Life settled into a routine for me here in Happyland. Each morning, the guard for my block would inform me of the duties for the inmates of my block. These duties could include sweeping the floor, or working in the kitchen, or maintenance. the inmates did all the work for the prison. About the only thing they did not do was maintain the prison's security system, which included the explosive collars.
The Happyland Chaplain Service held Bible studies each night. Most of the Swordsmen of the Lord attended these Bible studies, and they liked to quote from the Bible. The Manaul of Conduct for Inmates allowed each inmate to have a copy of the Holy Bible.
The Bible told the basic story of humanity's fall from grace, and the redemption by the sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ. The actual details were different from the Bible I read when I was a kid.
For example, there was a scene where during the trial of Jesus, Judas Iscariot trashed the place with a woodsman's axe, and was about to kill the Jewish high priest when the Lord commanded him to stop. There was also an Old Testament story of how God caused a volcanic eruption which scattered an army of invading Philistines, thus allowing the people of Israel to achieve victory.
I also received mail. Almost all of the mail I have seen were from Sword of ther Lord sympathizers. Some of them expressed their belief that a Satanic or atheist conspiracy framed me for a crime I did not commit, while others praised me for trying to kill the king. There was hate mail too. There were letters wishing that I would roast in Hell for trying to kill the king, and others condemning me for failing to kill the king.
There were only two days left for me when I received mail that was not praising me or condemning me in regards to the act my duplicate was convicted of four months ago. It was a letter from his defense attorney. It came in an evelope titled "Privileged Communication".
Mr. Mallory,
My office received the decision of the three-judge panel from the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. They ruled that the conviction should stand.
I spoke with D.A. Hallinan, who filed a friend-of-the-court brief in opposition to the appeal. He still intends to seek the death penalty for the murder of Kelly Welles. He is repeating the same offer as before. He will not seek an indictment for the murder of Kelly Welles if you choose to drop the federal appeals.
I intend to appeal to the full circuit. I believe they will make a decision on the appeal no later than the twenty-second of this month. Please contact me if you choose to meet with Mr. Hallinan on his offer.
Ross J. Kelly, Esq.
I would be gone before the circuit court even decides whether or not to hear Kelly's appeal. By that time, I might be dead. I ripped up the letter and threw it into a weastebasket. There has to be a way. I could get transfered to another prison that uses these collars. I decided to read my usual share of fan mail and hate mail. I sure am hearing from every kook in the country.
There was one person whom I could ask for a transfer. I just hoped that he would be in the right mood.
I walked over to the inmate entrance of the administration building. I sat in the waiting room and asked to see the warden. I told the secretary, sitting behind a thick glass window, that I wanted to see the warden concerning a prisoner transfer.
"Okay," said the secretary. "The warden would like to see you."
A guard came in and put arm and leg restraints on me. I could walk, but not run.
"It is regulations," said the guard. "Any prisoner who enters this area must be appropriately restrained."
I was led through the halls of the administration building. It looked like any old office building. I was led through a small office, which was the office of the warden's secretary, and then I entered the warden's office.
The office was huge, overlooking the prison yard. The furniture, which included a wooden desk and a leather chair, looked quite expensive. There was a photograph of someone on the wall, maybe some important federal official. I took a seat.
"Mr. Mallory," said the warden, a man dressed in a suit. "I am Mr. Redfield. As you might already have guessed, I am the warden."
"Sir," i said, "I came here to request a transfer."
"Do you think you are in a position to give demands?"
"No, sir. I certainly am not asking to be released. I just ask to be transfered to another prison, one that does not use these explosive collars."
"We have thiose explosive collars to deter escape. You yourself escaped from the federal jail while being tried for attempted assasination. You, more than anyone else in here, deserve to wear that collar."
"Oh, and what did I do to deserve to be fitted with a collar around my neck set to explode?"
"I don't know," said Redfield. "I have a hunch it might have something to do with the fact that you tried to kill the King of the United States, and killed one of his aides in that attempt, and that during your trial, you managed to escape from jail. Yes, your departure from your own trial made it difficult for your lawyer to defend you in court."
"I did not do those things, sir."
"That's right," said Redfield. "Everybody in here is innocent. Either they were framed by the FBI, or they had some lame excuse to do what they did. There are a lot of Internet sites about you, Mallory. I can access them because my web access is not limited by security, unlike the Internet terminals used by the inmates. There are people who say you were framed, people who wish you killed the king."
"I receive those messages from the mail," I said. "Listen, it's going to be a little hard to explain. Now, take a barrier to light, with two slits to allow light to pass through. It creates a complex pattern because of wave interference. Now, what happens when you send only one photon at a time."
So I explained to Redfield about parallel universes, how they interact, and how I am from a parallel universe. I told him how my parents hid me in another universe because of a war between humans and kromaggs, how I met my brother, and slid with him, and how something happened that causes me to be unstuck.
"I just need this collar off," I said. "I'll even stay in this prison until I slide out.
"I have heard enough," said Redfield. "I will discuss this with my staff."
A guard then came and escorted me out of the building.
The next morning, some guards came to my block. Among them was Rembrandt Brown, who was head of security.
"Come with us, Mallory," Rembrandt said.
They escorted me across the prison yard, and back to the inmate processing center in the adminsitration building.
I was fingerprinted and photographed, and then Rembrandt took a key and put it against my collar and removed it.
This was it. My collar was off.
"Am I being released?" I asked.
"No," said Rembrandt. "You're going to the Gate Haven Insanity Quarantine Center in Daly City. We've discovered evidence that you may be insane."
"You think I am insane?" I asked.
"That will be up to the psychiatrists; they will get to the bottom of this stuff about parallel worlds you keep talking about."
After that, they put me in this van which then took me from Happyland.
It was a few hours before the van finally parked. I got out, escorted by U.S. marshals. I saw a huge building which could only be the Gate Haven Insanity Qurantine Center.
On the outset, the place looked nice, with manicured lawns and gardens. The main building was tall and imposing. The marshals escorted me into a side entrance. I was taken to a processing station where I was fingerprinted and photographed. None of the guards or staff placed a collar on my neck, explosive or otherwise.
I was taken to the cafeteria where I was served a breakfast similar to the one I was served back in Happyland. I was given plastic utensils. After I finished my meal, the guards took me away. As they led me, I looked through a glass window into a room. I could see all sorts of men and women driolling and banging their heads on the wall and banging the ground with their fists. A white-caoted doctor and a guard stood watch inside. I could see the guard was amused by the behavior of these nutcases.
I was put into this padded room with only a cot to sleep in. I lay there. I arrived in this world in a music store, and now I am in a mental hospital. it was about thirty minutes later that the guards came and took me to another place. It was a small room with a table and two chairs. I sat down on one of the chairs.
Some doctor came into the room. "Hello, Mr. Mallory," he said. "I am Dr. Malcolm White. I am a psychiatrist here at Gate Haven."
"Okay," I said. "Why am I here?"
"You are here for a thirty day psychiatric evaluation," said Dr. White. "The evaluation was requested by Warden Refdfield of the Happyland Maximum Security Prison. He cites a conversation you had with him yesterdsay and a conversation you had with your brother Quinn. This place, as you might have guessed, is to house federal inmates and criminal defendants for psychiatric evaluation, and to shelter, feed, and treat those judged insane by a federal court."
"How long will I be here?" I asked.
"I can not say for certain. I will make an evaluation on whether or not you are insane. If I find that you are not insane, you will be sent back to prison. If I find you insane, this will go to court, and they will decide whether or not you go to prison or receive treatment. Now, Mr. Mallory, let us begin."
He asked me about myself, and I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
"I know about your background, Mr. Mallory," said Dr. White. "You were attending college in Stanford University when you got mixed up with the Sword of the Lord. You dropped out and cut off contact with your family. They did not hear from you until you were arrested for attempting to assasinate King Leonard. It seems that you are familiar with science fiction, and amy even have some knowledge of physics, which is why you are here now. Perhaps you, not being able to deal with confinement in prison, invented this fantasy life, pretending to be another person. There are people in this institution who claim to be such people as Gaileo, Hitler, or Elvis,or some fictional character from a TV show, although this is the first case wherre you claim to be another version of yourself from a parallel universe. I will need to study you to determine if your beliefs will prevent you from functioning in society."
"As if spending my life in prison with a collar around my neck counts as functioning in society," I said.
"Well, you still have a sense of humor. Now, I am conducta Grumann test."
"What is that?"
"You will look at ink blots, and tell me what real-world objects they most resemble."
So that is what I did. Some of them did not resemble anything, while others looked like horses and sports stadium and a human face. One even looked like a wormhole to another dimension.
"That will be enough for today," said Dr. White. "We will be monitoring your behavior."
I was escortedto another room in the main building. Along the way, I saw another patient being escorted by guards.
"You," he said. "You were the one who tried to kill me!"
"Let's go," said a guard.
"Bow before your king!"
I looked at him as he was led away.
They had me examined by this biog old device used to scan my brain. After that, I was released. I had a lot of free movement, much more than I had in Happyland.
I decided to go to the recreation room. There were all sorts of people there. Most of them did not look insane, although there was this little lady who kepot counting her fingers and toes over and over.
"You new here?' some blond-haired lady asked.
"Yeah," I said. "I am in day one of my thirty-day psych evaluation."
"I'm in day sixteen. My name is Gillian."
"My name is Colin."
Some fellow with slick black hair came into the room, acting as if he was a celebrity. He started singing a song.
"That is our resident Elvis impersonator," said Gillian.
I listened to the faux Elvis sing, and I noticed that he was actually a pretty good singer. There was actually applause after he stopped, even from the two guards watching the place, and it was not because he did stop.
"Sing some more," someone shouted.
""Dedicate the next one to Kathie!" someone else shouted.
"He's a pretty good singer," I remarked.
"The Prince of all Saiyans agrees," said some fellow with spiky black hair. "He should be a singing competition with the real Elvis Presley."
"What is your name?" I asked the man.
"I am Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans," he said.
"That's not his real name, Colin," whispered Gillian.
"Foolish woman," said Vegeta, clenching his fist. "I have in my body the power to destroy this pathetic excuse for a planet!"
"Do not mind him," said Gillian. "Vegeta here is not as annoying as the lady who pretends to be Bugs Bunny. He is actually a nice fellow."
"Hmph," said the man pretending to be Vegeta.
"So what brings you here?" I asked.
"It started with the IRS accusing me of tax fraud, and now here I am," said Gillian. "Just because spirits talk to me doesn't mean I can't be a productive member of society!"
"And you can only see them," I said.
"Yes."
"Then perhaps you should not reveal them to anyone, since they only choose to speak with you."
"Colin, one of them communicated to me. They told me that Rembrandt and Maggie are okay."
"How did you know about them?" I asked.
"he told me."
I knew whom she was referring to. There was this man who had been contacting me in my dreams since I became unstuck. Now he revealed himself to this woman in this institution. It shpowed that he did not exist in my head. He had an external existence independent of me. I did not imagine him.
I went to the library. There was an Internet terminal here, and I quickly looked up the Sword of the Lord. In Happyland, there was web censorship, but none existed in Gate Haven.
I came across the writings of the Reverend Paul Hill, who was the guy who founded the group. he wrote of satanic conspiracies attempting to rule the world, and wrote an article arguing that the Pope was the Antichrist. I decided to read one of his articles, which was a commentary in American Christian Magazine, dated in 1990.
Why Has God Abandoned America?
by the Rev. Paul Hill
We hear bad stories on the news, about how millions of American jobs are exported to foreign countries, how crime is rampant on the streets while bleeding-heart judges turn criminals loose on lame excuses, how our politcal leaders serve themselves rather than the people. Some people question whether or not God exists, and why a loving God would allow this happen.
The answer is clear, we Americans have abandoned God. We despised his commandments, committing every form of immorality, giving in to greed and lust. We show no respect even to our parents, nor do we show charity to the less fortunate. We murder others for wearing the wrong-colored clothes, or to take another person's shoes. We steal from others for the sole purpose of hurting them, not because we want what we have stolen.
For these reasons, God has abandoned this immoral country. When God left, Satan and his spawn took over. Satan, together with his servants the King of the United States and the false prophets and teachers who lead American churches, has installed a satanic world order in this country, and he intends to afflict us as he does the inmates in Hell.
There is only one solution. Repent. Without repentance, Satan will own us.
I read his other tracts, all claiming that America is a satanic nation.
I decided to go back to my room. Along the way, I saw this room fulls of photiograpsh of this young woman. I had to admit that she was actually pretty. I noticed there was this dried, flaky substance on the pictures.
"you looking for him," said a guard making his rounds.
"Uh, I wonder why this guy has all these pictures," I said. "Is this his wife or girlfriend or something."
"That's what he says. When he was in prison, he started writing sexually explicit love letters to Katherine Heigl. Those letters became threatening. He was sent here and the court found him insane. He devotes all of his life to her, whom he never met and only saw on TV. How pathetic."
"Then this stuff must be..."
"Love juice," said the guard.
I went to the restroom to watch my hands.
I was out in the yard. Just like the front, the grounds were manicured. There were cats roaming about, and some of the patients were feeding the cats. I saw the guy who pretends to be Vegeta practicing kicks and pitches, and pointing his fingers as if he were firing something from them.
One of the guards approached me. "Mallory," he said. "you have a visitor."
I wondered if Quinn or that lawyer came to visit me in this quarantine center. But he did not take me to a visitation room. Instead, he took me to the loading area, where there was a Ford Econovan. The staff was loading the van.
This bearded man came out of the van. "Are you Colin Mallory?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's me," I said.
"We've never met before; I am Brother Randall Simmons. Get inside the van; we have come to free you."
"Okay," I said. I saw Randall hand the guard something. I got in the van with the dirty laundry. I heard the engine start and we drove off.
The Happyland Chaplain Service held Bible studies each night. Most of the Swordsmen of the Lord attended these Bible studies, and they liked to quote from the Bible. The Manaul of Conduct for Inmates allowed each inmate to have a copy of the Holy Bible.
The Bible told the basic story of humanity's fall from grace, and the redemption by the sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ. The actual details were different from the Bible I read when I was a kid.
For example, there was a scene where during the trial of Jesus, Judas Iscariot trashed the place with a woodsman's axe, and was about to kill the Jewish high priest when the Lord commanded him to stop. There was also an Old Testament story of how God caused a volcanic eruption which scattered an army of invading Philistines, thus allowing the people of Israel to achieve victory.
I also received mail. Almost all of the mail I have seen were from Sword of ther Lord sympathizers. Some of them expressed their belief that a Satanic or atheist conspiracy framed me for a crime I did not commit, while others praised me for trying to kill the king. There was hate mail too. There were letters wishing that I would roast in Hell for trying to kill the king, and others condemning me for failing to kill the king.
There were only two days left for me when I received mail that was not praising me or condemning me in regards to the act my duplicate was convicted of four months ago. It was a letter from his defense attorney. It came in an evelope titled "Privileged Communication".
Mr. Mallory,
My office received the decision of the three-judge panel from the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. They ruled that the conviction should stand.
I spoke with D.A. Hallinan, who filed a friend-of-the-court brief in opposition to the appeal. He still intends to seek the death penalty for the murder of Kelly Welles. He is repeating the same offer as before. He will not seek an indictment for the murder of Kelly Welles if you choose to drop the federal appeals.
I intend to appeal to the full circuit. I believe they will make a decision on the appeal no later than the twenty-second of this month. Please contact me if you choose to meet with Mr. Hallinan on his offer.
Ross J. Kelly, Esq.
I would be gone before the circuit court even decides whether or not to hear Kelly's appeal. By that time, I might be dead. I ripped up the letter and threw it into a weastebasket. There has to be a way. I could get transfered to another prison that uses these collars. I decided to read my usual share of fan mail and hate mail. I sure am hearing from every kook in the country.
There was one person whom I could ask for a transfer. I just hoped that he would be in the right mood.
I walked over to the inmate entrance of the administration building. I sat in the waiting room and asked to see the warden. I told the secretary, sitting behind a thick glass window, that I wanted to see the warden concerning a prisoner transfer.
"Okay," said the secretary. "The warden would like to see you."
A guard came in and put arm and leg restraints on me. I could walk, but not run.
"It is regulations," said the guard. "Any prisoner who enters this area must be appropriately restrained."
I was led through the halls of the administration building. It looked like any old office building. I was led through a small office, which was the office of the warden's secretary, and then I entered the warden's office.
The office was huge, overlooking the prison yard. The furniture, which included a wooden desk and a leather chair, looked quite expensive. There was a photograph of someone on the wall, maybe some important federal official. I took a seat.
"Mr. Mallory," said the warden, a man dressed in a suit. "I am Mr. Redfield. As you might already have guessed, I am the warden."
"Sir," i said, "I came here to request a transfer."
"Do you think you are in a position to give demands?"
"No, sir. I certainly am not asking to be released. I just ask to be transfered to another prison, one that does not use these explosive collars."
"We have thiose explosive collars to deter escape. You yourself escaped from the federal jail while being tried for attempted assasination. You, more than anyone else in here, deserve to wear that collar."
"Oh, and what did I do to deserve to be fitted with a collar around my neck set to explode?"
"I don't know," said Redfield. "I have a hunch it might have something to do with the fact that you tried to kill the King of the United States, and killed one of his aides in that attempt, and that during your trial, you managed to escape from jail. Yes, your departure from your own trial made it difficult for your lawyer to defend you in court."
"I did not do those things, sir."
"That's right," said Redfield. "Everybody in here is innocent. Either they were framed by the FBI, or they had some lame excuse to do what they did. There are a lot of Internet sites about you, Mallory. I can access them because my web access is not limited by security, unlike the Internet terminals used by the inmates. There are people who say you were framed, people who wish you killed the king."
"I receive those messages from the mail," I said. "Listen, it's going to be a little hard to explain. Now, take a barrier to light, with two slits to allow light to pass through. It creates a complex pattern because of wave interference. Now, what happens when you send only one photon at a time."
So I explained to Redfield about parallel universes, how they interact, and how I am from a parallel universe. I told him how my parents hid me in another universe because of a war between humans and kromaggs, how I met my brother, and slid with him, and how something happened that causes me to be unstuck.
"I just need this collar off," I said. "I'll even stay in this prison until I slide out.
"I have heard enough," said Redfield. "I will discuss this with my staff."
A guard then came and escorted me out of the building.
The next morning, some guards came to my block. Among them was Rembrandt Brown, who was head of security.
"Come with us, Mallory," Rembrandt said.
They escorted me across the prison yard, and back to the inmate processing center in the adminsitration building.
I was fingerprinted and photographed, and then Rembrandt took a key and put it against my collar and removed it.
This was it. My collar was off.
"Am I being released?" I asked.
"No," said Rembrandt. "You're going to the Gate Haven Insanity Quarantine Center in Daly City. We've discovered evidence that you may be insane."
"You think I am insane?" I asked.
"That will be up to the psychiatrists; they will get to the bottom of this stuff about parallel worlds you keep talking about."
After that, they put me in this van which then took me from Happyland.
It was a few hours before the van finally parked. I got out, escorted by U.S. marshals. I saw a huge building which could only be the Gate Haven Insanity Qurantine Center.
On the outset, the place looked nice, with manicured lawns and gardens. The main building was tall and imposing. The marshals escorted me into a side entrance. I was taken to a processing station where I was fingerprinted and photographed. None of the guards or staff placed a collar on my neck, explosive or otherwise.
I was taken to the cafeteria where I was served a breakfast similar to the one I was served back in Happyland. I was given plastic utensils. After I finished my meal, the guards took me away. As they led me, I looked through a glass window into a room. I could see all sorts of men and women driolling and banging their heads on the wall and banging the ground with their fists. A white-caoted doctor and a guard stood watch inside. I could see the guard was amused by the behavior of these nutcases.
I was put into this padded room with only a cot to sleep in. I lay there. I arrived in this world in a music store, and now I am in a mental hospital. it was about thirty minutes later that the guards came and took me to another place. It was a small room with a table and two chairs. I sat down on one of the chairs.
Some doctor came into the room. "Hello, Mr. Mallory," he said. "I am Dr. Malcolm White. I am a psychiatrist here at Gate Haven."
"Okay," I said. "Why am I here?"
"You are here for a thirty day psychiatric evaluation," said Dr. White. "The evaluation was requested by Warden Refdfield of the Happyland Maximum Security Prison. He cites a conversation you had with him yesterdsay and a conversation you had with your brother Quinn. This place, as you might have guessed, is to house federal inmates and criminal defendants for psychiatric evaluation, and to shelter, feed, and treat those judged insane by a federal court."
"How long will I be here?" I asked.
"I can not say for certain. I will make an evaluation on whether or not you are insane. If I find that you are not insane, you will be sent back to prison. If I find you insane, this will go to court, and they will decide whether or not you go to prison or receive treatment. Now, Mr. Mallory, let us begin."
He asked me about myself, and I told the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
"I know about your background, Mr. Mallory," said Dr. White. "You were attending college in Stanford University when you got mixed up with the Sword of the Lord. You dropped out and cut off contact with your family. They did not hear from you until you were arrested for attempting to assasinate King Leonard. It seems that you are familiar with science fiction, and amy even have some knowledge of physics, which is why you are here now. Perhaps you, not being able to deal with confinement in prison, invented this fantasy life, pretending to be another person. There are people in this institution who claim to be such people as Gaileo, Hitler, or Elvis,or some fictional character from a TV show, although this is the first case wherre you claim to be another version of yourself from a parallel universe. I will need to study you to determine if your beliefs will prevent you from functioning in society."
"As if spending my life in prison with a collar around my neck counts as functioning in society," I said.
"Well, you still have a sense of humor. Now, I am conducta Grumann test."
"What is that?"
"You will look at ink blots, and tell me what real-world objects they most resemble."
So that is what I did. Some of them did not resemble anything, while others looked like horses and sports stadium and a human face. One even looked like a wormhole to another dimension.
"That will be enough for today," said Dr. White. "We will be monitoring your behavior."
I was escortedto another room in the main building. Along the way, I saw another patient being escorted by guards.
"You," he said. "You were the one who tried to kill me!"
"Let's go," said a guard.
"Bow before your king!"
I looked at him as he was led away.
They had me examined by this biog old device used to scan my brain. After that, I was released. I had a lot of free movement, much more than I had in Happyland.
I decided to go to the recreation room. There were all sorts of people there. Most of them did not look insane, although there was this little lady who kepot counting her fingers and toes over and over.
"You new here?' some blond-haired lady asked.
"Yeah," I said. "I am in day one of my thirty-day psych evaluation."
"I'm in day sixteen. My name is Gillian."
"My name is Colin."
Some fellow with slick black hair came into the room, acting as if he was a celebrity. He started singing a song.
"That is our resident Elvis impersonator," said Gillian.
I listened to the faux Elvis sing, and I noticed that he was actually a pretty good singer. There was actually applause after he stopped, even from the two guards watching the place, and it was not because he did stop.
"Sing some more," someone shouted.
""Dedicate the next one to Kathie!" someone else shouted.
"He's a pretty good singer," I remarked.
"The Prince of all Saiyans agrees," said some fellow with spiky black hair. "He should be a singing competition with the real Elvis Presley."
"What is your name?" I asked the man.
"I am Vegeta, Prince of all Saiyans," he said.
"That's not his real name, Colin," whispered Gillian.
"Foolish woman," said Vegeta, clenching his fist. "I have in my body the power to destroy this pathetic excuse for a planet!"
"Do not mind him," said Gillian. "Vegeta here is not as annoying as the lady who pretends to be Bugs Bunny. He is actually a nice fellow."
"Hmph," said the man pretending to be Vegeta.
"So what brings you here?" I asked.
"It started with the IRS accusing me of tax fraud, and now here I am," said Gillian. "Just because spirits talk to me doesn't mean I can't be a productive member of society!"
"And you can only see them," I said.
"Yes."
"Then perhaps you should not reveal them to anyone, since they only choose to speak with you."
"Colin, one of them communicated to me. They told me that Rembrandt and Maggie are okay."
"How did you know about them?" I asked.
"he told me."
I knew whom she was referring to. There was this man who had been contacting me in my dreams since I became unstuck. Now he revealed himself to this woman in this institution. It shpowed that he did not exist in my head. He had an external existence independent of me. I did not imagine him.
I went to the library. There was an Internet terminal here, and I quickly looked up the Sword of the Lord. In Happyland, there was web censorship, but none existed in Gate Haven.
I came across the writings of the Reverend Paul Hill, who was the guy who founded the group. he wrote of satanic conspiracies attempting to rule the world, and wrote an article arguing that the Pope was the Antichrist. I decided to read one of his articles, which was a commentary in American Christian Magazine, dated in 1990.
Why Has God Abandoned America?
by the Rev. Paul Hill
We hear bad stories on the news, about how millions of American jobs are exported to foreign countries, how crime is rampant on the streets while bleeding-heart judges turn criminals loose on lame excuses, how our politcal leaders serve themselves rather than the people. Some people question whether or not God exists, and why a loving God would allow this happen.
The answer is clear, we Americans have abandoned God. We despised his commandments, committing every form of immorality, giving in to greed and lust. We show no respect even to our parents, nor do we show charity to the less fortunate. We murder others for wearing the wrong-colored clothes, or to take another person's shoes. We steal from others for the sole purpose of hurting them, not because we want what we have stolen.
For these reasons, God has abandoned this immoral country. When God left, Satan and his spawn took over. Satan, together with his servants the King of the United States and the false prophets and teachers who lead American churches, has installed a satanic world order in this country, and he intends to afflict us as he does the inmates in Hell.
There is only one solution. Repent. Without repentance, Satan will own us.
I read his other tracts, all claiming that America is a satanic nation.
I decided to go back to my room. Along the way, I saw this room fulls of photiograpsh of this young woman. I had to admit that she was actually pretty. I noticed there was this dried, flaky substance on the pictures.
"you looking for him," said a guard making his rounds.
"Uh, I wonder why this guy has all these pictures," I said. "Is this his wife or girlfriend or something."
"That's what he says. When he was in prison, he started writing sexually explicit love letters to Katherine Heigl. Those letters became threatening. He was sent here and the court found him insane. He devotes all of his life to her, whom he never met and only saw on TV. How pathetic."
"Then this stuff must be..."
"Love juice," said the guard.
I went to the restroom to watch my hands.
I was out in the yard. Just like the front, the grounds were manicured. There were cats roaming about, and some of the patients were feeding the cats. I saw the guy who pretends to be Vegeta practicing kicks and pitches, and pointing his fingers as if he were firing something from them.
One of the guards approached me. "Mallory," he said. "you have a visitor."
I wondered if Quinn or that lawyer came to visit me in this quarantine center. But he did not take me to a visitation room. Instead, he took me to the loading area, where there was a Ford Econovan. The staff was loading the van.
This bearded man came out of the van. "Are you Colin Mallory?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's me," I said.
"We've never met before; I am Brother Randall Simmons. Get inside the van; we have come to free you."
"Okay," I said. I saw Randall hand the guard something. I got in the van with the dirty laundry. I heard the engine start and we drove off.
