through the motions of its administrative process, wasn’t it? I didn’t need to do this.
But was there a chance?
From what I knew of prison terms, it could happen. The criminal justice system did not dole out that justice fairly and evenly, in proportion to the crimes in question. Someone could spend their whole life in jail over possession of a gram of cocaine, but rapists, kidnappers, and child molesters could end up hardly serving any time at all. Ten years might satisfy the State of Oregon after all. Release was possible, especially if they fell for a religious conversion story, and I knew his behavior in prison had been, naturally, impeccable. I had heard he was even teaching a course in there to the other inmates. Fuck. I had to talk to Noah Philben.
The building looked almost inviting, considering what I’d beenexpecting anyway. It was still painted in bright colors, with a giant rainbow mural covering the front wall, a relic of its community-center past. Through the glass-fronted door, I could see an office tucked inside to my left. The administrative staff, a young man and woman, each of whom looked to be no more than twenty-five, sat busily sorting papers. They were clean-cut and eager. This didn’t seem like a cult at all. More like a YMCA. I felt my anxiety lifting.
Bracing myself, I pulled open the door and walked over to the office. The young man looked up at me and smiled. He seemed perfectly normal, except for a glint of heightened zeal in his eyes that made me a little uncomfortable. I hesitated.
“Welcome to the Church of the Holy Spirit. How can I help you?” he said brightly. Too brightly.
I took a deep breath and explained, as politely as possible, that I wanted to talk to Noah Philben. The boy frowned and furrowed his brows, seeming unsure of what to do. I guessed Noah Philben didn’t get a lot of visitors.
“Not sure he’s in yet. Um, hold on just a minute.” He left me alone with the girl. She smiled at me too, a little less forthrightly than the boy. Then, casting her eyes back down, she returned to her paper shuffling in silence. I knew any normal person would have initiated small talk, said hello, at least brought up the weather, but I didn’t know how to do such things anymore. So I just stood there under the bad fluorescent lighting, looking around the room awkwardly.
A few minutes passed before the boy returned, now with a tall man in what must have been his fifties following behind. This had to be Noah Philben, for he was wearing not only a clerical collar but also a priestly black robe that extended down to his ankles. His hair, a scraggly blond fading to gray, just touched his shoulders. His eyes were a piercing blue. His face was perfectly controlled as he came toward me, a mask of impersonal calm.
As he passed the office, however, a lopsided grin broke out on his face when he greeted the girl behind the counter. She looked away shyly, appearing to be uncomfortable with this attention. A cold shiver went down my back. Maximum creepy, I thought to myself, but I forced my own smile as he approached. I tried to take a step toward him, but my legs protested by going wobbly on me.
Just at the moment he reached me, my phone started beeping. Probably Dr. Simmons, since it was my regular appointment day. I ignored it.
Noah Philben looked down toward my hip pocket, in the direction of the sound.
“You need to answer that?” He grinned that same grin at me.
“No, it’s fine.” I reached into my pocket to shut off the ringer. “Mr. Philben, I—”
“It’s actually Reverend Philben, Miss …” That was clearly my cue, but I stood there for a full three seconds, a little slow on the uptake. He was waiting patiently for me to tell him why I was there.
“I’m Caroline Morrow,” I finally forced out. “And I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t want to disturb your day, but I’m looking for someone, an old friend. Sylvia Dunham? I understand she is a member of your
But was there a chance?
From what I knew of prison terms, it could happen. The criminal justice system did not dole out that justice fairly and evenly, in proportion to the crimes in question. Someone could spend their whole life in jail over possession of a gram of cocaine, but rapists, kidnappers, and child molesters could end up hardly serving any time at all. Ten years might satisfy the State of Oregon after all. Release was possible, especially if they fell for a religious conversion story, and I knew his behavior in prison had been, naturally, impeccable. I had heard he was even teaching a course in there to the other inmates. Fuck. I had to talk to Noah Philben.
The building looked almost inviting, considering what I’d beenexpecting anyway. It was still painted in bright colors, with a giant rainbow mural covering the front wall, a relic of its community-center past. Through the glass-fronted door, I could see an office tucked inside to my left. The administrative staff, a young man and woman, each of whom looked to be no more than twenty-five, sat busily sorting papers. They were clean-cut and eager. This didn’t seem like a cult at all. More like a YMCA. I felt my anxiety lifting.
Bracing myself, I pulled open the door and walked over to the office. The young man looked up at me and smiled. He seemed perfectly normal, except for a glint of heightened zeal in his eyes that made me a little uncomfortable. I hesitated.
“Welcome to the Church of the Holy Spirit. How can I help you?” he said brightly. Too brightly.
I took a deep breath and explained, as politely as possible, that I wanted to talk to Noah Philben. The boy frowned and furrowed his brows, seeming unsure of what to do. I guessed Noah Philben didn’t get a lot of visitors.
“Not sure he’s in yet. Um, hold on just a minute.” He left me alone with the girl. She smiled at me too, a little less forthrightly than the boy. Then, casting her eyes back down, she returned to her paper shuffling in silence. I knew any normal person would have initiated small talk, said hello, at least brought up the weather, but I didn’t know how to do such things anymore. So I just stood there under the bad fluorescent lighting, looking around the room awkwardly.
A few minutes passed before the boy returned, now with a tall man in what must have been his fifties following behind. This had to be Noah Philben, for he was wearing not only a clerical collar but also a priestly black robe that extended down to his ankles. His hair, a scraggly blond fading to gray, just touched his shoulders. His eyes were a piercing blue. His face was perfectly controlled as he came toward me, a mask of impersonal calm.
As he passed the office, however, a lopsided grin broke out on his face when he greeted the girl behind the counter. She looked away shyly, appearing to be uncomfortable with this attention. A cold shiver went down my back. Maximum creepy, I thought to myself, but I forced my own smile as he approached. I tried to take a step toward him, but my legs protested by going wobbly on me.
Just at the moment he reached me, my phone started beeping. Probably Dr. Simmons, since it was my regular appointment day. I ignored it.
Noah Philben looked down toward my hip pocket, in the direction of the sound.
“You need to answer that?” He grinned that same grin at me.
“No, it’s fine.” I reached into my pocket to shut off the ringer. “Mr. Philben, I—”
“It’s actually Reverend Philben, Miss …” That was clearly my cue, but I stood there for a full three seconds, a little slow on the uptake. He was waiting patiently for me to tell him why I was there.
“I’m Caroline Morrow,” I finally forced out. “And I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t want to disturb your day, but I’m looking for someone, an old friend. Sylvia Dunham? I understand she is a member of your
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