The Answer To Everything Part 10

I'm not the captain of the universe's most advanced s.p.a.cecraft, but I play one on TV.

Xavier Raine Maddox @RaineMaddox Great to be tweeting again! Thanks for all your support and good wishes. It truly means the world!

19 Dec Xavier Raine Maddox @RaineMaddox The sun is s.h.i.+ning & I get to see it! Feeling tired but happy & met the most phenomenal human this morning. #EveryDayIsAGift 20 Dec Xavier Raine Maddox @RaineMaddox "Our wounds are where the light gets in." Wise words from my new Canadian friend. More here: #FF @answerinst.i.tute 23 Dec Xavier Raine Maddox @RaineMaddox "It's the injured oyster that produces the pearl." Eldrich = Genius. #FF @answerinst.i.tute 23 Dec

Amy

And then came Raine. Xavier Raine Maddox, who at the time didn't mean much to me but seemed to mean a lot to the sci-fi geeks who watched his show: Deep Sky. He had done a detective series-one of those police procedural franchises-a few years before that, and I remember thinking he was hunky whenever I surfed by, but I never watched an episode. And I never thought of him as a giant celebrity. I mean, I would have recognized him as a TV actor if you showed me his picture, but until he got involved in the Inst.i.tute, I couldn't have told you his name. Imagine our surprise when we suddenly got thousands of followers on Twitter when he #FF-ed us after connecting with Eldrich in the hospital.

Sorry, let me back up here. What happened was, a couple weeks after his operation (after everyone a.s.sumed he was on the mend), Phil came down with a serious infection. Sepsis. Full on. Eldrich flew to New York to be by his side. It was pretty touch and go for a few days there. The docs had to devise some crazy c.o.c.ktail of antibiotics to save his life. But it kicked in eventually, thank goodness, and Phil (who lost twenty-two pounds in the ordeal) slowly came around. That's when Eldrich met Xavier Raine Maddox-in the halls of the hospital. He was there having surgery to remove some precancerous cysts from his pancreas and, over the course of a few days, forged a friends.h.i.+p with Eldrich. I guess Eldrich talked him through a pretty intense time. When I first met Raine, he told me that Eldrich had been sent to him by fate to help him turn his life around so he could start to "live brightly."

Eldrich stayed in New York over the holidays and was a guest at Raine's home a few times. It made me laugh to picture grubby, flannel-s.h.i.+rted Eldrich hanging out in Xavier Raine Maddox's sw.a.n.ky Manhattan brownstone. He was even invited there for Christmas dinner, but Eldrich chose to stay at the hospital with Phil. Raine sent a catered Christmas feast to the room and the nurses' station. Phil sat up that night and even tried a sip of eggnog, and apparently it was a very festive evening and kind of the turning point in his recovery. Pretty cool.

In mid-January, Phil and Eldrich finally returned home. And a few days later, Raine came to visit and attended several meetings, much to the delight of the congregants, who were understandably jazzed to have the rakish captain of Deep Sky in their midst-Drew was especially wound-up, following Raine around like an excited schoolgirl, blus.h.i.+ng whenever he spoke to him.

So, as it turned out, all of John's angst and anger over me incorporating the Inst.i.tute was for nothing. In fact, John was grateful I had taken the initiative, since we were about to start generating significant revenues-thanks to Raine's involvement/endors.e.m.e.nt-and it was vital to have the business in place to deal with that efficiently.

Of course, that's when John really put the pressure on me to quit school. He wanted to be in the bubble, working on his sculpture, but he also wanted to take advantage of the opportunity that was presenting itself, i.e., he wanted to capitalize on the exponentially escalating popularity of the Answer Inst.i.tute. Or wanted me to. Since Phil wasn't entirely sold on having his home perpetually overrun with Seekers-that's the word Eldrich and John seemed to settle on for congregants-it was decided that we would start a building fund with the aim of purchasing a headquarters for the Inst.i.tute. To that end, John concocted various merchandising schemes: podcasts, DVDs, special seminars, photographs of Eldrich, etc., and he begged me to leave school to help him get everything going. He was very persistent and persuasive. He pleaded, sweet-talked and bribed-he said if I left immediately, I could name my starting salary and give myself a retroactive Christmas bonus. When that didn't work, he took a different tack, basically trying to guilt me into it. He was unbelievably unrelenting, and in the end I caved and withdrew from my course. Not because of the salary and bonus. Not at all. I didn't give a s.h.i.+t about the money, even though I was substantially out of pocket after withdrawing from a course I had already paid for. No, I felt a responsibility to the Inst.i.tute and to Seekers. John made me feel that it would be a betrayal to head back to school and dump the whole thing in his lap.

I guess it was a combination of feeling accountable and also feeling that something genuinely worthy was happening at 81 Elderbrook. Phil was beginning to heal and feeling happy; Heather, who had been basically catatonic, was starting to show signs of life again-she had totally bonded with Catelyn's daughter, Staci, and was taking care of her while Catelyn was out looking for work or attending her CAMH meetings; Raine was visiting regularly and attracting some pretty interesting people to the cause; Eldrich had started to write his tracts ... There was just an upbeat vibe all around-a feeling of community. An effervescence. It was kind of exhilarating to be a part of it. And because I had been there since the beginning, I didn't feel entirely comfortable abandoning it to pursue my own selfish interests/career. John made me feel like a traitor for even contemplating it, so I decided to sacrifice for the greater good.

Would I have left school to work full time at the Inst.i.tute if John hadn't pushed and guilted me into it? No. Definitely not. I would have finished out my year and then maybe taken a hiatus. But John Aarons could be a very persuasive and extremely convincing person, believe me.

John

Phil survived, and Amy's dreams of no-money-down mansion owners.h.i.+p were dashed. But she was pleased with the souvenir he brought home with him from NYC. A bauble called Xavier Raine Maddox. Never heard of him? Yeah, me neither until he arrived at 81 Elderbrook and the legions started drooling. Dude had been the star of some crud TV show called Deep Sky, some Joss Whedon-y sci-fi thing that made the fan boys erect for a few years. I had never seen it. And neither had Amy, but apparently any C-list celeb-even a short, balding, thick-thighed forty-six-year-old-was enough to send her into a jean-moistening tizzy. As soon as Raine came on the scene (and yes, Raine was his real name, actually bestowed at birth, which should give you an indication of his flaky upbringing), she decided to devote all of her being to the Inst.i.tute. Her chief aim was to bask in Xavier Raine Maddox's celebrity glow (no matter how faint). Her secondary mission was to monetize his connection to the max. Our little psych major started to sound and behave a lot like an MBA. And I admit, buddy boy did attract a bevy of Seekers to our doorstep-so many that we had to consider relocating, which did require a certain amount of planning and administration. Being stupidly rich affords you loads of leeway, but even Phil had to think about his neighbours, who might start to wonder why hundreds would show up to his abode at the same time every Sat.u.r.day and Sunday, clogging the previously pristine curbs with automobiles dusty, dented and not manufactured in Germany.

I have to guffaw, though, every time I hear Amy's claim that I coerced her into leaving school to run the Inst.i.tute. What rubbish. A total fiction. I'd never seen anyone embrace an enterprise with such zeal. She was a regular Ron Popeil-dreaming up products to hawk through the website. What's more, I invite all interested parties to please go to York University and ask to eyeball the marks Amy scored on her first semester term papers and exams. All sad Cs and dismal Ds. She was failing the year. She knew it. Her profs knew it. And anyone who cares to check the records will know it.

Amy throwing herself headfirst into the Inst.i.tute had nothing to do with my powers of persuasion and everything to do with academic deficiency and a l.u.s.t for luminaries and lucre.

Eldrich

Steve was sent. Then Raine. He brought followers, of course, many Seekers, but he was not just G.o.d's magnet or amplifier. No. He himself was a messenger who carried first-hand knowledge of a spirit plant, a sacred botanical from the jungles of Peru. Not a mushroom. A vine. It was this G.o.dly vine, Banisteriopsis caapi, brewed by shamans into a blessed beverage, ayahuasca, that told Raine there would be cancer coming. Worms swirled around the place where the disease would sprout and grow. Fluorescent-green worms with multiple heads and mouths. The worms told him there would be disease. When he left Peru, he knew he had to act. He told his doctor about the worms, but his doctor didn't believe him. He said that Raine was the healthiest patient in his practice. Raine pushed. The doctor ordered blood tests and urine tests. The blood tests and urine tests came back normal. Raine pushed again, but the doctor sent him away. Luckily, Raine trusted his G.o.d-/plant-given vision and not the opinion of one well-intentioned but limited man. He went to a clinic and paid for a CT scan. And the scan revealed the Truth. Raine had precancerous tumours on his pancreas-tumours that would have devoured his life force had he not acted.

Ayahuasca gave him eyes to see. The spirit medicine saved his life.

Raine promised to take us to an ayahuasca ceremony. Or, if Phil was too weak to travel to the jungles of South America, to bring the ceremony to us.

Amy

It got really busy, really fast. There was a growing demand for Eldrich and anything to do with Eldrich. On top of that, we had all the rabid Xavier Raine Maddox fans, who thought they might get close to him at 81 Elderbrook. Seekers, geeks and celebrity hounds were descending on Phil's place, and not just at scheduled meeting times. It was tough for Phil, who was still very weak and convalescing. John and I had to move up there full time to act as gatekeepers and try to keep things under control.

Seekers who couldn't get to Toronto were emailing and posting on the website, and sending in donations. John had revamped the site with the help of Wayne, who aside from being a UFO freak turned out to be a wizard at coding. They set up a PayPal account and changed the splash page so it would show the donations to the building fund growing incrementally. We didn't reveal how much money was being raised, just how close we were getting to achieving our goal, which was secretly, and absurdly-at least I thought so at first-two million dollars. For each ten thousand raised, another virtual brick was added to a cute little animated building in the corner of the page. The first ten bricks came surprisingly fast. Then Phil donated seventy-five thousand and Raine kicked in twenty-five thousand-ten more bricks. And then Raine started tweeting to his followers, exhorting them to donate "a dollar for each beautiful year they had been granted on earth." Soon we had seventy-six bricks, which was pretty shocking if you think about it. And that was just the donations. We were also selling merchandise. Our Seekers Perry and Moina volunteered to film and edit the meetings for us, which they intercut with footage of Eldrich speaking on different topics or answering interview questions. We burned those on DVDs and sold them for twelve dollars each, or nine dollars for a download. We sold eight-by-ten glossy photographs of Eldrich for five bucks a pop. Audio podcasts were ninety-nine cents. To be honest, we were making a ton of money. I mean, the Inst.i.tute was.

Elderbrook was pretty full at that point. Phil was back in the master bedroom. Eldrich and Mushroom Steve shared the one next to Phil's. Catelyn and her daughter, Staci, were in the third. The fourth was supposed to be kept empty, reserved for Raine's visits, but Heather crashed in there a lot. Drew had moved into the pool house with Mindy and Alexa, who had taken him under their wings. Tyson was in the bas.e.m.e.nt. And John and I were on his air mattress in the tennis bubble. Since Drew was living on-site anyway and super-eager to help out, we hired him as an a.s.sistant. He made trips to Costco or Walmart so that we always had provisions-food, bottled water, paper products, bathroom items, cleaning supplies, etc. He was also responsible for making weekly runs to our apartments to water the plants and pick up mail. We gave Tyson a stipend to act as bouncer and scare off star-struck interlopers who were just trying to get to Raine, and he also kept the bas.e.m.e.nt auditorium clean and organized. Heather was given a modest salary to prepare refreshments for the meetings, a task she seemed to enjoy and performed well. Between that and babysitting Catelyn's daughter on weekdays, Heather was really starting to improve. You could tell she was taking better care of herself-the greasy, unkempt hair started to look washed and combed, and then sometimes even styled. Little bits of colour began to appear in her all-black-all-the-time attire. It was good for Staci too. Prior to Heather, she'd basically been stuck in front of a TV all day with her chain-smoking granny while Catelyn was out looking for work or on a bender. Now Heather was playing with her the entire time, showing her how to do all kinds of things: cook, bake, read, knit-Heather was making herself and Staci matching green sweaters with wool from Anne-Marie's yarn shop. It was lovely to witness. They were like two inert elements that when mixed together made light.

You could see how things might have progressed in a relatively normal and successful fas.h.i.+on. We would have eventually raised sufficient funds to relocate to a permanent headquarters. Eldrich's teachings would have continued to spread, attracting more people to meetings (which now had an admission price: a twenty-dollar donation). In a perfect world, we could have been giving ourselves good salaries and helping people at the same time. But the world isn't perfect. Far from it.

I don't know if it was the drugs or the adulation or a combination of the two, but Eldrich started to change. He got stranger. Much stranger than his normal strange, which was pretty strange to begin with. He became obsessed with what he called the power of the "Alternaverse"-which was this new reality that we were supposed to embrace by doing things in a contrary or opposite fas.h.i.+on to the way in which they're normally done. It was a kind of a "free yourself by doing the unexpected" manifesto. Shout when you're supposed to be silent. Laugh at inappropriate moments. Get on a subway and sit right beside the only person on the car. Skip down the grocery-store aisle. Sing in elevators. That sort of thing. Eldrich said that G.o.d has a well-developed sense of humour, and that G.o.d is bored with our human habits and we need to be more amusing. He said we had to shake things up, to jolt ourselves out of our mind-and-soul-numbing routines.

This, of course, led to a lot of unpredictable and bizarre behaviour from both Eldrich and Seekers who were eager to demonstrate their acceptance and devotion. At times it was like living in some kind of loopy Monty Python sketch. You'd go into the kitchen and say good morning to someone, and they'd bark at you and do a somersault. Or you'd pour yourself a gla.s.s of juice and someone would grab it and dump it over their own head. Seriously.

You'd find people sleeping under the beds or on top of the piano. And all of Phil's stuff got moved around. Eldrich had Drew, Tyson and Wayne move everything into nonsensical arrangements-furnis.h.i.+ngs all pushed up in the middle of a room, lamps Krazy Glued to the ceilings. Expensive Persian rugs nailed to the walls. A madhouse.

And then, in addition to the whole Alternaverse thing, Eldrich became fixated on the number nine. Nine was this holy number and suddenly everything had to be done nine times or divided into nine pieces or have some relations.h.i.+p to nine. I didn't believe in the nine thing at all, but adherence to the concept was annoyingly contagious. I'd find myself stirring my coffee or twirling my spaghetti nine times, or jogging extra minutes on the treadmill so the digits would add up to nine. It was irritating.

Also irritating-and worrisome-was Eldrich's plan to start a magic mushroom farm in Phil's bas.e.m.e.nt. Psilocybin is a Schedule III banned substance. I know because I took the time to Google it. I learned that if some disgruntled Seeker decided to rat us out, we'd be looking at a ten-year max prison sentence for "production." I warned Eldrich about it, but he didn't listen. And Phil wouldn't listen either. He trusted Eldrich, who insisted that mushrooms were part of the Inst.i.tute's holy sacrament, and that if push came to shove, religious freedom would prevail over misguided, archaic drug laws. Yeah right. Tell it to the judges who had to enforce mandatory minimum sentences for drug offences. Did it matter that Mushroom Steve was inept and never managed to grow anything useful (his "crop" kept coming up mouldy and toxic)? No, it didn't. Because Steve never bothered to get rid of his equipment when he gave up his grow op. Did I ask him to carefully dispose of everything? Yes, of course. Did he tell me that he had done it? Oh yes, he a.s.sured me that he had. But what knuckle-nuts had actually done was stash three dozen Mason jars full of psilocybin spores behind Phil's furnace, which is where the police easily found them on the night of the raid. So f.u.c.k you very much, Steve, you idiot. As if my life wasn't difficult enough right now.

Anyway, back to Eldrich. It was around that time-Alternaverse, nine obsession, mushroom farm-that the touch therapy and the nonverbal thing started up, and soon after that all the s.e.xual stuff.

Eldrich

1 9 = 9.

2 9 = 18: 1 + 8 = 9.

3 9 = 27: 2 + 7 = 9.

4 9 = 36: 3 + 6 = 9.

5 9 = 45: 4 + 5 = 9.

6 9 = 54: 5 + 4 = 9.

7 9 = 63: 6 + 3 = 9.

8 9 = 72: 7 + 2 = 9.

9 9 = 81: 8 + 1 = 9.

10 9 = 90: 9 + 0 = 9.

11 9 = 99: 9 + 9 = 18: 1 + 8 = 9.

12 9 = 108: 1 + 0 + 8 = 9.

13 9 = 117: 1 + 1 + 7 = 9.

Nine is Magic. The root of many mysteries. Our guiding numeral.

81 Elderbrook Avenue. 8 + 1 = 9. Phil's age when we met: 54. 5 + 4 = 9. Raine's age when we met: 45. 4 + 5 = 9.

John

If I'm going to be entirely honest, it was one of the best summers of my life. Weird as h.e.l.l, but f.u.c.king fun. I'll never have another like it. So oddball. So vivid. A typical day: I awake in a giant white bubble with an orange-haired beauty. We f.u.c.k. Or we don't. Then off she trots to manage the Inst.i.tute, while I drift back to sleep or lounge long. Maybe a little radio or a hit off a spliff before I amble through gardens lovely and fragrant to the big house for coffee.

Along the way, I encounter several congregants practising what I a.s.sume to be Eldrich's prescribed "Alternaverse" behaviours, i.e., free yourself/get closer to G.o.d by acting like a deranged lunatic. I overtake sixty-something Moina, crab-walking backwards across the lawn-her b.r.e.a.s.t.s hanging over her sides like eggs sliding off a plate. I pa.s.s a Speedo-sporting teen, tenderly caressing the barbecue, murmuring to it in Sinhalese, and out of the corner of my eye I spy Mindy, urinating in a flower bed while singing "Return to Pooh Corner" in a British-y accent.

Just another morning at 81 Elderbrook.

Dodging crazies in the kitchen, I make myself a cappuccino or a creamy, sweet latte, which I enjoy on the deck, usually with some fresh fruit or Greek yogurt crowned with Heather's superb homemade granola (it has toasted sesame seeds and candied ginger). I hold the Globe and Mail high to keep Seekers at bay until I'm ready for contact (always post-caffeine).

After brekkie, I check in with the boss lady. I find Amy and minions processing and packaging up website sale items, preparing for Drew's daily drive to the post office. Oddly, the factory-like efficiency of this endeavour perturbs me more than any Alternaverse freakiness-all those eight-by-ten glossies of Eldrich, looking dreamy and wise, spread out across the floor, ready to be slipped into envelopes and mailed to maniacs across North America. I sign anything that needs to be signed, and maybe monitor some site stats (inevitably surprising; we grow stupidly rich) before skedaddling. Then a quick howdy to Eldrich, who's composing his daily tweet, or leading the flock through some quiet yoga or tai chi, or, if Phil's awake (unlikely at this point, since he sleeps sixteen hours a night while his body repairs), a drumming circle or an interpretive dance, or one of his Alternaverse exercises, like playing Satie on Phil's baby grand with his nose. I wave bye-bye and head for a jog through the 'hood or a ride through Wilket Creek Park. Phil, of course, has a fine collection of bicycles, most of which have been custom designed and are therefore too small for me. But there's one, a Jernimo Sltter Ti XCross, all t.i.tanium and amber leather, that must have belonged to his hubby and is just big enough. Comfortable and stylin'. After a hot, sweaty, endorphin-inducing workout, I strip down and plunge into the cool of the pool. Bliss. Then I sun-dry like a lizard on a rock, or merely towel off, before striding to the big house for lunch.

My mid-afternoon repast usually consists of a variety of cold salads, a sandwich and a bar of chocolate. After which I return to my bubble with the familiar, delicious throb that is the desire to work. I throw the iPod on shuffle and make MAMA for as long as I like, generally unmolested, unless Amy tries to persuade me to attend a meeting, or Eldrich tries to drag me along on one of his ruminating rambles through the Wilket woods. Then, when I'm fatigued or no longer feeling it, I go in search of my patron.

I make it a point every day to have a tte-a-tte with Phil. It's important that he knows who his real friends are. And frankly, I enjoy it. I mix myself a c.o.c.ktail and blend him a daily healthful smoothie made with apple chunks, an entire Meyer lemon, blueberries, red grapefruit, probiotic yogurt, turmeric, flaxseed and pomegranate juice. Then we sit and sip our respective beverages in the garden or, if he's too tired to move around, in his bed. Sometimes we watch Storage Wars. We just adore Storage Wars. I love Barry, and Phil loves Jarrod and Brandi.

After our confab, I go and answer site correspondence on my s.h.i.+ny new iPad (thanks, Inst.i.tute), a tiresome task, but Amy insists that I pull at least a percentage of my weight. She eventually finds me and we discuss our respective days (at 81 Elderbrook, there's always something amusing to share) and debate our dining options-i.e., should we chow down with the clan or hightail it to a restaurant near or far. At that time of the day, there's usually some communal barbecue action going on-Mushroom Steve is a surprisingly good cook-and it's easy to saunter over and pluck a burger, sausage or cob of corn off the grill, which is what we do almost every evening. There's really no reason to leave. After dinner and some conversing with the congregants, we go over any business matters that need to be tended to on the morrow-payroll, supplies, accounts receivable, etc. Not that I understand or give a rat's nut sack about any of it, I just want my gal-pal to think I'm keeping tabs on the till. When that's done, we kick back and watch some TV or a flick in the bas.e.m.e.nt theatre, or go for a swim or a hot tub, or retire to the bubble to smoke pot and fool around or just read and surf the Net.

Pretty f.u.c.king sweet. Talk about an Alternaverse.

If only it could have lasted ...

Of course, the living wasn't all easy all summer. If Raine happened to descend, which was more and more often as the season wound down, Amy instantly became satellite, faithfully orbiting the dwarf star. She'd claim she was merely tending to a "high-profile donor" (and I was being "possessive and weird" if I questioned her about it), but her attentions seemed to extend beyond playing the good host. A good host, for example, doesn't have to suddenly go for pedicures or purchase an eyelash curler and spend an extra half-hour getting ready every morning. A good host can smile and nod politely, and doesn't need to bray like a c.o.ked-up donkey every time a high-profile donor makes a heroic but ultimately unsuccessful attempt at a witticism. No. It was obvious to me that Amy was in a bit of a Maddox tizzy. And she wasn't the only one. Eldrich, who I had pegged as as.e.xual, or possibly gay and closeted, sprang fully, s.e.xually to life as soon as Raine showed up with his daughter, Coco, in tow. Lovely Coco, with her soft blond curls, snub nose and wide blue eyes. Curvy Coco with her t.i.tties up high and her Bubblicious behind. Fourteen-year-old Coco with her adorable shaved p.u.s.s.y-I know because of the scanty crocheted bikini she favoured. The girl gave every straight man at Elderbrook a relentless hard-on (I'll probably be jerking off to her twenty years from now), but most of them knew not to mess with our star-congregant's wittle baby-doll.

Most of them, but much to my astonishment (and amus.e.m.e.nt), not all of them.

Nope.

Amy

The meetings changed. For the longest time they followed the same format. Eldrich would discuss one spiritual topic or another, maybe read from a text or his notebook, and then take questions or have dialogues with congregants. Then one day, something different. As usual, he was there before anyone else, seated cross-legged on the stage, waiting for Seekers to arrive and settle. But on this particular day he didn't start to talk when everyone was quiet. On this day he just sat there, slowly s.h.i.+fting his gaze from this person to that as the tension in the room mounted. What was going on? When would he begin? Why wasn't he speaking?

Confusion and discomfort grew increasingly palpable as congregants checked each other for reactions, n.o.body daring to question the silence or the spell he was silently casting. There were nervous giggles, coughs and throat clearings before a calm gradually began to spread in an invisible wave. You could feel that too. A sort of smoothing, a relaxing. Like a Doberman that'd been on high alert lying down and closing its eyes.

Once tranquility had suffused the room-about fifteen to twenty minutes into the gathering-Eldrich fixed his eyes on Marina and kept them there. He had a tiny smile on his face. A kind and affectionate smile. Marina stared back. A minute pa.s.sed, maybe a bit more or less. Then, out of nowhere, she exploded into tears and proceeded to sob mightily, as if every ounce of pain were being wrung from her soul. Eldrich watched for a moment, then went to her and embraced her. She wailed even harder in his arms-anguished animal howls, her body shaking and shaking. And then, little by little, the quaking subsided and the sobs became whimpers and then deep sighs, and finally slow regular breaths, which is when he released her. She blew her nose and dried her eyes. She smiled. No, she beamed. I'd never seen her look so happy, or happy at all, for that matter. Marina was not a happy human. There seemed to be an ocean of sadness slos.h.i.+ng behind her blank, ashen facade. But right then in that moment she looked truly joyful. She had colour in her cheeks. She looked ... s.h.i.+ny. Everyone applauded as she grabbed Eldrich's hands and kissed and kissed them.

Seekers were crying and laughing and cheering.

Group catharsis.

I personally found it to be an extremely moving and powerful display. Somehow, wordlessly, Eldrich had provided a spiritual cleansing, one that seemed to offer profound relief. Everyone who witnessed it wanted to experience it for themselves.

And from then on, that's how the meetings went. It became a huge draw. A kind of premium experience that everybody wanted to try. Seekers sometimes spoke, but Eldrich never did. He would begin onstage, randomly scanning the crowd. Eventually, his eyes would linger and then lock on somebody. A silent communication would ensue. Sometimes the person would sit quietly and drink it in, bask in it. More often, the person would erupt into a crying jag, or laugh uproariously, or shout praise to G.o.d. Some even spoke in tongues, writhed crazily on the floor or fainted dead away. The effect was always sizable, and the staring session always ended with Eldrich coming over to touch and calm the individual. Touch was a big part of it. It could be a tight embrace, or a kiss held firmly on the forehead or eyelids, or a hand pressed over the heart. It changed depending on who was on the receiving end. And over time, the touching became less controlled, more impulsive, almost ... feral. But always very compa.s.sionate and loving. Like a lion with a cub, there was a lot of nuzzling, some gentle biting, even some licking. I know it sounds strange, but it was actually quite lovely: primal and protective and natural.

Oddly enough, the meetings in which Seekers could converse with Eldrich about their lives and spiritual questions were not nearly as popular as the ones in which Eldrich said nothing at all.