After the Wilderness

By Gordon Kearns

Chapter 8

Rachel's exploits met with mixed reactions. In the beginning --Friday, and then early Saturday morning --she had caught the public's dormant imagination. By Friday afternoon "The Naked Red-headed Heroine of Atlanta" was a national celebrity. The media loved her. Her daring deed on Thursday night --especially in consideration of her nude state and mysterious appearance --attracted more attention than a presidential news conference. Her silence added to her aura. Then hospital workers leaked word out about the rather bullyish treatment she was receiving at the hands of the legal authorities (strapped in bed against her will, the threatened indecency charges, and the involvement of the court in her detention), which immediately brought her the sympathy of the country. With the reports from Hawaii, the Riviera, and Vatican City, Rachel was fast becoming a cult figure. The match that ignited the explosive elements of the story of the naked heroine was her shocking and mysterious escape from the shackles that

bound her so unjustly.

By early Saturday afternoon the legend of the Naked Red-headed Heroine of Atlanta was given a considerable boost. A free-lance stringer for U.P.I. posted a story over the wire about a tale being told by a native woman in one of the Ethiopian refugee camps. The woman avers unshakeably that she and her children were transported to the hospital through the sky by a naked white angel with red hair. It had been too late to save one of her starving children, but the act of the angel most certainly prevented the loss of her baby. Rachel's magical exploits were now the biggest headline story the world over.

However, there was a downside. Not everyone looked upon her penchant for undress as cute. Playing up a nudist as a great woman would send the wrong message to America's youth. Children naturally looked up to heroines as role models, and millions of people didn't appreciate the immoral model she was presenting. And so the tide turned.

As Saturday afternoon progressed, Rachel's super-star status, was met with a rather sturdy resistance from a rapidly growing, forceful and righteous segment of the population. Saturday evening and Sunday morning in many, many church services --domestic and foreign --the naked red-head was categorized in quite direct terms as an emissary of evil. Not only had she defiled the Sistine Chapel with her lewd conduct, but she was parading her

brazen nakedness shamelessly before God and the world. Her nakedness on the streets of Atlanta, after all, invited attack, they said. Her ability to appear and disappear at will wherever she wished and to escape her fetters with ease went unchallenged; in fact, it was taken as patently diabolic in origin. Over and over, the naked red-head was referred to as the Anti-Christ personified. Thus, gradually, the general public attitude toward the Naked Red-headed Heroine of Atlanta had made a 180 degree turn from appreciative, to doubting, to out and out displeasure.

Newspeople have sources. By Saturday evening, between one police department leak and another, the tie-in of the red-head with Bollinger's Resort was well established and published.

That Bollinger's was a nudist haven added fuel to the spreading fire. Congregation by congregation, caravans headed toward southern California. By mid-morning Sunday, the vanguard had arrived and pitched camp outside the gates of Bollinger's. Soon handmade placards made their appearance, declaring God's displeasure. God-fearing Christian pickets paraded in a circle across the road in front of Bollinger's gates. Tents multiplied. The placards became more menacing. "TEAR DOWN THE WALLS OF BOLLINGER'S"; "DESTROY HEDONISM, NUDISM, SATANISM"; "ROUT OUT THE WITCH." More picket lines formed: now one at the state highway; now one at the bus stop at Bernard Station; now one at the bus depot in L.A.; and now one at the state capital in Sacramento, urging the legislature to move the first thing on Monday morning for a law to put an end to such un-Christian horrors as Bollinger's Orgy Inn. More and more and more arrived at the teeming site, and the intensity of the crowd's emotions increased proportionately. As automobiles moved down the road to enter the resort, they were met with jeers and shouts; some were hammered upon with irate fists. And as the day wore on, the tenor of the crusade would become even more threatening --as we will see shortly.

Strangely, In Bollinger's little note had been taken of Patricia Flanery's absence from the resort since the previous Wednesday. She had apparently met her Patrick on Tuesday afternoon as scheduled; and she did indicate to friends later that he was her father. It was also common knowledge that she was to meet him again on Wednesday afternoon. So it was assumed by everyone that Patty was with her father when she didn't return for meals. However, around three o'clock Sunday afternoon, with the atmosphere outside Bollinger's growing increasingly more intimidating, Jack --whose attention up to this time, when not focused on his beloved daughter-in-law, was necessarily directed to running the business for Darren --was reminded by Jerry Schulman of the extended absence of the youthful Patty. Speculating that Patty's absence may not have been totally unrelated to Rachel's and concerned that the girl's absence might have serious implications, he put in a long distance call to Patty's mother. Marianne thanked him for his concern; she had not been keeping up with the news the past couple days. Saturday she was involved in an inventory conference with the head of one of the Enterprise's department stores. And Sunday; well, for the Flanerys on Sundays all that terrible news of wars and murders and all were never permitted to intrude on church attendance, brunch, and leisure afternoon. On Sundays at the family estate in Santa Barbara the television was never allowed on. Marianne told Jack she had been in touch with Patty that very morning and everything seemed fine with her at that time. Patty had ...mentioned knowing Rachel Bollinger, but gave no indication she had knowledge of the missing woman's present whereabouts. Marianne told Jack of Patty's intention to return to the resort the next day to meet Patrick. However, now

feeling somewhat troubled herself about the possible connection between Patty's and Rachel Bollinger's disappearances, Marianne was suddenly apprehensive that Patty might get caught up in the exploding developments Jack described. So before closing off the conversation with Jack, Marianne made arrangements to come to Bollinger's yet that night. She would stay in Patty's room because of the developing room crunch.

It wasn't long after Jack's call to Marianne that Phil Wagonner stepped into Darren's apartment behind the desk to report he'd just heard from Dr. Phil MacClean. The MacCleans were on their way to the resort and should arrive within a couple hours. Phil MacClean said he had talked to Rachel.

Sunday evening about six o'clock. Phil and Doris MacClean, Darren, and Jack were seated around the conference table in Darren and Rachel's apartment. The MacCleans had just arrived, and were still dressed, as was Darren, in case he were suddenly called out for a new development. Jack was in the resort's normal uniform.

"It was a little hairy getting in here," Phil was saying. "That crowd outside the gate wasn't too inclined to let us through. The State Police helped some. I doubt if they could cope if that bunch decided to get rough."

Doris: "There are so few of them; the police, I mean. I hear the governor isn't going to send in any reinforcements. It was frightening. God, the noise!"

Darren fidgeted with his fingernails, eager to hear news about Rachel. Reading and sympathizing with Darren's impatience, Phil cleared his throat and began his story. "To start with, Rachel's all right --she's safe ...at least for now."

Darren: "Safe?"

Phil: "From the bunch outside the gates ...and whatever other hunters are on her trail."

Darren: "Can ...can you take me to see her?"

Phil: "I couldn't if I wanted. And I don't really think its a good idea ...just now." A beat. "There's so much for me to tell. She is the Naked Red-headed Heroine of Atlanta."

Darren: "But how ..."

Phil: "Please, Darren, I'll get to that. But know this: she's been hurt ...battered around pretty badly. No broken bones, but a lot of bruises and cuts about her face. And she lost a tooth." A beat. "As you should expect, she's very upset ...and scared ...and confused."

Jack: "God! Poor Red. Is there anything we can do?"

Phil: "For now, no. She needs to get her experiences of the past several days sorted out ...in her own mind."

Darren: "I... we love her; she knows that, doesn't she?"

Phil: "She knows that. But she's afraid if she talks to you ...all... with your concern for her, she'd even be more confused. She has to face her ...ghosts alone."

Darren: "But so many questions ..."

Phil: "Right: so many questions." He sighed. "I would never have believed I'd be the one saying this; but going back to last week and all that talk of the 'magic' Patty Flanery ..."

Jack: "Is Patty involved ..."

Phil: "Only indirectly. But let me go on. All that talk about the 'magic' Patty Flanery ...is true."

Jack: "I knew it!"

Darren rolled his eyes. "I swear to God, Darren," the doctor said. "But magic is the wrong word. Patty has abilities no human understands yet, so like most such phenomena, we label them 'magic.'" A beat. "Look, do you have a better explanation than magic for how Rachel could have gotten from a forest trail here at Bollinger's to mid-town Atlanta to break up a rape -- all in the space of a few hours --naked all the way?" Another sigh. "Take me at my word ...the pretty Flanery girl is magic; and Rachel is magic, too."

Jack: "Rachel?"

Phil: "Right, Rachel is magic. But first, back to Patty. That's where it all started. Remember, Patty came here to meet her father, whom she'd never met. It happened ...last Tuesday afternoon. Her mother, our own beloved Marianne, arranged the meeting so Patty could learn of her heritage. I don't want to get too far into Patty's story; that can come out later. What I... we're concerned with is how Patty's story affects your Rachel. Anyway, Patty does have some fantastic heritage all right, involving way back in pre-historic times an alien visitation to Earth. Sounds ridiculous for old practical hearted me to be saying, but the evidence is there.

"What that inheritance amounts to --as it affects the present situation --is that Patty's ancestors are a race of people who've always lived on the outskirts of human society. They're mostly woods-people: the fairies, leprechauns, and nymphs of legends. And the original nudists --they have never worn clothes. Second, they have a highly unusual genetic structure -- traits that are always dominant. That is, if they inter-mate with outsiders like us, these special traits will predominate and carry on. No matter how distant the relationship, if there's one of these people in someone's ancestry, the traits are there. Dormant, to be sure --at least with one key ability; but if someone learns he ...she has it, it's there for use when ready. The other traits persist whether one realizes them or not. These key aspects of the 'magic people' include an exceptionally high intelligence, an unfortunately short life-span (forty years maximum, as I understand), and an eerie method of body deterioration after death (they dissolve into nothing within an hour of dying). These are the traits that occur whether one realizes he belongs to the race or not. And then there's this other --the magic thing. They call it their wave. In effect, what it means is they can disappear at will and travel at incredible speeds if they wish wherever in or outside the world they wish. In this invisible state they can travel through anything solid, including people ...and people's heads, in which process, by the way, they can read a person's thoughts. I know of the wave thing's reality from very personal experience: I was made a part of it when I was taken to Rachel."

Darren: "But how does this ...how did Rachel..."

Phil: "I'll get to Rachel shortly. So this was the heritage Patty learned of when she met her father last Tuesday --in much more detail, of course, than the sketch I'm giving you now. But most important, though Patty was only half derived from this 'magic line,' she nonetheless possessed all the traits of those special people. And so it was that our old friend Patrick taught our new little friend Patty how to do her wave. And then came that fateful Wednesday morning."

Darren: "Rachel went out to meet Patty Wednesday morning."

Phil: "Right. The two girls hit it off like long lost sisters from the first. So Patty in her enthusiasm over her magical new skill of waving, took Rachel in her wave with her and told Rachel all about how she did it. And, they way it was explained to me, when two people are together in a wave, they act as one ...soul; what one thinks, the other thinks."

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Jack, catching the drift: "So without knowing it, Patty was teaching Rachel how to do the wave."

Darren: "But didn't you say this wave thing was a trait from these 'magic people'? Where does Rachel fit into it?"

Jack: "Darren: Rachel's parents ..."

Darren: "The preacher? But ...no, Rachel was adopted. She was discovered as an infant in a ...forest."

Phil: "Rachel's natural parents were both of Patrick's race. Jeffrey and Denise --the folks taking care of Rachel --they confirmed it. When they were still children, they remembered the disappearance of a couple and an infant baby girl... in the forests of California. ..about the same time Rachel was found."

Darren: "Then, if all this is true ...then Rachel can fly all around ... invisible?"

Jack: "How about that other stuff? We know Red is smart. But about that life-span of forty years ...and the dissolving "

Phil: "It's all in Rachel's genes."

Darren: "And the wave thing --that's how she got to Atlanta?"

Phil: "And Hawaii, Ethiopia, the Vatican, and the Riviera. It seems she discovered her ...power Thursday morning up by the mine. She was just trying it the way Patty had done it the day before, and --Bingo! She was flying. The rest, as they say, is history. Thursday afternoon --right after she talked to you, Jack, the way she explains it --she took off for a round the world tour in her wave, quite a dangerous undertaking for someone not experienced with it. Anyway, it was getting dark, and she was heading home fast when she ran into that rape thing in Atlanta."

Darren was rubbing his temples between the thumb and middle fingers of his hand. "It's wild ...but I suppose it does explain how she could have been in all those places." A beat. "She always did love her magic tricks ..." He sighed heavily. "Does ...does she have any idea when she's coming home?"

Phil: "I wouldn't think it would be too long. She understands how worried you must be. That's the reason she contacted me: to let you know she's all right."

Darren: "You said a Jeffrey and Denise were taking care of her."

Phil: "They're the ones who 'sprung' her. And Jeffrey's the one who came for me. They're part of the 'magic people.' When they saw about the red-head popping up allover the world, and being held a virtual prisoner in the Atlanta hospital, they used their wave to check on her for themselves --the behavior of our Rachel was very much like that of one who knew how to do the wave. There's a way they can go through someone and know whether or not that person is one of 'them.' Well, Rachel passed the test with flying colors. So they got her out of that place. She's in a quite well-maintained little hut in the middle of a swamp someplace --the bayou, Okefenokee, the Everglades ...someplace like that. They deliberately prevented me from knowing the exact whereabouts. No chance of my accidently betraying Rachel if I don't know where she is.

"Be assured, however, they are good people --completely selfless where it comes to Rachel. I have a feeling they'.ll guardian angel the red-head for awhile, until they're confident she can handle her new ...self. In the meantime, they are giving her a crash course in her heritage and her skills. Understand, guys, Rachel has just discovered her roots --roots she never dreamed she had."

Jack: "Some fantastic roots! Do you think she knows what's going on around here now?"

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Phil: "I don't know for sure. It was around noon today when I left her. They weren't aware of the big crusade at that time. I hope they know about it by now. I would think Rachel would be better off staying away ...until this blows over. You never know about mobs."

Doris: "Look, Phil cleared his agenda at the hospital for the next few days. Jack, do you think you could squeeze us a room? We feel it would be a good idea for us to stay around for awhile. We might be able to be of some assistance in this truly difficult situation."

Jack: "That would be no problem at all. Look, we appreciate your willingness to help ...we really do." He accompanied them out to the lobby to arrange a room for them with Phil Wagonner. As Phil was getting the room key, Jack said, "This is really hectic. We're losing some of our regular guests: leery of the action outside the gates; I don't blame them, I guess. At the same time we're getting a rush of media people and curiosity seekers, so we're running at maximum capacity right now." As they turned to leave the desk, Jack continued: "Here's an item for you. Marianne's coming in tonight."

Doris: "Marianne? Patty's mother?"

Jack: "Herself. She's worried about Patty in all this."

Phil: "Patty hasn't returned yet?"

Jack: "Marianne said Patty is supposed to be here sometime tomorrow."

Phil: "If it weren't for all this other stuff ..."

Jack: "Yeah."

Doris: "Call us when she arrives, if you will. She shouldn't have to fend for herself, and you guys are swamped."

It wasn't difficult to squeeze a room for the MacCleans. Phil Wagonner utilized one of the two rooms that were always held out for emergencies. The lobby was filled with milling naked bodies --not all of them natural in -- as Rachel would put it --the bare-ass milieu. These would be the newsmen and most of the curiosity seekers following the story of the naked red-head. The most ludicrous were the photographers and t.v. cameramen. A naked man walking along with a mini-cam on his shoulder and a battery/tape-recording pack hanging to his waist presents an interesting picture. Had it not been for his worry over his wife, Darren would have been beside himself with the business boom the resort was enjoying.

In Sacramento, Art Sargent made most of the stops he'd planned for Sunday, foregoing those which may have been too time-consuming. When he heard of the big crusade now congealing at Bollinger's Resort, he had determined to head that way yet this day instead of Monday morning; the new turn of events suited his purposes, and he wanted to be in the best position to take advantage of them. He asked his west coast friends to check out the information he wanted from the state offices when they opened. He would call them when the opportunity presented itself.

After picking up a car at a one-way rental, he packed the trunk with the supplies he'd gotten from --here and there. Such sundry items were available to him in Atlanta, of course; but their weight and configuration (under airport x-ray) could have complicated his trip. And since the baggage-bay luggage followed his son to the resort, Art didn't want to chance Brad's knowing of them. Such interesting equipment as a Ruger Redhawk .44 magnum double action revolver, four boxes of ammunition, 8x30 binoculars, and a half-dozen handcuffs would have been difficult to justify to Brad as necessary for the conduct of a harmless, light hearted "fairy hunt."

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It should be remembered Art Sargent was a top-drawer detective, well respected in his home Atlanta, and with a reputation that spread far beyond the Peach Tree State's borders. It was a reputation deserved. What made that reputation was, certainly, his uncanny instinct for the best places to do his detecting; he prided himself on knowing the mind of a fugitive. A second contributing factor to his noteworthy skill was his ability to relate with people he questioned. His vast ability to handle practical street psychology was invaluable. His choice of questions, his listening patience, his kind concern, and his fatherly solicitude attracted confidence ...and outpourings of valuable information. However, as with all great skills from basketball to sculpture, what in the end separates the real masters from the masses is nerve: pure gutsiness, daring, bluff, "Damn the torpedoes" elan. Of these qualities the soul of Art Sargeant was constructed.

When he arrived at Bernard Station, the detective did not head on to Bollinger's as one might expect. His first stop was what good detectives consider their most apt starting point for any investigation: the local bar. An investment of less than one hour produced precisely what he was after: the names of localites who worked at Bollinger's. A resort of this size depends on local help for its dining room, housekeeping crew, and grounds and building maintenance. So it was that when Mildred Wentzel answered the knock on her trailer-home door, she was confronted with a friendly, smiling police officer holding his wallet-badge out in front of him for her inspection.

In electrically charged times like these, it's understandable --if not prudent --not to notice a finger covering the word "Atlanta" on the badge or the fine print noting the same city of the i.d. card. The badge and card were authentic, after all --they were designed to look that way. So the excited Mrs. Wentzel --she had only a short while ago finished her work shift as a waitress in the dining room of Bollinger's; and the jeering of the crusaders lining both sides of the road on the way out was still ringing in her ears -- the excited Mrs. Wentzel almost welcomed the opportunity to relate her adventure to someone, especially an "official" someone. But only with the understanding that the conversation would have to be held down because the kids were asleep in the next room.

Oh, yes: she enjoyed working at the resort. They paid well --lunch was furnished to staff without charge --the place was beautiful, and the Bollinger family was considerate to its employees (they furnished free health insurance to all the help, including the summer college group). The nudity? Yes, the help had to strip just like the rest ...and it bothered her at first, but the people --the Bollingers and the guests --were so nice and all... and a person gets used to being naked when everybody else is, too. Besides, it was fun after awhile.

"Mrs. Bollinger --" Mildred Wentzel said, "she liked everyone to call her by her first name; Rachel --she was just as friendly as could be. Mr. Bollinger, the young Mr. Bollinger: he was the manager. He was friendly, too. But he was more business-like. Rachel talked and laughed with everybody; sometimes she'd get in trouble with young Mr. Bollinger for that. She was a magician --did you know that? Really good. She could make coins and cards vanish and reappear from your ears or nose or anything. We heard she even pulled a quarter out of Dr. MacClean's penis. And she could juggle real good --balls, oranges, indian clubs, that kind of stuff."

"What do you think about this heroine business?"

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"That's scarey, isn't it? I mean disappearing and reappearing all over the world. She liked magic, but I never saw her do anything like that. But what doesn't surprise me is her getting into a fight with a rapist. She would do that sort of thing. She was nice, and she liked people. She was the kind who'd cry if you cried, and who'd go out of her way to help you if you were in trouble. The young Mr. Bollinger would bawl her out for that, too. 'You shouldn't get involved in other people's problems,' we'd hear him tell her when they were eating in the dining room. But it never stopped her. When my husband got killed in the accident a couple years ago, Rachel made sure I took as much time off as I needed --with pay. And she'd be here at the house a lot of times to help me clean up or to take care of the kids while I took care of the legal stuff like deeds and bank accounts. She gave me a lot of good advice about that." She thought for a moment. "Don't you think it's terrible the way all those people are threatening Rachel? How could they be so mean to such a nice person?"

"I don't know. People can get carried away in a mob." A beat. "This disappearing --and I'm not saying that your Rachel is the same one as in the stories; I don't think anybody knows that for sure --but just supposing it is true; and --like you said --you never saw her do any tricks like that before ...but supposing she could do that, where do you suppose she could learn to do such a trick?"

The dam burst. And out came all those stories she'd heard over the years as she served the tables at Bollinger's. Diners often forget that waitresses do have ears. They do know how to handle discretion; but they can hear. So the emotions of the day broke through good Mrs. Wentzel's wall of discretion; and out poured the tale of "Marianne's Week" and the magical Patrick, and the love-child Patricia --Patty, and Patty's return to learn her own magical heritage from the mouth of Patrick himself, who was to meet her last week, and, of course, the parallel long absences of the pretty seventeen year old and the nice Rachel Bollinger.

Eight thirty, Sunday night; outside the gates to Bollinger's resort.

"It warms my heart to see so many righteous Christian souls sacrificing time and effort from their busy lives to join in this glorious New Crusade. In these materialistic times it is all too easy to slide into the worldly ways of the Philistines. It takes hearts steeped in God's emboldening love to cast off the consuming pressures of a Godless society to stand shoulder to shoulder in the just war against the never resting agents of Satan. Make no mistake, friends, it is a war --indeed, it is a war; and the very souls of you and your children are at stake. This comes as no surprise to us; we have realized our enemy; we have seen his evil hands in the deteriorating morality of our world. We have seen sin multiply a hundred times over in our time. Who is there among us who hasn't said within the last year --nay, month --'It wasn't like this in the old days.' My friends, it wasn't. The old days knew evil; yes, they did, my friends. But never in the history of mankind has evil had such a thorough and everywhere hold on the souls of God's children. Immodesty, thievery, cheating, drugs, fornication tempt our youth and possess the weak. And this you know. This you know or you wouldn't be here joined in this great struggle. My friends, this is a time we have seen a-coming. We have raised our voices in warning; yes, we have. But have we been heard? We speak the Lord's mind; but have we been heard? There's cursing, smut, and atheism taught the school. There's impudence in the homes. There's gutter dirt in our entertainment. Children think they are adults. Men adulterize. Women strive to be men. Have we been heard? Has God's mind been heard? My friends, they most certainly have not. However, my friends, we've been preaching and we've been praying; because we know God's justice will soon be upon the Earth. And whom will he take into his golden acres? The thieves? the fornicators? the naked nymphs and dirty-eyed men and pedophiles inside the

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craven estate beyond those gates? No, my friends; no, and a thousand times no. He will take those who stood by his side against the Anti-Christ, against the evil agents of Satan, against the Beast --against the red-haired witch and her ilk. My friends, God will welcome you by his side, because you chose to stand with him against sin, against the escalating waves of evil across the face of the Earth. The weak, the ambitious, the selfish, the lustful have chosen their general; and we know who he is. And we have chosen our general; and -we -know -who -HE -is. And we know what the winning side will be, my friends. It has been written. God's side is the winning side, my friends; yes, it is. And we are on God's side, my friends. We are on the winning side.

"The battle? The battle, my friends, is not in a thousand years, as the weak sisters would say. The battle is now. NOW. Good Christians of the New Crusade, the battle is NOW. The battle is NOW and the battle is HERE. The battle against the Anti-Christ, the battle against the evil agents of Satan, the battle against the Beast; and the battle against the red-haired witch and her ilk is HERE and NOW. And we are ready. We are ready. We are ready. And we will WIN, my friends; we will WIN.

"My friends, you needn't look to Genesis to find the depravity of Sodom and Gomorrah. Sodom and Gomorrah lie two hundred yards beyond those gates. Yes, my friends, two hundred yards beyond those gates men, women ...and helpless little children gambol naked before their God. And worse: two hundred yards beyond those gates decadent old men ogle vulnerable little children, eager to get their dirty hands on innocent flesh. At this very moment ...as here in this forest upright crusaders pray to God Almighty ... beyond those gates perversion runs rampant. The heresy of sun worship has been demonstrated over and over to be a sweet-sounding excuse for carnal excess ...the worse form of Godlessness. Call it as it is, my friends: Bollinger's Resort is the paradise of fornicators. My friends, whatever else comes of our glorious crusade, BOLLINGER'S MUST GO. It is no wonder, my good Christian brethren, that Satan would find welcome sanctuary for his corrupt purposes in such abominable surroundings. And he has indeed found sanctuary there.

"Now, my friends, let us turn our attention to the evil one incarnate. There abides in that Sodom and Gomorrah beyond those gates one Rachel Bollinger. Oh, you've heard of her. Rachel Bollinger, the so-called Heroine of Atlanta; the so-called Angel of Ethiopia. Wrong, my friends; we know what to call her: the Harlot of Atlanta; the Sorceress of Ethiopia. The temptress clothes herself in acts of charity; but she belies her acts with naked wantonness. Before God himself portrayed at the creation and resurrection in the Sistine Chapel, the red-haired Jezebel exposed her unclean body. On pristine Mediterranean beaches she paraded her nudity before man. And she laughed through her evil magic when the civil authorities approached her in France and Rome and Hawaii. And Again through her evil magic she whisked herself from the protective custody of the Atlanta hospital. Magic, my friends? Nay: BLACK MAGIC, my friends. Black magic straight from the Devil. And there, my friends, two hundred yards beyond those gates the Jezebel Rachel Bollinger abides.

"But this you did not know, my friends. This came to my knowledge only this very evening. The red-haired witch does not abide in that lair of evil alone in her wickedness. Let me tell you, my friends. But steel yourselves for a shock. This I now know with absolute certainty: the evil lurking beyond those gates is four times what we thought it to be. My friends, the witch Rachel Bollinger is but one in a whole coven of evil abiding beyond those

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gates. Yes, I said COVEN. The word has come to me, my friends. There are four who rule together in a coven of iniquity beyond those gates; and I shall name them --yes, I will, my friends, I will name them now. As evil as the witch Rachel Bollinger, my friends, are one Marianne Flanery and her warlock lover Patrick, and possibly the most evil of all: their lust-child Patricia. It is this same Patricia Flanery, my friends, who taught the Jezebel Rachel her demonic tricks. But now they are exposed, my friends. They are exposed. The RACHEL, the PATRICK, the MARIANNE, the PATRICIA --our enemy ...nay, Christ's enemy ...has been named. The coven beyond those gates is Christ's true enemy as prophetized: the true, fearful Anti-Christ. My friends, the Anti-Christ has been named. But he shall not escape destruction ... destruction at the hands of the righteous, as prophetized ...destruction at the hands of we Christians of The New Crusade. Do you hear me, my friends? The Anti-Christ beyond those gates will suffer its destruction at the hands of we Christians of The New Crusade.

"And let me tell you, my friends, the battle has begun. We have a knight. That's right, a knight in the shining armor of Christian righteousness, who has strategically placed himself within the gates of the evil place. A good, just policeman, who volunteered his expertise, his strength, and his character to beard the lion in his den. He knows the evil ones. He has studied them. He has seen the red-haired witch in person. He offered her kindness. He offered her his hand in friendship ...only to be spurned by the hag. She was merely awaiting her chance to call upon her heinous sorcery to shrink into the night like a marauding wolf. But our knight knows her. And he knows them all. He has vowed to Christ above that he will return to us with at least one of the villainous crew of the Anti-Christ brigade --and more if they are there; yes, he will, my friends. He knows them indeed, my friends. And he knows their weakness --their Achilles heel. He knows well the means of neutralizing their evil sorcery. He will not be tricked by their sweet pretense of innocence. Even now, my friends, he is inside Bollinger's Resort on his holy mission. Our knight, my friends, will bring to our hands for us to see in all its depravity the Anti-Christ. And then, my friends, then we will demonstrate our righteous strength ...our invincible strength from Christ. We will show this Anti-Christ the power of our terrible, our righteous, our shining swift sword. And it will be a demonstration, my friends, that will put them all to rout and give Christ his victory. The Anti-Christ will soon be in our hands, my friends, and he will be put to rout by God's New Crusade.

"So now let us pray, my fellow Christians of The New Crusade, for the success of our brave knight --and the quick deliverance of the Anti-Christ to our hands."

Goodman Gillette: Evangelist for All; television crusader, football stadium crusader, aircraft carrier crusader, crusader of the cricket field, crusader of the soccer field, crusader of all nations, crusader of all religions, crusader of all continents --Goodman Gillette had joined The New Crusade. He knelt on one knee, with his head bowed before a silent mass of ten thousand people bowing their heads in answer to his lead --standing among the trees in a national forest in southern California. The Reverend Gillette was kneeling on a two foot high portable sectional stage, sixteen feet by sixteen feet. Beside him was one of six microphones with stands spaced evenly across the front of the stage, connected to a sophisticated amplifier control board at the side of the stage. It was a massive control board, painted with an array of hundreds and hundreds of small black dials knobs and switches. The control board was in turn

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connected via an electrician's nightmare of wires to tiers of tweeters and woofers. Spotlights were hung from various strategically located tree branches flooding the stage and nearby grounds with almost daytime-bright white light. These also were connected to the master control board. A gasoline generator droned crassly in the background. The stage, speakers, and lights were Goodman Gillette's contribution to The New Crusade.

Rev. Gellette's caravan pulled into The New Crusade's bivouac area in mid-afternoon. Two converted live-in buses, two semi-trailers, and over fifty cars and school buses filled with aides, paid employees, and volunteers -- Goodman's Army. Up to this point, the crusade amounted to thousands of religious, indignant Christians who set aside their normal lives to travel good distances and camp in some hardship in order to express their outrage at the brazen displays of The Witch of Bollinger's. They sincerely believed Rachel Bollinger was in her scandalous manner gathering a following designed to undercut the influence of religion in our society. Indeed, they looked upon her and her efforts as the Anti-Christ. However, for the most part, they were conducting a relatively peaceful, though loud, protest. They had their pickets and their condemning placards. They razzed cars entering the resort, even going so far as to hammer their fists against the windows. They sang their hymns --and their ubiquitous Onward Christian Soldiers. They had developed a noble camaraderie; spirits were high; there was a pervasive attitude of pride in standing up for a just cause; there was a pride in the spontaneous nature of their crusade; there was a pride in their positive, democratic approach. They were individuals, individual families, and individual congregations standing side by side with others sharing a just cause. Preachers popped up here and there reiterating their holy purposes, but were usually attended to by their own flocks and a few passers-by. Their raised voices blended in with the general din of automobile horns, clanking of forks on the sides of barbecue pits, hum of conversation, and practiced and un-practiced tones from mostly on-key choirs without their home organs.

However, the arrival of Goodman Gillette with his stage and microphones and spotlights brought focus to the encampment --and leadership --and unity --and organization --and structure. Before his buses and vans had even pulled in, assistants wove their ways through the crowd like modern day John the Baptists trumpeting the coming of Goodman Gillette. Once the stage was set up, the forest echoed the sounds of guitars and quartets and unhindered feed-back. The music was interspersed with lesser, but quite capable and moving evangelistic orators. The media was more than elated by the presence of this celebrity. Their reports would have focus now too. Through the entertainment and the speeches the assistants peppered themselves through the audience whipping up enthusiasm and timely responses to the speakers' dramatic points and cogent semi-rhetorical questions. Goodman Gillette's oration was the highlight of the evening. But it wasn't allowed to die at that point. More music and more minor ministers followed, with much repetition of phrases from their leader's text. "The battle is now" and "The battle is here" and "We will win. We will win" were the special favorites. However, an occasional "Burn the witch" and "Destroy the Anti-Christ." were also heard with increasing frequency before the stage was given a rest for the night. The stage was given a rest --and the microphones and the spotlights. But throughout the night the assistants milling through the camp never ceased their movement and encouraging words.

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It must be said: not everyone gathered before the stage was happy with the words they heard. From the beginning, there were those in the crowd who looked upon Goodman Gillette as an intrusion --a, well, commercial intrusion in their grass roots crusade. And now many had become uneasy, disturbed by the underlying tinge of violence they felt he was introducing into the proceedings. Later, as "Burn the Anti-Christ" seemed to have been accepted as the crowd's chant of choice, more than a few experienced their first doubts about The New Crusade. With the first hint of the eastern glow the next morning, the sound of several automobiles could be heard pulling away from the camp. This was probably to the advantage of the more radical elements; the only opposition left were those more uncomfortable with going against the grain than with their concern for right and wrong.

One must wonder at Goodman Gillette's thinking at this juncture. A misjudgement could brand him an uncontrollable militant and in the end destroy his ministry. It was a gamble. But Goodman Gillette did not gain his singular throne through timidity. As he read the situation, Rachel Bollinger had tipped the scale of sensitivity in the solid majority of our country's citizens, the very ones on whose stability the country depends upon for its real strength. To him, her brave acts weren't an issue --they merely served to bring to the attention of the American people the brazen existence of the cult of nudism, which reflected the problem of society's growing permissiveness. This was his issue. This was his gamble. And why gamble at all? In the first place, a man in his position can't afford to stand still. You have to be in the vanguard; you have to be seen. And ratings points affected television evangelists as well as any prime-time entertainer. As Gillette saw it, if he weren't here, another hustler would be. And if there was to be glory gained, it might as well be Goodman Gillette who gained it. Besides, there's something that happens to people who get in such positions of influence over people --and make no mistake, Goodman Gillette had influence. What happens to such people is they unconsciously transfer their persona --the role they play before the cameras --to their real selves. They actually believe they have the perfection of judgement necessary for deciding what in their world is right and what is wrong ...for everyone. They actually believe they are the seat of Truth. Yes, Goodman Gillette gambled, but down deep he really didn't look on it as a gamble. Down deep he really thought he was God's approved right hand.

It should be noted that as the golden-voiced celebrity was pronouncing his judgement upon the Anti-Christ coven "behind those gates," Marianne Flanery's and Art Sargeant's automobiles were passed through by the guard after checking his approved guest list.

At ten thirty the lights were shut off, and for the remainder of the night the encampment of The New Crusade was illuminated by irregular campfires, which sent long tree shadows dancing unrhythmic adagios against the sides of hundreds of RV's and tents. Goodman Gillette's generator was dormant, and the only sounds were from the crackling of campfires, a few hardy tree frogs, and the muffled conversations between the reverend's people and late-retiring crusaders. No automobiles tested the forest night.

On to Chapter 9

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