The twelfth and penultimate installment of the first draft of a novel written by our old friend Terra Cognita. Our Sunday Serial.
Terra welcomes all suggestions and feedback — this is draft — you can note them in the comments.
Chapter 67
I thought about calling Detective Gardner as I drove to the ER at Cottage Hospital. I thought about calling Dev. I considered calling my dad. I probably should have dialed 911. But I didn’t. I mostly listened to Roxy saying how sorry she was she had gotten me into all this. I told her not to worry.
A couple of hours later a young ER doctor set my broken-ass nose. The cure was more painful than the disease. Roxy wiped away the tears running down my cheeks as I lay on the examining table. Even though she didn’t have a license and had never driven a car, she drove us home that night. She never exceeded twenty-five miles per hour.
I’d never experienced a more miserable night. About all I could do was lie in my bed, on my back, staring up at the ceiling. My throbbing head felt like it was filled with concrete. I wished I could have fallen asleep. At least Roxy lay beside me and held my hand.
Around six the next morning, I stopped in the bathroom on the way to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. I hoped a few aspirin, a cup of hot liquid, and putting my head in a vertical position would ease the unpleasantness. And pain. And misery. I felt like shit. And didn’t look much better. The area between my eyes and the white tape crisscrossing my nose had turned black and blue. Lovely. At least I hadn’t seen any blood in my urine.
I was standing in front of the stove waiting for the water to boil when I felt a hand on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry to have gotten you involved in all this,” Roxy said.
“We’ve been over this,” I replied. “It isn’t your fault.”
“But I feel responsible.”
I turned around. “I’m as responsible as you are. In fact, this all started with me doing the Purif and Joan dying and…”
“But I’m the one who’s blown. I’m the one they’re after. If I’d gone back with them, none of this would have happened.”
I shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. They still might have tried to get me to go back to Int Base so as to control the situation.”
The kettle started to whistle and Roxy said, “Here, let me get that. You go sit down on the couch.”
Sounded good to me.
Chapter 68
Dev and Cindy showed up around ten. Since I couldn’t taste my cereal and was uncomfortable sitting or standing, I was happy for the distraction.
“Whoa!” Dev said, seeing my face. “What the fuck did you run into?”
“A Sea Org fist,” I replied nasally.
“Oh my god. What happened, dude?”
I turned to Roxy. “You tell em.”
She sat down next to me on the couch. When she was done with the story, Dev said, “So is that the end of it or are they gonna come back? Like with reinforcements?”
“Don’t know,” I answered.
“I’m sure we haven’t heard the last of this,” Roxy said.
“You think they’ll physically attack Rick?” Dev asked. “Like…again?”
“Probably not, but…” she shrugged.
“In the meantime, we should get started on our website. Get it up and running before they try anything else.”
“And you really think putting up a website will stop em?” I asked.
“It’ll publicize things. Let the world know what’s going on. We could post the picture of your fucked up face. If they know we’re documenting everything, they’ll be less likely to come after you.”
“You would think,” I said. “But considering it’s Scientology and the Sea Org were dealing with, they might do just the opposite.”
“Like attack you?”
“Exactly.”
“And by the way, you sound like shit, too.”
I turned to Roxy. “Babe, cancel the rest of my speaking engagements, would you?”
“I’m on it,” she replied.
Cindy pulled her laptop out of her pack and unfolded it on the kitchen table. “So we gonna do this guys?” The rest of us joined her at the table.
Setting up the site was ridiculously easy. The hardest part was agreeing on which colors and fonts to use. In the end, we revisited the big, established, anti-Scientology blogs and pretty much followed their examples.
“Now we just gotta fill this sucker up with content,” Cindy said a couple of hours later. “We should start with your story, Rick.”
“And your face,” Dev added.
I flipped him off. “I think we should start with Roxy’s.”
“We could post both at the same time,” Dev said. “Or…we could save ourselves a shit-load of time and simply see if that Marvin Brander guy would post your stories on his site.”
Cindy gestured at her screen. “After we just spent all this time creating this awesome site?”
“If we went with Brander, we wouldn’t have to maintain anything,” I said. “Just send him the stuff and let him deal with it.”
“What if he doesn’t want to post it?” Cindy said.
“Why wouldn’t he? This is hot shit. And if he doesn’t want to…” I pointed to our new homepage, “we can always go back to our Plan A.”
“What do you think, Roxy? You’ve been awfully quiet.”
She shrugged and glanced out the window. “Either way is fine with me.”
“But which would you rather do?”
“I don’t care. Really. Either way is good.”
“But…”
“I don’t care! Seriously! Just do whatever you guys want to do.”
“Whoa, what’s with you, girl?” Cindy asked.
“It’s just…this is all so new…like the reverse of everything of I’ve been doing my whole life. I was born and raised in Scientology where I was taught that the group was everything, that even considering doing what we’re proposing is the worst thing a person could ever do. Speaking out publically against the church is the ultimate high crime. Like only a real suppressive person would ever do such a thing. That kind of thinking has been programed into me since I could first walk and talk. So going in the opposite direction of everything I’ve ever known is kinda overwhelming. It’s kind of a break in my reality.”
“We don’t have to do this,” I said. “Seriously, we could just walk away and be done with everything.”
“I know,” Roxy said.
“Like we can shelf this whole thing and just go about our lives.”
“I know that. I was just telling you how I feel. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to follow through and post our stories.”
“So you do want to do this?”
“I just said I did.”
“Okay…then…”
“I’m thinking that posting everything that’s happened might even be therapeutic,” Roxy added. “Like communication is therapy. And that’s essentially what we’d be doing.”
“Except that by talking with a therapist,” Cindy said, “you’re only talking to one person. You post your story online, you’re talking to hundreds or thousands of people—all of whom have an opinion. And if it went viral, we could be talking millions. You okay with that?”
“It’s not like I have any real crimes to hide,” Roxy said. “And like I said, it’d probably be therapeutic.”
“So you’re saying we should do this thing?”
Roxy nodded. “I like Dev’s idea about submitting our stories to Marvin Brander’s blog. If we did that we wouldn’t have to worry about sifting through the comments and moderating everything.”
“And you’d get a shit-load of more viewers,” Dev said. “His site’s been up and running for years and has an established readership.”
While Roxy made me more tea, Cindy tinkered with our new website, and Dev killed the rest of my cereal, I considered asking local supervisor, Doug, if he wanted in on the action. Like maybe he had a story of his own he might have wanted to tell. He’d been working in the Org when Joan had died and had been witness to the whole cover-up. His point-of-view could have been fascinating. I grabbed my cell off the coffee table and texted him.
Chapter 69
Roxy and I were sitting in a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf when our two besties, Stan and Granderson, pulled in the lot and parked facing us. I was sipping overly-sweetened coffee; Roxy was drinking a chocolate Frappuccino piled high with whipped cream. From where we sat in the window, I could clearly see Stan’s black eye. No doubt he and Granderson could see the white medical tape crisscrossing my nose.
“Holy shit,” I said. “Check out who just pulled up. Twelve o’clock.”
Roxy looked up from my laptop. “Holy shit.”
“As long as we sit here, we’re safe.”
“You saying that once we leave, they might attack us?”
“Probably not in such a public place, but…” I shrugged. “Rusty’s parking lot was pretty public and look what happened last night.”
“If they try to block us getting into our car, we should come back inside and call the cops. Like not try to fight em.”
“Agreed. Getting hit in the nose again would not be pleasant. So for now, let’s just keep writing and see what happens.”
“What if they don’t leave?” Roxy asked.
“They had to have followed us here from the Little House. They were probably camped out up the street. For sure they’re not leaving.”
“Then what are they doing here? Just trying to intimidate us?”
“Maybe they want to talk to us again. Like they have something new to offer.”
“I’m sure their seniors told em to ‘finish the mission.’ Like get us to come back with them or face the consequences.”
“The consequences?”
“Being transferred to the RPF—the Rehabilitation Project Force—and having to clean dumpsters with toothbrushes for the next few years.”
“Lovely.”
Granderson stuck a long-lensed camera out the window and started snapping pictures. We lived in a free country; he could do whatever he wanted. I smiled and flipped him off.
“So we just sit here and keep writing?” Roxy said.
“Might as well.”
“What about Doug?”
I glanced at the clock in the corner of my screen. “He’s supposed to meet us here in fifteen minutes.”
“You know…just talking with us is considered a high crime,” Roxy said.
“Consorting with the enemy.”
“Associating with SPs.”
I texted Doug that Stan and Granderson filming everything from the parking lot and I’d understand if he wanted to postpone our meeting. He replied, “Screw them,” and showed up ten minutes later. He stared at my nose for a few seconds but didn’t ask me about it. The moment he sat down with Roxy and me, Granderson resumed shooting.
I pointed to them in the lot. “Those are them.”
“Wow. They’re not even trying to be subtle,” Doug said. “They don’t even care if we see em.”
“I think that’s the whole idea: try to intimidate us,” Roxy said. “At least try to intimidate Rick and me. They probably don’t know who you are.”
“Once they find out—which shouldn’t be long—your career inside Scientology is pretty much over,” I said.
“Unless you decide to get off all your overts and withholds and work your way up the conditions,” Roxy said. “Once they report that you’ve been talking with us, they’re gonna be all over your ass.”
“Like bees on bluebonnets,” Doug said.
“Huh?”
“It’s something my grandma used to say. But I don’t care. I can’t just stand back like nothing’s happened.”
I looked out the window and flipped off Granderson again. With both hands! Why not? Felt good.
I scrolled to the top of what I’d been writing and slid my laptop across to Doug. Five minutes later, he looked up and said, “This is heavy shit, dude.” He pulled a flash drive out of his pocket and asked if he could copy what I’d written. I told him I’d just email it to him.
“I’m having problems with my Internet provider,” he said. “Trust me, this will be a lot easier.”
I shrugged. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”
He stuck the drive in one of the USB ports and said, “This will only take a sec.” When he was done, he turned to Roxy and asked if he could repeat the operation with what she’d written. She said, “Sure.”
Sometime later, Granderson came in and ordered lunch from the counter. While he was waiting, he snapped off a series of close-ups of Roxy, Doug, and me writing at our table. I didn’t smile. Or offer to buy him a coffee.
Chapter 70
The following week was a busy one.
On Monday, Dad and I met with our lawyer, Connolly, in his office downtown. He told us the District Attorney was still gathering evidence and hadn’t pressed charges against me or anyone connected with the church—but that she could in the future. We’d just have to wait and see. That was the good news.
The bad news was, Bill Macias, Joan’s husband, had filed a lawsuit against the Church of Scientology for “wrongful death” and was asking for lots of money. Lots and lots of money.
I just heard this from a colleague. I haven’t seen the court documents. “You’ll assuredly be called as a witness, though,” Connolly said.
“For the defense or the prosecution?” Dad asked.
Connolly shrugged. “I don’t know, yet.”
“I won’t be part of the defense,” I said. “I’m not gonna speak for Scientology.”
Connolly smiled. “Either way, you’ll still have to testify.”
“Then I’ll just tell the truth—exactly like I’ve already written down for you. I’m not gonna lie for em.”
“You shouldn’t lie for either party.”
“Because that would be perjury.”
“And perjury is against the law.”
“Any sense of what might happen?” Dad asked.
“Given the track record of the defendant, this suit will take years and years, along with appeals and appeals. The Church of Scientology isn’t known for going down easily. They’ll fight this thing to the bitter end.”
“Which may take years and years,” I repeated.
“Unless something radical happens within the church hierarchy, this suit will take years and years. No doubt about it.”
“What does this mean for me?” I asked.
“I’m guessing your pockets aren’t very deep. Correct?” Connolly asked.
“No.”
“But mine are,” Dad said. “Not millions deep, but I own my own house and have a retirement account.”
“Once again, nothing’s been officially filed, yet, so we don’t know who’s named and who’s not.”
“I still haven’t talked with Mr. Macias,” I said. “I owe it to him. It’s the decent thing to do.”
“It may be the decent thing to do but it’s not the smart thing to do,” Connolly said. “Under any circumstances, you shouldn’t contact him.”
“But…”
Dad held up a hand. “I think you should do as Mr. Connolly suggests.”
I said, “I understand.” In my mind, I thought I should still go and talk to the guy. It was the decent thing to do.”
Chapter 71
On Tuesday morning, I squared things with my boss at Starbucks, who was sympathetic—and fascinated—by my abduction by the Church of Scientology. That afternoon, Roxy scored a job across the street at the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. While I was happy to get my old job back and begin making money again, Roxy was anxious and delirious. She’d never worked in the real world before and she’d never earned a real paycheck. Since we’d be starting school soon and were living together, we worked things out so our schedules overlapped.
Living together…
To my disappointment and unhappiness, Roxy insisted she sleep on the couch—while I slept in my bed in my bedroom. During waking hours, she resisted all my attempts at romance. “There’s just too much going on right now,” was her common refrain. I thought she was conflicted and would eventually come around and accept my advances. Hopefully, sooner than later.
On Wednesday Roxy started classes at SBCC. Not only hadn’t she studied anything except Scientology in years, she’d never taken a “real world” class in her life. Her parents had enrolled her at a Scientology-run school when she was a little kid, and later, when she’d come “of age,” she’d joined the Sea Org. She took her three classes, remedial English, American History, and Math 101, way more seriously than I took any of mine at UCSB, spending hours with head buried in her text books. Getting an education was her way out and she was determined to make up for lost time. If the Sea Org had taught her anything, it was a deep work ethic.
On Thursday afternoon, Roxy’s dad called her from Scientology’s cruise ship, the Freewinds, where Scientologists went to receive the very highest level of auditing. The ship plied waters of the southern Caribbean, mooring at one port or another so passengers could board and disembark.
Roxy crossed the lawn to the jacaranda tree in the back yard and handed me back my cell phone.
“How’d it go?” I asked.
She sat down in the beach chair next to me. “He wants me to come back. To the Sea Org.”
“No surprise there.”
“He gave me all the standard shit: greatest good for the greatest number of dynamics; we’re running out of time; the planet’s in dire straits; this is our first chance at going free in billions of years; yada, yada, yada.”
“Pretty much what your mom said, right?”
“Pretty much what any dedicated Sea Org member would tell me.”
“He…ah…” I paused and took a breath. “…say anything personal? Like about your relationship with each other? Like how he feels about you and that sort of thing?” I wondered if he’d told he loves her.
She gazed at a flock of noisy birds in the loquat tree on the other side of the yard before taking a deep breath of her own. “He mentioned the whole disconnection thing. Like if I don’t come back, he and my mom will have to disconnect from me.”
“You already knew that from talking with your mom.”
“And had already decided I wasn’t going back. No matter what. I’m done with Scientology. And the Sea Org. And with saving the planet—at least saving it per Scientology.”
The birds flitted from one branch to another. Didn’t know why. One seemed as good as the other to me.
“The thing is,” she said, “although I haven’t seen my parents in a while and have never had a traditional, much less close, relationship with them…they’re still my parents. Know what I mean?”
I nodded.
“There’s still this emotional connection,” she continued. “So even if we weren’t ever close, it’s still kinda fucked up…that I might never, ever see em again. Makes me feel kinda like I’ve been abandoned. Like I’m all alone. And there’s nobody out there I can fall back on.”
“You got me,” I said.
“I know. And I really, really appreciate all you’ve done.”
I reached over and squeezed her knee.
“The Sea Org was kinda like family where I never had to think about being on my own. Like earning money and thinking where my next meal was coming from. Or getting a degree and getting a job—like a career-type job. I never had to think about where my life was going. I just woke up in the morning and put on my uniform and did whatever my senior told me to do. But now…” She shook her head. “It’s kinda scary. Being on my own. With no safety net. Being totally responsible for my wellbeing.”
“I’m your safety net,” I said.
“I know. Thanks. But still…I can’t help feeling the way I do. Like I’m all alone. Like…” She shrugged.
“You look good, by the way,” I said.
On Monday, Cindy had taken Roxy shopping. The shirt and jeans she was wearing hugged her body and showed off her figure to good effect. Thanks Dad, for lending her the money.
Roxy smiled. “Thanks. Feels good wearing something other than black slacks and a white, button-down blouse.” She rose from her chair. “We should go study.”
On Friday, a reporter from The National Beat was waiting at the Little House when Roxy and I got home from work. I didn’t watch a lot of TV but had heard of the weekly show for years.
“Hi, I’m Fresno Thomas, from The National Beat,” she said extending her hand.
Fresno?
She looked as if she’d been cast right out of Hollywood: long, wavy, brown hair; perfect white teeth; flawless makeup; glossy magenta blouse; slim, form-fitting, beige skirt; black high heels.
The man standing behind her with the big camera resting on his should couldn’t have looked more different: stocky; scraggly hair and beard; jeans, white tee shirt; belly hanging over his belt. Fresno referred to him as Duane.
I wanted nothing to do with her but shook her hand anyway and said, “Rick Shade.”
Roxy extended hers. “Roxy Brand.”
Fresno tapped her cell phone. “Mind if I record this?”
“Depends on why you’re here,” I answered.
“Joan Macias.”
“Not surprising.”
“You were with her when she died. Correct?”
I had a question of my own. “How’d you find out about this?” I asked.
“Someone phoned in a tip,” she answered.
“Who?”
“Anonymous.”
Bullshit. “I’m not sure I should be talking with you.”
“Why would that be, Rick?”
“Because I heard her husband filed a lawsuit against the Church of Scientology and I don’t think I should be talking with anyone until it’s resolved.”
“Are you named in the suit?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’d just like to get your side of the story. Now’s your chance, Rick, to let people know what really happened.”
“I’m not sure if I care that people know what really happened.” Everyone that is, except Joan’s husband, Bill. Despite Connolly’s warning, I’d planned on seeing him. The sooner, the better. I heard the whir of the camera off to the side. Didn’t I have to sign a release form—or something like that—before they could film me?
“I totally understand your trepidation, Rick. Many people are wary of talking with the press. But talking with me actually works in your favor. This is your chance to tell what really happened. Once this goes to court, you may never get another chance. Don’t you think people should know what really happened?”
Fresno took a step closer. She smelled of flowers. I glanced at Roxy and asked, “What do you think?”
“I don’t think you should say anything until you talk to a lawyer,” she answered.
I turned to Fresno. “I tend to agree with Roxy.”
“We’d pay you, of course,” she said.
No amount of money would bring back Joan. Or erase the shame I felt in going along with moving her body. I asked, “How much?”
I didn’t think it was much but Roxy gasped when Fresno threw out a four figure amount..
“I’ll pass,” I said. “It just doesn’t seem right to talk to you.” At least before I’d talked with Bill Macias.
“Come on, Rick,” she persisted. “You’ll feel better if you let people know what really happened.”
“Still wouldn’t make it right.”
“Telling the truth is always right. And that’s what you’d be doing, right? Telling the truth.”
“Yes… Telling the truth is always right. Telling it to all of America on TV, though… not so sure.”
“The more people who know the truth, though, the better. If people don’t know what really happened, they’ll assume the worst. That’s what people do. It’s human nature. I know. I’ve been in this business a long time. It’s always better to let as many people as possible know the whole story—what really happened.”
Sounded plausible. “Let me think about it,” I said.
Fresno shook her head. “Believe me, Rick, you should let it all out right here and now. The more you hem and haw, the more people will make up their own version of what happened. And trust me, theses versions won’t be sympathetic to you. I’ve seen how the public deals with stories like this time and again.”
Roxy took my hand and began to pull me back toward the car. “Come on, Rick, we really gotta get going.”
“Give me your card, Ms. Thomas,” I said. “I’ll call you.”
“You leave now, Rick, you’re making a mistake,” she replied.
Just before I backed out of the driveway, she handed me her card through the window.
Chapter 72
Roxy and I were parked in Franchesci Park overlooking Santa Barbara. A breeze ruffled the eucalyptus leaves surrounding the lot. Except for a man talking on his cell phone five spaces away, we had the small park to ourselves.
“Before I do anything else,” I said, “I gotta see Bill Macias, Joan’s husband.”
“You think that’s wise?” Roxy asked. “Like don’t you think you might want to talk to your lawyer first?”
“He’ll just tell me again that I shouldn’t see him.”
“Maybe you should follow his advice.”
“It just feels wrong, though. I was there when his wife died. I stood by and did nothing while they moved the body. I didn’t even call him. I feel like a total fuckin coward. I gotta face the man. I have to. It’s just the right thing to do. If it ends up biting me in the ass later on…so be it.”
“I should go with you.”
“What? No. You weren’t there when Joan died.”
“But I knew about it. And did nothing. I could have called him just as easily as you could have.”
“But that’s different. You were in the SO and had no access to a phone and didn’t really know the whole story.”
“But I’m not in SO now and I do have access to a phone. I was complicit in the whole cover up. Don’t deny it. I was.”
I laughed. “Complicit?”
“It means…”
“I know what it means. It just sounded…”
“…like someone like me shouldn’t know such big multi-syllable words? In case you hadn’t been paying attention, Scientology is super big on clearing words. Like reading past a word you don’t know the definition of without looking it up in a good dictionary is a crime.”
“I knew that,” I responded.
“Then fuck you for assuming I was so stupid that I wouldn’t know the definition of the word ‘complicit’.”
“That’s not what I was assuming. I just…”
“Shut up, Rick.”
I shut up and gazed down at all the red tiled roofs covering the heart of downtown. Hundreds of west-facing windows glinted in the sun.
“So…we gonna do this?” Roxy asked. “Go talk with Bill Macias?”
I nodded.
“You know where he lives?”
I nodded again.
“Then let’s do this.”
I leaned in and turned the key in the ignition.
The Macias’—just Bill Macias, now—lived on the Mesa, an upper middle class neighborhood on a long hunk of highland separating western Santa Barbara from the ocean. I stopped in front of the house but didn’t get out.
Like most of the other yards on the block, he’d replaced his lawn with drought-tolerant landscaping. Agave cactuses, succulents, and native grasses surrounded two olive trees on either side of a flagstone walk leading to the front door. Sometime in the past, they’d added a second story over the garage of the Spanish-style house. A blue Lexus was parked in the driveway.
Roxy didn’t move. I didn’t move. We just sat there staring the front door.
Roxy swiveled in her seat. “We should just do this.”
“We should,” I replied.
Roxy didn’t move. I didn’t move. Occasionally, my gaze would move from the front door to what I assumed were the living room windows. Traffic was non-existent that deep in the residential jungle. I felt queasy and hungry and wanted to flee.
Roxy opened her door. “Let’s do this.”
I got out and followed Roxy to the front door. We stood there for a minute until she finally reached out and rang the doorbell. I heard movement from within the house. And then the front door opened and Bill Macias stood there facing us. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there looking at us. Waiting for us to say something. Because he knew who we were. Or at least he knew who I was. And I’d never felt more guilty and ashamed in my life.
“I’m Rich Shade,” I said.
“I know who you are,” he replied.
He didn’t tell me how he knew. Or invite us in. Or say anything else. He just stood there. Staring at me. Waiting for me to say something else. If I’d had a sword, I would have thrown myself on it.
Bill Macias wasn’t tall but he was large around the middle. If he’d ever belonged to a gym, his membership had lapsed years ago and what little hair he had left had turned white. He probably hadn’t been home long because he was still wearing a tie.
“I was with Joan when she died,” I finally said.
Without closing the door, he turned and walked into the house. I glanced at Roxy before following him into the living room, the large room on the left. Macias sat down in the middle of a couch facing the front windows before nodding at the couch on the other side of the coffee table. Roxy and I entered the room and sat down.
Beige carpeting covered the floor. Bookcases covered one wall. Landscape paintings covered the others. I felt like I was wearing sound-damping head phones. If he owned a TV, he didn’t watch it in the living room. If I’d had a barf-bag—like the kind found on airplanes—I would have kept it handy. I raised my eyes off the carpet and looked at Bill Macias and took a deep breath.
“I was sitting just outside the sauna when I heard Joan fall to the floor,” I said. I closed my eyes and tilted my head toward the ceiling. “At first…I didn’t know what had caused the sound. So I called out to her. And when I didn’t get a response, I called out again. And then I looked inside the window in the door. And I saw her lying on the floor. And…”
I recounted what happened up until the Sea Org guys loaded Joan into the van and drove away. Mostly, I kept my eyes closed while I replayed the story in my mind. I opened them when I’d finished and looked across the coffee table. Bill Macias’ wasn’t crying but his eyes were glossy and distant. A minute later, he ran his hands down his thighs and asked, “And then what?”
“I was driven down to Scientology headquarters in LA,” I said. “Which is where I met Roxy, here. Originally, she was assigned to watch over me but she’s no longer with the organization. In Scientology parlance, she’s blown.”
Macias glanced at Roxy and then back to me. “Why didn’t you see me sooner?”
Before I could answer, Roxy said, “Because he was told not to.”
“By whom?”
“By Scientology management.”
“Who specifically?”
“I don’t know for sure but the orders probably came from the very top.”
Macias turned back to me. “And you went along with this?”
“Yes,” I answered shamefully.
“You have to understand,” Roxy said, “not only was Rick under constant surveillance, he wasn’t given a access to a phone and Sea Org members repeatedly told him that if he talked to anyone it would go really bad for him. Like if he talked to you or went to the police not only would it be really bad for Scientology, it’d be really bad for him personally. After they moved Joan, they whisked away Rick to LA, and then to International Headquarters in Hemet. And like I said, he had someone with him the whole time.”
“Tell me the rest of the story,” Macias ordered.
I nodded and did.
After I was done, Macias leaned forward and asked, “Would you be willing to testify to this in court? The whole story? Including how you escaped over the fence, the fight in the donut shop and Sea Org members showing up at your home?”
“Yes. And everything Roxy and I have said is the truth. I swear to God. And I am so, so sorry. I know what I did was wrong. And I’ve never been more ashamed in my life. And I will definitely testify in court…even it means I have to go to jail. I’ll do anything you want me to do.”
Macias leaned back on the couch. I sat frozen on mine. Eventually, he leaned forward and stood up and walked out of the living room. Roxy and I rose and followed.
Macias stood next to the open front door. “Thank you for coming here and telling me what happened. I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”
Can comments be fixed on this site, or is it a permanent problem? We don’t get our 5 minutes anymore, and we also don’t know if our comment went through to be moderated, so we’re having more duplicate and confused comments. If it can’t be fixed, I think it was better than this before the 5 minute editing window was added. At least we could see what we posted.
WordPress updated their software and it seems to hav splayed havoc with various add-ons. The webmaster has been trying to fix the issues and reported everything back to normal. But apparently not so… what exactly is happening now compared to before?
“you do know that Doug is an OSA plant
Ooh, that irked me! They have no suspicions of his sudden deconversion just in time to participate in their project? They buy the excuse about the internet? Go to a library, dude. And worst of all, they hand over control of their computers to someone else? Why would they do that?
I don’t think the characters deserve what CoS does to them, no matter how stupid they are, but it did bring to mind this trope:
http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/TooDumbToLive
Idiot Ball is probably a better fit, but that’s what came to mind.
Cat W.: Good critique. Thanks.
Ooh, sorry. I didn’t intend it as a critique. This happens a lot in plots, where I get angry at the characters for being stupid. You know, I’m the type of person who yells at the screen. I don’t think it necessarily makes the characters less believable. I think in real life, they might be exactly that stupid. Perhaps even stupider sometimes. 🙂
I like people who yell at the screen. I like audience participation.
L. Ron Hubbard was getting a penny a word writing for the pulps when real authors like Ayn Rand and Robert A. Heinlein were being published by hardcover publishers. Think about that.
We’re not curious about The Church Of Scientology, we’re angry about their practices.
Great post, Terra!
And now, by popular demand, today’s installment of:
THE ADVENTURES OF BOB, MARY, AND SHAHEEN.
Bob and Mary have been summoned to the org and ordered to HCO to give information on the debacle at Saturday night’s IAS event involving a police vehicle, the front gate, the VM van, and the executive staff who are spinning their heels in jail, Shaheen among them.
They enter the office of the Dir I&R (Director of Inspections and Reports) who invites them to sit down.
Dir I&R: I called you here because of these KRs which were written on you by one of our staff members. This staff……..
Bob: You mean Shaheen, right?
Dir I&R: Bob, don’t cut my comm. Yes, it was Shaheen. In the first KR, she says that you, Mary, interrupted a comm cycle on the phone between her and Bob and that you told her to go fuck herself.
Mary: Well, she was pissing Bob off! She wouldn’t tell him whether or not the event she was calling about was a fundraiser!
Dir I&R : Mary, that’s the bank talking. And whether or not it was a fundraiser, you, as Scientologists, are expected to attend. And if it is a fundraiser, you are expected to contribute.
Bill: Phbbbbbbbbtttttttttt!
Dir I&R: Bill, stop being such a JDer. Which brings me to the next KR involving the IAS event on Saturday. Thanks to the both of you, all the money we raised for our Dear Leader’s birthday present now has to be used to buy a new front gate, buy a new VM van, and bail the executive staff as well as Shaheen out of jail.
Bill: Well, what’s that got to do with us?
Dir I&R: Who called the police Saturday night?
Bill: Well, I did. But it…….
Dir I&R: And therefore, it was you who’s responsible for all this.
Bob: First of all, don’t you cut MY comm! And second, you lied to us about the event not being a fundraiser! If we had known…….
Dir I&R: Like I said before, even if it were a fundraiser, you are still expected to attend and donate.
Bob: Dammit, stop cutting my comm! And the only reason that Shaheen and the executive staff are stewing in a jail cell is because they were holding us here against our will! If you want to bitch about your precious front gate and VM van, file a complaint with the police!
Dir I&R: We did, but they just laughed at us. That’s why you are being held responsible for replacing the funds earmarked for our Dear Leader’s new Cabin Cruiser.
Bob: If you think that we’re buying a new boat for David Miscavige, you’ve got another thought coming!(both Bob and Mary get up and exit the office).
Once in the parking lot:
Bob: Mary, what’s that banner say on that house across the street?
Mary: It says……INDEPENDENT SCIENTOLOGY.
Bob: Might be worth looking into.
JDer: Joker and Degrader-one who mocks or makes fun of Scientology.
Nice!
Good, Terra! Very good!
Can’t wait until the book comes out!
Caught and kept my attention throughout, Terra. Good going!
Thanks, Aqua.
Although I’ve listed some editing suggestions below, your future –and authentic — “best-seller” gets more interesting every week! I love it and I’m joyfully awaiting its publication!
Chapter 69: “Roxy and I were sitting in a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf when…” …– Tea Leaf — Cafe? Store? Shop? Diner? [also mentioned in Chapter 71]
“Being transferred to the RPF—the Works Project Force— Is it RPF? or WPF?
“I texted Doug that Stan and Granderson filming..” — were filming…
“…“Once they fine out—which… — find out…
“SBCC” and “USBC” — some readers might not know what these are
“…when she’d come “of age,” she’d joined…– when she came of age and when she joined…
. “… classes, remedial English….” –Capitalize the “R”-if it’s part of the cours’s name. l
“… with head buried in her text books…” — with her head buried in text books…
[Oops! Sorry, TC, but I’m not sure if I cited the correct chapter numbers.above and/or below.].
Chapter 71:
“The ship plied waters of the southern Caribbean, — Perhaps: “…plied the waters of the southern Caribbean Sea… or sailed along or sailed over…the Caribbean Sea [I’m making these suggestions only because I believe your book will be published in many lanuages and these words might be easier to translate. FYI: 100 years ago — I’m very old — I was 1 of 3 editors @ a northeastern book-publishing company whose now-deceased owner knew LRH & published the first book re LRH & Scientology’s scam — and I believe your book is worthy of being translated and published in a variety of languages!]
“,,,The National Beat…” Italicize names of magazines, newspapers, TV shows, etc. However, if my memory is correct, if they’re popular or well-known it’s not necessary to use italics for the word “The”
“…with the big camera resting on his should couldn’t…” — on his shoulder
Chapter 72:
“I shut up and gazed down at all the red tiled roofs…” — red-tiled
” …he wasn’t given a access to a phone… — delete the “a” before the word, “access”
Oh, my! I don’t want to be le[t in suspense fort 7 days before reading your next chapters!
Incidentally, after woking for the book publisher for 4 wonderful years, I moved to southeast FL to escape the seasonally cold weather And, in order to shorten a long, but true dramatic story — and to also (hopefully) keep you in suspense like you’re keeping me. LOLs — In 1986, 7 years after I moved to Florida, two uniform-wearing Scientology Gestapos came to my apartment because….. , [Okay, to add to the suspense, I’ll tell you that they had a valid reason. LOLs]
Perhaps one day, before my 100th birthday, I’ll write a book about why they did so. Fortunately for me, a week later I was hired by an M&O [Maintenance & Operations] contractor to work on a U.S. Navy Base in the Bahamas as their Senior Editor & Technical Writer. Eight years later, when new M&O contractosr bid on & won the contract, I told the HR Manager I had “cabin fever” & wanted to return to the USA so they transferred my position to their West Palm Beach offices where I worked there for 2 years. Since then, I’ve lived/worked in 2 differentl states and retired 14 years ago. I told you I was old! LOLs.
Keep on keeping on — I love your future best-seller!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Bg: Thanks again!
My pleasure! Thank you for writing it! Sad u draft ends next week, but extremely happy that the book is getting closer to its pubication, availability, sales & onto the Best-Seller’s List! [many smiles here]. I’d like to stay in touch with you during the process & am willing to assist you further should you have any questions re editing or publication , etc. if you’re willing to stay in touch, please tell Mike I give him my permission to give you my email address. Maybe I’ll even tell you about my 1-1/2 hears as a Scientologist and why the “Gestapos” came to my house to…! LOLs I’ll continue to send you and your loved ones many blessings, and energetic light beams for success and the most benevolent outcomes in all of your experiences. Take care, be well, and take the time tojoyfully live, love, laugh and play!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxo Bg
P.S. If you decide to stay in touch via email, please put “This is Terra Cotta” on the Subject Line of your 1st email. .
I’m sad to see this is coming to an end so quickly.
The news camera guy’s description has should instead of shoulder.
Yes. camera guys need shoulders.
When I saw “penultimate” I thought “If there is one and only one remaining chapter to read, I shall give major props to TC for being one of two people who know what that word means.” (I’m apparently the only other one.) Got my fingers crossed!!
Enjoying the read, and looking forward to the end. Hope the narrator grows up a little.
I know you’ll leave us hanging next week so we will all buy the book to see how it ends!
One teeny tiny comment: The names Brand and Brander are so similar. May want to choose a new last name for Roxy.
Miss Q: I hadn’t thought of the similarity. Thanks.
Rick and Roxy, you do know that Doug is an OSA plant or spy right and he’s taken a copy of what you’ve written and it will somehow be used against you? Good chapter Terra. It’s very scary. Like Handmaid’s Tale scary which is kind of ironic.
I thought the same thing. Doug didn’t ask about Rick’s busted up nose (because he already knew) and was having mysterious “internet issues”. Yeah, right. He just wanted to copy all their stuff.
He probably introduce some wart that would communicate back to Scn whenever they got on the net of sent email. Or at some point would introduce incriminating evidence onto their computers, or some other devious activity. Never let a former enemy or an unknown person insert a thumb drive into your computer, never. It cost the Iranians millions to repair their uranium facilities when a thumbdrive introduce an Israeli Suxnet virus into their equipment. At least the Israelis were thinking they were doing the right thing; too many viruses and such are introduced by people with nothing better to do than to try to cause problems for others, or work on some theme of “just helping them tighten up their security.”
Ammo Alamo: good advice. Gracias.
….and he probably installed a “Key Stroke Logger” malware on the laptop so OSA could keep track of any future action …..
I just don’t know about the first fight which led to broken nose. SO wants to keep good public image but security cameras could have captured whole scene in parking lot. Need to say no security camera unfortunately not at place. Only two other things. Just seems too much sex related at times, and he just seems to want to do everything police and lawyer’s say not too. I lose sympathy for him the more he does this stuff.
Thanks for your comment, David.
What a story! I find myself thinking it’s all true.
I had to look up penultimate which means next to last. Even if this was the last installment I think it would be a okay ending. Rick has come clean to Bill Marcias and Roxy is by his side.
Once again the story flows well and is well written. I noted two possible corrections. ” . . . Stan and Granderson (were) filming everything.” – add were. No mention is made of what they did after Granderson enters the shop. Maybe add something like they got their “documentation” and left.
Also, you again use SO “Es Oh” in written conversation when they would probably say “Sea Org”.
I’ll be sorry to see the novel end. Maybe you’re working on a sequel? Disembodied Joan may still be lurking around Rick waiting for Rick and Roxy to produce a baby for her to inhabit. (joke) Ghost stories are always fun.
Richard: Joan picking up Rick and Roxy’s newborn? Nice!
Joan could speed up the process by making a ghostly appearance in the Little House. Roxy would be off the couch and in bed with Rick in a flash.
There’s plenty of material in the cosmology of scn for a paranormal or supernatural novel if you keep writing. That would be a different novel with different characters or maybe a book of short stories like Stephen King sometimes writes. E-meter acts up, suddenly exterior, etc. I was thinking of a person who, on a chance in a million, becomes full OT and after getting kicked out of scn uses his or her OT powers to get sweet revenge.
Maybe that scn processing and auditing “stuff” frees the mind to creative thinking.
After looking at any number of real and/or imaginary past life incidents in auditing I have no problem with someone telling me they’ve seen a ghost. Add to that looking at Elron’s many speculations about the nature of existence as a basis of comparison to many other things such as Buddhism, Nondualism, Integral Theory and host of other speculations about the nature of the universe and existence the possibilities are (maybe) endless – haha
“We are one people – with one will – one resolve – one cause.” That might be a Scientologist’s or other fundamentalist’s dream but to me it sounds like “The Borg”. End of “itsa” (it is a . . .)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=axSnW-ygU5g
I can’t resist making one more off topic comment. So the story goes, right after the Buddha attained enlightenment under the Bodhi Tree he saw a farmer passing by. He approached the farmer and told him, “I have just attained Enlightenment.” The farmer replied, “That may very well be, sir, but I have work to do.” and continued on his way.
Also, when the acolytes went out to spread the word the Buddha told them, “Some will listen. Some will come.”
I keep imagining myself in Rick’s shoes, and I just can’t understand why he did not call the police every time he was confronted by the goons from Scientology. That would documented all of that crap.
I have an explanation for that starting right from the beginning of the novel. A) Rick is too trusting, b) Rick is too gullible, c) Rick is not the sharpest tool in the shed, d) all of the above. Add to that Scientology and some Scientologists can be very persistent and sneaky.
Well, hey, I’m not the sharpest knife in the chandelier. In fact if I was any more stupid…you’d have to water me twice a week.
***Hides watering can behind back***
Hi OSD. You doing okay today?
OSD, don’t invalidate yourself this way. When it comes to mixing metaphors, your expertise is unparalleled. Nobody does it better 🙂
Mike, Hi, I am Jorge Avila (Sr.). I was also in the SO. I left I think by 1990 or so… My wife divorced me when I left and she is still in INT. My older son blew from Int some years ago and my younger son was also in the SO but now he is still Scientologist in good standing in the LA area. .
OK, I would like to tell you about my exwife’s family “crimes”.
Her name is Yolanda Avila. Maybe you met her. She was the CO of the Cadets Org when it was in LA (it was in the Manor Hotel grounds, remember?). Yolanda is a perfect SO member, she always was in HCO and loves INT.
Now I remarried and I have two sons, and I am very happy. I had been watching the HBO series about Scn. Aftermath, which I love it.
Anyway, I don’t know if my data is important or not, maybe not, but if you are interested, let me know.
Thank you, Jorge
Hi Jorge. Yes, I know Yolanda. I will email you so you can email me back. Mike
Jorge, I’m glad you used your Super Powers (walking away from the cult). It’s got to be wonderful for you and your family. I hope the BEST day of your past…is the worst day of your future. You deserve it.
Hi Jorge. I knew you and your wife at IFA H. Glad you also opened your eyes and doing well!
Hi Jorge,
Was Yolanda in charge of the cadet org at CC at the time one of the staff was killed in the parking lot there? Maybe she worked to hide details so as to protect the church? Did she discuss the event with you at all?
Glenn
Glen can you tell us what happened, the details of the staff who was killed in the CC parking lot?
The guy was working on his car during lunch break in the daycare parking lot. The jack failed and the car crushed him to death. Police investigated and finally ruled it an accident but if I recall correctly not until some bad press came out.
Thanks for the info. Wow, so sad. Sounds like the church tried to cover it up.
And what am I supposed to do on Sundays after next week? 😀
Well… you can hang with me at the beach.
That took guts. VVWD. Jim