be sure."
There was another round of cheering from the audience, which quickly died down as the interviewer readied himself to ask another question.
"Then, if this organization is the truth, the truth that you say transcends all else, surely you would be able to answer me this next one."
"Whatever you wish, I may give you." Hans replied.
"Very well." The interviewer continued. "Hans, for thousands of years, humanity has struggled with the fact of suffering. Suffering that has persisted in every time period, in every condition, in every corner of the earth. Happiness is the medicine we look for, am I so far correct in my analysis?"
"Yes, very much so." Said Hans.
"Then, would you be able to answer this question," The interviewer leaned forward, "Hans, what is the key to eternal happiness?"
I could practically feel the hair on the back of my neck slowly stick up in a sickly mix of fear and excitement. There was some emotion within me, that even though I was listening to the ravings of a dangerous cult leader, I wanted to know his answer to the question. There was some part of me that wanted to take his advice – that wanted any advice at all – on the key to eternal happiness.
Hans folded his hands into each other, setting them down in his lap, and stared off into the distance for what must have been at least twenty seconds. Then, he answered.
"To have eternal happiness, you must remove eternal suffering." He began, "Then, the flowers of joyous life may be allowed to bloom. Traditionally, this is done with grueling spiritual practice, but the simple fact of the matter that many gurus refrain from mentioning is that not everyone can achieve this inner enlightenment. Truly, the vast majority of people will never be able to reach ultimate spirituality. This is the first step we plan to change."
"And how is that done?" The interviewer questioned.
"Simply – with the wonder of biology. As humanity was given the fruits of the Earth as a gift from god, we may use those gifts to enhance ourselves to higher levels. Supplements, medicine, and certain types of alternative therapy are all essential to reprogramming the mind. For humanity is broken by its sin, but the raw power of the world is not."
"So, if I'm following your line of reasoning – humanity is imperfect due to its original sin. This is why, no matter how much spiritual practice we do, we will never be able to reach enlightenment because suffering will always weigh us down. The solution to this is by using pure elements from nature-"
"Those that have been untainted." Hans interjected.
"Right, those that have been untainted, and using them, almost like... bioengineering individuals?"
"Bioengineering is the secular, worldly name that those who are blind to the truth like to throw around. But to those enlightened, who have seen the spark of light that eternal happiness has to offer once the affliction of suffering is ridden from our souls – the name we give to the truth of spirituality is simply called 'Reconstructed Consciousness.' For that is simply what it is – consciousness that has been reconstructed."
After one more round of cheers and applause from the crowd of adoring followers, the screen faded to black as the words "Recorded at CORC Temple, The Woodlands, Texas, July 7th 1996." Appeared on screen and then soon faded. The tape came to a stop – and with it, the space I took up in my present, living reality came back to me.
Ms. Eckhart and I sauntered our way back towards the checkout counter, where she stamped my copy of a book that shared a name with my most traumatizing memory, and wrote with a fancy Montblanc ballpoint pen the date of return.
"It's Novemba' 18th, so have the book back by the 25th, a'right?" She handed it to me in a brown paper bag for safety. "We got too many jackwagons thinkin' they can keep them books forever. Gave this one guy a copy of The Antichrist a year ago - hasn't returned it."
There must have been a gleam that returned to my eyes, and a smile that creeped along the corners of my mouth, because right after that Ms. Eckhart exclaimed. "What's so funny?"
"Oh? Nothing, just reminds me of someone." I replied with a soft giggle.
"Reminds you of someone? What, your friends some book stealin' son of gun's too?"
"Yeah, one of them are, unfortunately." Jason Miller - you will never fail to impress and embarrass me simultaneously.
"A'right, well be safe, won't'cha?"
"I will, you too Ms. Eckhart."
"Oh, and one more thing." She exclaimed, just before I began trodding off, "Just a little tidbit 'bout The Children you should know."
I felt the hair raise on my neck once more, and a pounding in my chest that rattled my bones with a continuous vibration. Yet having already decided to go down the endless rabbit hole of The Children, I was too deep to refuse any extra information now.
"What's that?" I replied.
Ms. Eckhart leaned forward and crossed her fingers together. "Some people say that what the cult was doin' was a lot more than spiritual enlightenment. You heard what Mr. Mueller himself was talkin' 'bout in that tape, didn't'cha?"
I reminisced, "Yeah, bioengineering, right?"
"Mm-hmm. And d'ya know what the scientific name is for human bioengineering, Mr. Fletch?" I didn't respond.
"Genetic Engineering." She responded. "The act of alterin' the DNA makeup of an organism."
My chest swelled up as I took in her words. "Genetic Engineering." The very thought that the cult would have been capable of something like that made me sick. Literally, because I began to feel nauseous in that exact moment.
"I see." I didn't know how to respond, but what I did know for sure was that if I was going to catch the roadtrip with Skye, I would have to get going, and soon. "Thank you so much for all your help today, ma'am."
"On the contrary," Said Ms. Eckhart, "Thank yuh for showing interest. Nice t'see young people dig to find their own answers. It'sa good quality yuh got there, Mr. Fletcher." She smiled as wrinkles formed around her eyes.
I smiled back, "Thank you. Have a good day." I began walking off, and gave Ms. Eckhart a polite wave. She waved back, a polite southern gesture that sent me off on my way – into the abyss.
As soon as I had trodded out of my local holy building of knowledge, I felt a vibration in my pocket, and after fumbling around for a bit, got out my phone and saw that Skye had been furiously trying to call me for the last twenty minutes. I picked up hesitantly.
"Hello, Skye?" I began.
"Dude, Fletch! I have literally been trying to call you forever." In my defense, forever was a gross exaggeration. "Where are you?"
"I just got out of the library." I said.
"Ugh, of course you were in the library, four eyes."
"You literally wear sunglasses." I replied daftly. "We're both four eyed freaks."
"Yeah, well you wear contacts." She replied. "Which is even worse because you actually need them to see. So you're the real four eyes, four eyes."
"Womp-womp. Cry about it." I responded.
"Whatever. I actually didn't call you just to tease you, believe it or not. You're walking to my house, right?"
"Yeah, I'm on my way now." I said.
"Fantastic, wonderful, home-run."
"Keep praising me, please."
"Oh, your grace Silas Fletcher, best Silas to exist since that hottie from Vampire Diaries. Look at you, doing what I told you to do. Sticking to the plan."
"Thank you, thank you." I giggled, "You're too kind."
She laughed. "Oh screw off. But seriously, I have a favor to ask of you."
"I'll see what I can do, no promises though."
"Alright, great. Fletch, can you call Tyler and ask him if he could come with us on the roadtrip?"
I stopped. "Tyler...?" I thought back to the drunk state he called me in earlier that morning. "Umm... I can try? Like I said, no promises though."
"It's just that I really feel like I'm gonna need an extra hand. No offense, I'd love for this to be a hot-and-nerdy romantic romp through the Woodlands, just you and me, but I need someone with the slightest amount of muscle to, you know, be there."
"Right." I smiled. "Can't rely on my noodle arms."
"They're not noodles. Just – think of the slightly sad turkey legs you get at the Renaissance Festival that make you want more. They're like that."
"That's even worse." I said. "Just say noodles."
"Uh-huh, alright." I could hear her smile. "But anyways, just do your best to get Tyler on board please. If you don't, I won't be mad, just disappointed."
"Alright, I'll do my best." I responded.
"Spectacular. Incredible. Just astonishing." Skye droned, "See you later, your highness."
She hung up, and I immediately called Tyler. He picked up astonishingly quickly.
"S... Silas?" Bingo. Morning Hangover. "Bro, I am knocked out right now, you don't even know."
"Oh, I know." I couldn't help but be petty. "What were you thinking, calling me at one in the morning? I was sleeping, dude."
"I'm sorry, man, I'm really sorry." He genuinely sounded apologetic. "I forgot everything that happened after midnight."
"Yeah, that's kind of what happens when you drink." I responded daftly. "What're you doing right now?" I switched topics.
"Currently? I'm drowning my sorrows in the wonderfully thick thighs of Jasmine Elrod. As in, I'm currently in Jasmine's lap while she gives me head scratches."
I could hear her voice softly from the speaker "Who's my good boooooy? You are. You're such a sweetheart."
Oh, sweet Jesus help me.
"Uh... yeah?" How are you supposed to respond to that? "Great, man. Look, Skye needs your help. We both need your help, actually."
"...Ughhhh, Silas, don't you see I'm terminally hungover here?"
"I do, man. But listen: Skye has this project for Forensics where she's going out to the Woodlands to investigate the remains of The Children. You heard about them?"
"...The Children?" Tyler muttered. "Yeah, those 90s forest hippies."
"Right. So I'm coming along with her, but she really needs an extra pair of hands to help her with the whole thing."
I heard him snicker tiredly, "Because... you've got noodle arms."
"Exactly." I saw my way to convince him. "I have the weakest ramen arms in existence."
"They dangle in the wind like a clothes hanger." Tyler giggled, "Words cannot describe how utterly pathetic they are."
"Precisely. So instead, Skye needs a pair of big hunky man arms like yours to help her out, just in case we need the strength for anything." I paused for a second.
"You in?" I asked.
"...Well..." He hesitated. "Sure... but only if Jasmine gets to come with us."
"You're kidding me." I exclaimed. "Are you serious right now? Did you actually just say that?"
"I meant what I said, and I said what I meant. An elephant's faithful one hundred percent." Tyler droned, insufferably quoting a Dr. Suess line. "I'll need some emotional support in the state I'm in right now, and there's only one person in the whole wide world who can give that to me. Right, babe?"
"Of course, babe." After hearing it twice in five seconds, I rightfully decided that the word 'babe' is an affront to humanity. " I'd love to come along with you, my little knight in shining armor." I heard her land a sloppy kiss on him through the speaker.
"Tyler." I began, slowly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but... I don't think Jasmine and Skye..." I trailed off.
"Huh, what about them?" He murmured.
"I don't think they'd get along, uh, very well." Hear me when I say this: The wonderfully sympathetic, ambitious but also extremely emotionally twitchy persona of Skye Miller, flowers and bubblegum and rose tinted sunglasses and all, would not - in any way, believe me - go well with a daft, alt-punk, heavy metal, overly protective goth girl. That combination? Is known by every Highschool teenager to be a recipe for disaster.
"Why not?" Tyler asked.
"Ty, you do not put a preppy pink haired girly-girl together with a down-and-out goth girl. That's trouble. Big time."
"Dude, you're just being a cynic. That's like saying nerdy guys and jock guys don't go together, and look at our just utterly incredible friendship."
"One:" I began. "Our friendship is not utterly incredible, in fact I feel like a lot of the time, like now, it's very much the opposite."
"Well, that's your opinion." Tyler murmured.
"Two: the fact that we're friends is a statistical anomaly. Sociologists around the world spin their heads in confusion because of the very existence of our friendship."
"Ok, whatever." Tyler muttered. "But seriously, I don't think it'll be that big of a deal."
"Yeah." Jasmine interjected. "I don't think it'll be that big of a deal either."
"You're not involved in this conversation." I replied to Jasmine. I did not want to meet her right now.
"Silas Fletcher, Biology, period three?" She said my name like I was a murder suspect. "I know you. You're not very talkative. Usually."
"Well, this isn't usually." I responded sarcastically.
"Look, Silas, I know you're super protective of Skye because she's your girl-toy or whatever-"
"She is not."
"But man, listen to me when I say we won't cause any trouble. Honest to god, dude. You guys are my friends. What bad would meeting one new person do?"
For a moment, I considered his words. Maybe I was in a bad mood. Maybe I was overprotective of Skye, just because she was my best-friend. Or maybe, I was afraid of meeting new people – of the social interaction and effort it took to get to know someone different.
"You're right." I said. "Nah, you're right Ty. I'm sorry. Bring her along."
"Yes!" I could practically hear Tyler bound up from Jasmine's valley of thighs. "I'll be on my way now. Now, right?"
"Yeah, as soon as you can."
"Alright, gotcha. See ya there, Fletch."
"See ya, Ty."
I hung up and held my phone in my hand in contemplation as I glanced up towards the sky. It was getting dark and cloudy – the first rumblings of thunder crackling in the distance – my favorite.
Maybe, just maybe – it was a good idea for the bone pale vampire to step out of his house.
It was then when I thought confidently to myself, the first spark of optimism that had grazed my mind in ages, "Today's gonna be a good day."