And all the sinners saints
As heads is tails
Just call me Lucifer
'Cause I'm in need of some restraint
― Mick Jagger / Keith Richards
Brooke Confronting the Devil
I feel like Winston Smith in Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four, avoiding the Thought Police while secretly reading Goldstein's Book.
Yep, that's me, lying low, staying off electronics, while sifting through Tom Faraday's voluminous research notes on the cabal.
The girls and I are living through a nightmare view of the future Orwell couldn't have imagined. He envisioned superpowers dividing up the world while pursuing their own separate agendas, but even Orwell couldn't conceive of a one-world government using the cover of Biblical style plagues and energized by the spectre of the Beast from the Pit.
I use the word 'spectre' to refer to the Beast, only because I'm not convinced the spiritual aspect of the crisis is real. The cabal could be using some directed energy beam designed to project horrific images into people's psyches.
I admit saying that sounds ludicrous, but then again, it's been tried before. I'm reminded of MK Ultra a secret project the CIA carried out 70 years ago in an attempt to control people's minds.
But one thing I do know for sure, whether the cabal is energized by demons or not, its objectives are profoundly evil and destructive, so I'm not sure it matters either way.
It's been a long day working on harvesting our crops. Who would have thought a modest sized vegetable garden would require so much work? But the Cliffords are pretty skillful at farming and they're pushing us to make maximum use of what we have in order to get the best possible yield from what we've planted.
That's good news I suppose, but the downside is Frank has decided because of the unusually warm weather brought on by the solar storms that we should take advantage of the climate change and plant some fast-growing crops. He suggested we begin with arugula, radishes, lettuce, peas spinach and turnips. He even thinks we can plant other vegetables using cold frames to shield plants from the eventual frost.
And so the work goes on...
Later that evening while sitting by the fire, I make an attitude adjustment. I should be thankful for what we have. The people back in the city must be suffering privations I can't even begin to imagine.
Grousing and complaining about a little hard work is unseemly under the circumstances and I admonish myself for acting like a spoiled brat.
I'm so glad we made friends with the Cliffords and will make it up to them by planning a huge harvest meal next month on Canadian Thanksgiving.
I close my eyes and picture the five of us sitting around my huge oak table re-enacting a Norman Rockwell vision of the fall celebration. Yeah, I'm dreaming in technicolour but you have to find spots of happiness even in bleak circumstances―otherwise, why go on?
Just after midnight, I finally wend my way to bed. I was hoping one of the girls would come down and sit by the fire with me but I suppose everyone's exhausted from the day and needed sleep.
I realize that includes me and I've been deliberately delaying going to bed because I'm scared of experiencing another night terror. I hate the fact I'm so fearful but I never pretended to be a fighter, nor a lover for that matter. What the hell am I good for? Maybe just writing.
They say the pen is mightier than the sword, well, I'll put that aphorism to the test when I write my expose of the cabal rather than the tell-all on the famous clairvoyant my editor, Ben Church, was expecting.
Once again I close my eyes picturing the moment when I'm startled from my reveries by a woman's scream.
I leap out of bed and open the bedroom door in time to see Brooke bent over and grasping onto the oak banister at the top of the landing.
I run to her and gather her into my arms. She's trembling and sobbing.
"It's okay," I tell her, "you've probably had a bad dream. Let me carry you downstairs to the couch―the fire's still warm and I'll get you something warm to drink."
She nods and I scoop her up from the floor and carry her down to the couch. Once I make sure she's propped up with cushions and has a warm afghan covering her, I go into the kitchen and reheat the kettle and return with steaming mugs of hot chocolate.
"Here, sip this and when you're up to it, tell me what happened."
"I'm okay now, thanks Zach―guess I screamed like a banshee."
"Just one scream,"I smile, "and it looks like you didn't even wake Angelica. She must be exhausted."
"We all are and ordinarily I'd say I was just over-tired, but truth is, I was fully awake. I couldn't sleep and was coming downstairs to see if you were still awake when I saw him."
A chill ran through me. "Saw who?" I asked fearfully.
"She put a hand to her forehead as if suffering a migraine. "I can't believe I'm saying this―I saw a demon, Zach, or maybe the Devil himself, standing outside your door."
"Are you sure you weren't dreaming or sleepwalking?"
She glares at me with the same look she gave me in the kitchen when announcing our schedules and I made the mistake of opposing her.
Enough said―I believe her.
I picture her legs apart and arms akimbo confronting Satan and staring him down. She's a strong woman, not be trifled with unless, of course, you have a death wish.
I certainly don't. Maybe I need Brooke beside me to ward off evil while I sleep. Oh wait, I shouldn't have said that―even though it's the truth.
It's a pathetic situation―apparently we're all being oppressed by demons and what am I doing? Hiding behind a woman's skirt. Sad.