The Rapture of Omega Page 24

  Over the next several months, the story of Illeana and the Children of Eden dominated world headlines. The news media continuously speculated on the upcoming trials for the surviving members, and the future of the orphaned children. A total of 126 members of the cult were drowned that fateful day, including ten children. An extensive search for family members willing to claim the bodies proved mostly fruitless. Only family members of twenty of the dead came forward. A local farmer donated several acres of his land, not far from the cult’s farm, to be used as a burial and memorial site. Local monument companies donated headstones, mainly for the children’s sake.

  Once the trials commenced, it was no surprise that the majority of the survivors took plea deals. Life imprisonment without parole if they pled; if not, they would be facing lethal injection. I found it humorous, although darkly so, that these people were so scared to die that they would spend the rest of their lives behind bars. Neither Illeana nor her son, Donovan, were offered plea deals. With the horrific accounts of Donovan taking part in the murders of Francesca Tracy’s family, the prosecutor refused to offer him a plea. They wanted him dead, along with Illeana.

  Donovan remained stoic and stone-faced throughout his trial. During the gruesome exhibition of the crime-scene photos, many of which made the jurors physically sick, he showed no emotion. After the guilty verdict was handed down and the judge sentenced Donovan Barron to death by lethal injection, he was still unmoved. The judge referred to him as evil in human form, a coldhearted monster that will never suffer enough. Donovan smiled at the judge as he was escorted from the courtroom.

  Illeana was the last to go to trial, and shocked us all by pleading guilty, refusing a court-appointed attorney, and asking that all her rights to appeals be waived. During her plea, at which I was present, she told the judge, “I am not a coward,” before turning around and smiling at me. By law, anyone that waives their right to appeal must be evaluated to ensure they are sane and making a competent decision. This worried me. Illeana might get out of being executed just by asking for it, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she knew this.

  Shortly after the trials Coop came into my office and threw a magazine in front of me. It was Time magazine with the picture of all the children. The headline screamed:

  THE REAL CHILDREN OF EDEN.

  “I don’t think they’ll ever get enough, do you?” He referred to the media.

  I pushed the magazine aside. “Probably not, but since you brought this in here, what’s the word on the kids? I keep calling Lori but she must be too busy to call me back. Are they finding homes for them?”

  His eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? Geez, CeeCee, haven’t you been paying attention? They’ve had thousands and thousands of calls from people all over the world who want to adopt these kids.”

  “Good, I keep thinking about little Jack Martz and the little boy I saved, what was his name—Mason? Is Naomi still checking in on him from time to time?”

  I knew there was a point that she stopped to see him every day at his foster home. I went with her a couple of times, but it continuously broke my heart. Jack had been placed with a foster family near Columbus, so it was hard for me to visit him.

  “Yeah, she’s still been visiting, which brings me to the reason I’m here. Naomi wanted to be here with me when we told you, but she got called out to that drug shooting on Lily Street. Close your eyes.”

  “What?”

  “Just do it.”

  I couldn’t imagine what he was up to. Giggling like a schoolgirl, I closed my eyes. It seemed like Coop was taking forever and I was growing impatient.

  “I’m waiting, Coop. C’mon, I’m going to open my eyes in two seconds!”

  Just then, I felt a small pair of hands gently touch mine. Opening my eyes, I was astonished to see Jack standing in front of me, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Jack!”

  I couldn’t help but pick him up and give him a big squeeze. He was a sight for sore eyes and as cute as ever. Curiosity soon took over, and I wondered why he was here. Instead of asking, I gave Coop a look of confusion.

  “Go ahead and tell her, Jack, why you’re here,” Coop instructed softly.

  “I wanned you to meet my new mommy and daddy!” he exclaimed.

  “You do! Where are they?” I looked toward the door.

  “Wight there!” He pointed at Coop.

  I was speechless, and my complete and utter shock clearly showed on my face. Coop began laughing as he walked over, picked Jack up, and held him.

  “It took us a long time, which is why we didn’t say anything. We didn’t know if it would happen or not. But Naomi and I were officially given custody of Jack—and Mason. We’re going to adopt them both, CeeCee.”

  I immediately burst into tears. Not knowing what to say, I stood up and hugged them both, sobbing like a maniac.

  “Why you cry?” Jack asked, concerned. “I happy like Lola now! Just like you said!”

  His attempt at consoling me did nothing but make me cry harder. Coop just stood there and laughed. I knew Naomi had desperately wanted children, but was having difficulties getting pregnant. Although she took great care of Coop’s children from his previous marriage—she wanted her own.

  “Where’s Mason?” I wiped at my eyes with a tissue.

  “He’s with my parents right now. Both the boys have been with us for over a week, but we just got the official word two days ago. Naomi is ecstatic and I, well, I’m pretty happy about it, too!” He beamed, kissing Jack on his forehead. “Jack, this will be your aunt CeeCee.”

  I hugged Jack a hundred more times and promised lots of playdates with Lola before they left. I called Michael and told him the good news just before Naomi sauntered into my office, beaming just like Coop had been.

  “Coop told me he brought Jack in—so now you know.” She looked the happiest I had ever seen.

  I gave her a tight squeeze, feeling the tears in my eyes rise again. I grabbed a tissue and handed one to her, knowing all too well she would get emotional. I was right.

  Her eyes filled up. “You know, that night, when I kept looking at Mason in the ambulance, something happened to me. The same thing happened when I gave Jack the stuffed dog you wanted me to. I kept thinking, ‘This is nuts! This can’t happen!’ But it did.” She let out a deep breath. “Every night I sit there and watch them sleep. I try to go to bed, but I keep getting out of bed every five minutes to check on them. Is that crazy?”

  “Welcome to motherhood,” I laughed.

  She laughed with me. “You’ll have to come over and see their rooms. Coop said I went overboard, but what the hell, right? I bought tons of toys and even a couple of those little motorized Jeeps for them to drive around outside. They seem to really be happy!”

  “Naomi, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that they are.”

  Before she left, she stood in the doorway for a few seconds, silent.

  “CeeCee,” she said, then paused. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For saving them. If it wasn’t for you, none of this would be happening.”

  I could only smile as she left. Looking at the magazine again and all of the children’s faces, I knew she was right. These children would live; they would live with loving families who would never understand just how close they came to dying. To me, dying was never an option for any of them.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Nearly a year after the mass suicide, I drove to Lucasville State Prison to witness Illeana’s execution. It was one of the fastest executions in the state’s history. Normally, an inmate is executed anywhere from fifteen to twenty years after the death warrant was issued, but Illeana kept her promise. She fought for her right to be executed, and surprisingly, convinced the numerous psychiatrists that evaluated her that she was sane enough to make such a decision. She waived everything, and even had her attorney file a motion to expedite the execution date. Donovan, after losing his first set of appeals, followed in suit
of his mother. Like her, he waived all future appeals and wanted his execution to come soon. Now, more than ever, I was convinced they truly believed in their theory of Eve. To me, they were clearly insane, but I certainly wasn’t going to volunteer my thoughts to any court. They couldn’t die soon enough as far as I was concerned.

  It was a beautiful day, which brings me to the issue of global warming; Illeana’s claim of Eve’s wrath. It was a farce, a panic of epidemic proportions. There hadn’t been a major weather catastrophe in almost a year. Governments and scientists worldwide were pointing fingers, blaming the other for the hundreds of thousands of deaths at the hands of man—not nature. The earth learned to remedy itself, just as it had for millions of years. Like a cold virus, its own immune system fought back and prevailed. The rain came again where needed, and things essentially evened out and went back to normal. Either that, or Eve simply grew tired.

  I laughed silently at the thought as I pulled into the prison parking lot. Michael had offered to go with me, but I wanted to do this alone. I knew Illeana wouldn’t be able to see me, but she would know I was there—I knew this like I knew my own name. She would sense me there, I was sure of it. Throughout her short incarceration, Illeana wrote me numerous letters, none of which I answered, except for one. When the twelve members that had fled the group were found in California, I felt compelled to rub it in, feeling a sense of relief that I no longer had to worry about Lola’s safety. I ended the letter with, “I guess that’s that. Eve and her Eden have officially come to an end. So sorry.”

  I imagined her face when she read it, that sickening smile. I wondered if she’d be wearing it while lying on the injection table.

  She wasn’t. In fact, I was shocked to see her looking pale and terrified. She lay motionless, staring at the ceiling while they inserted the tubes into her arms. Just before the lethal cocktail took effect she turned her head and looked at the window of the room I was standing in, watching.

  “I see you kept your promise. She’ll be back,” she muttered almost incoherently.

  I shuddered. I hated being right sometimes.

  Illeana Barron was pronounced dead at 6:04 A.M. that day. Since she had no surviving family members, she was to be buried in a potter’s field on the prison grounds. This was where all the executed who had no family, or anyone willing to claim the body, were buried. Quite frankly, I felt vindicated. Although justice will never truly be done—Illeana didn’t suffer half of the pain her victims did—I was relieved. Relieved, but mentally drained. As I drove out of the parking lot, I began to feel that Illeana meant what she said about death not scaring her. Maybe it would have been better if she were to spend life in prison. For her, that would have been hell, knowing she couldn’t join her precious Eve until nature took its course. Who knows, maybe she would have lived until her late nineties? I doubted it. Donovan Barron was scheduled to be executed a week after his mother. I did not attend his execution, but read in the newspaper that it happened.

  Two weeks after Illeana’s execution, I received a certified letter—from Illeana. What disturbed me most was that it came to my home. Somehow, she had managed to find my home address, a disquieting truth I shook from my head as I opened the letter. Dated the day after the execution, a spin Illeana would find amusing no doubt, it was her attempt at getting the last word:

  Gallagher,

  I am seated next to the great one as I compose these words to you. In the farthest reaches of your mind, you can’t possibly imagine how beautiful it is here in Eden. You see, I have been rewarded for my endeavors on earth, and will enjoy those rewards for all eternity. I will think of you often, knowing when you close your eyes at night, I will be there. Knowing that every time precious Lola is out of your sight, I will be there. Donovan will be joining us soon, and he, too, will be rewarded. Those that escaped your wrath the day of the rapture are here, basking in unprecedented joy and gratefulness, thanking Eve for bringing them to salvation. But, as you must know, others will come. Kelly was saved, and although at peace, wants her daughter here with her to rejoice. I knew the day I looked into your soul that you were meant for greatness. You were meant for Eve. She has ordered those who remain to bring you to her—don’t fight them. What waits for you outside of your reality is something you couldn’t possibly comprehend. The power she will bestow on you is of an unimaginable magnitude. Give in. Join us, now and forever. Eve wants more, and she wants you. I will look for you in the garden, my sister, and we will be together very soon.

  —Illeana

  I slowly folded the letter, ignoring the chills that made their way up my spine. I realized that Illeana most likely wrote the letter the night before her execution, when she was probably more out of her mind than ever before, but the letter unnerved me just the same. I can’t imagine who she would have gotten to mail it after her death. Sitting in her special place in hell, Illeana had undoubtedly had the last word. I fought the urge to crumple the letter up and burn it, and simply put it back in its envelope. I don’t know why I wanted to keep it, but I did. Maybe someday I’ll open it again, and put it in its appropriate place at the bottom of the garbage can, but for now, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The fears of an attempt by other members to harm Lola rose again, and I realized that was the point. Not only did she want the last laugh, she wanted me to live out my days in fear. Most importantly, she wanted to be a constant in my life. I refused to take part in it. I already knew the FBI had caught any remaining members of the cult and it was deemed completely disbanded. I would not worry. “So Illeana, I guess you lose, don’t you?” I thought aloud. I wondered if she was out there somewhere listening.

  On the one-year anniversary of the mass suicide, I made my first trip to the memorial of the victims. I couldn’t bring myself to go there before, knowing the small grave markers of the children would remind me I didn’t save them all. But, like others, I needed my own closure. Lola’s memory of her mother had all but faded by now, something I would tell her about when she was older. I kept the photographs and the mementos of her mother, ready to show her when the situation arose. Her third birthday was one of the most memorable days, one of the most enjoyable days we had in a while. It was three days after her birthday that she legally became Lola Hagerman. We had more celebrations surrounding Lola in the past year than we’d ever had—something that made me take a step back and reevaluate my life. I was lucky to have such a wonderful family, and everything else would have to take a backseat to them. Period. Michael kept his promise about Florida. We took all of the children, including Sean, for a long, three-week reprieve. Naomi and Coop joined us. Mason and Jack had become an extended part of our family. Regardless, as Michael and I stood looking over the memorial, memories of that fateful day flooded me.

  Large amounts of flowers, teddy bears, and memorial wreaths were strewn throughout the cemetery. I felt such an overwhelming sense of grief when I entered the tranquil burial place that I thought I would lose it. I saw their faces, all of them, on each tombstone. They were vivid images, as if the entire thing had happened just yesterday. Situated at the bottom of a hillside, within a clearing of trees, the place was beautiful, serene. The wind blew quietly through the area and the brightness of the sun was shaded by the large maple and elm trees that surrounded the graves. I had seen the cemetery in pictures, and knew it would be difficult to see in person, but I was unprepared for the grief that enveloped me that very moment. As incredibly tragic as the memorial was, I was truly overcome by how beautiful the site was.

  “I’ll never understand,” I whispered quietly, looking over the graves of the children.

  Michael lovingly put his hands on my shoulders. “There will always be people out there that find a savior in someone like Illeana. Unfortunately, given history’s sick way of repeating itself, something like this will happen again.”

  It was something I didn’t care to think about; not then. We stood silent for the rest of our visit before slowly making our way to the entrance. A young coupl
e was placing a teddy bear at one of the children’s graves. The woman wiped away a tear as she turned to leave.

  “Let’s get out of here. This is sad, and, frankly, it gives me the creeps. How could someone do this?” she whispered to her husband.

  I stopped and looked at them, knowing they were the voice of the majority, citizens who couldn’t possibly understand the scope of the grave markers they now faced.

  “Lady, you have no idea…” I whispered back, before leaving the Children of Eden to rest forever.

  Author’s Note

  In 1999, the FBI released the written analysis, Project Megiddo. A comprehensive look at religious cults and militias nationwide, it was their strategic assessment of the potential for what has become domestic terrorism. Even prior to September 11, 2001, the FBI has been actively tracking what they deem to be threats to our national security. While most of us think of religious cults, such as The Branch Davidians and The People’s Temple, as nothing more than groups of apocalyptic visionaries, the FBI classifies them as terrorists that pose a threat to our daily existence.

  Militias, along with the legendary “doomsday” cults, are no longer separate. They each hold a significant threat to the well-being and structure of our society. Since Y2K came and went without any world-disrupting events, the believers in the New World Order conspiracy theory merely faded away. However, groups such as the Ku Klux Klan, neo-Nazis, Christian Identity Churches, Aryan Nation, The Order, Concerned Christians, Phineas Priests, The House of Yahweh, the Black Hebrew Israelites, and the Posse Comitatus continue to exist in a well-organized, and well-funded manner. In 1998, even The Church of Scientology faced allegations of member suicides, deaths, and psychotic breaks. Only when Germany refused to recognize the cult as a true religion, and claimed it a threat to democracy, did it ultimately cause international diplomatic tensions. While in Clearwater, Florida, recently, I observed a front-page headline that accused Scientology members of aggressively trying to recruit new members, including allegations of assault.