A few weeks had passed, since the taking up of the Church. Any mention of missing individuals was construed as nonsense at best. At worst, so far, a person could lose their job for attempting to "create an incident," or whatever other chidey-Heidi phrase launched, for no better reason than simply asking, "What happened?"
In short, back in early 2020s, some had speculated that when the Rapture had happened, the talking heads would have the ready-made aliens rationale. Nope! Not a single green Martian or silvery flying saucer had appeared. The missing people, the rear-ended cars had simply been abandoned.
Yeah right! Max earlier in the day, had mused, while browsing the internet, while careful to avoid certain keywords. One such "abandoned" vehicle happened to be driven by his former land-lady. She had loved that old clunker; why she had continued to put up with it's issues, was because it had belonged to her late husband - whose body laid in a big box over at the veteran's cemetery. "My Harry this, my Harry that - it had been been some twenty years, maybe more, since his passing.
So, needless to say, it seemed rather odd to Max, upon seeing that urn, which supposedly, contained his former land-lady's remains...uh-uh, somehow, he knew, her funeral plans had been to be placed in a big box next to "her Harry." Of course, such could easily be explained away - was no big secret that the woman's daughter was all too anxious to liquidate as many assets for as much and as quick as possible. And needless to also say, Max had his bags half packed - and what few other things he owned - to take along to one of the two apartment units he was considering.
On the way to the funeral, he had passed what had, a few weeks ago, been the little church. That space was now some sort of i-ching, or whatever, studio - like the town needed yet another freak hangout. Oh sure, based on the type of vehicles parked there, the customers were rather upscale - but there was something creepy about the place all the same.
Max strove to keep a tight leash upon his suspicions, yet the etchings were more evident than the mere body alterations of the, and other similar, places' clientele. One thing sure, that gal's tights didn't come from any place like wally-world.
Several other individuals took their seats, while Reverand Snurd - or whatever - took his, or her ... Max wasn't certain ... and what was it with the titles, anyway...? But one thing for sure, our Jewish hero, sure took a double-take upon making eye contact with the speaker. If Max didn't know any better, he'd of about sworn of seeing scales upon the speaker's eyes. Frankly, Max didn't want to even consider, what he had seen, wasn't just a figment of his imagination - he chalked it down to, too many hours and poor nutrition.
"Erza Pound, or whoever...?" Max also just managed to keep a leash on his tendency of making faces - whenever he got a whiff of bs - a habit he'd picked up back during the mask-mandate years, and one he still struggled to control. "Reverand, had to be kidding...no wait, he/she/it/they was serious." Max wanted to just get an leave. While the deceased was not family, Max knew his land-lady would certainly not wanted any such readings - nor any from Carl Jung.
The speel had, thankfully, not lasted beyond the usual attention span of ten or fifteen minutes. And that was another thing Max could not help but notice, over just the few short weeks - attention spans had grown even shorter...reviewing job applications. One page, and a half cover-sheet - why is that such a problem? Nuf said.
Revend's pitch was done. The attendees arose from their chairs, briefly expressed their sympathies, and - for the most part - made their way over to the Vets for a free lunch. Small town. Max, who did work for the vets, knew the post would provide a nice luncheon for a significant discount, because the deceased was a vet's widow. Well, that's the way they'd done in the past...but, who knew, considering...
Over the past few weeks, Max also couldn't help to notice, certain organizations were shutting their doors. Lack of funding. The homeless shelter, across the river, one who had - for decades - been a beacon of hope, had, just last week, announced they were closing at the end of the month. The community-outreach in town was probably going to lose their lease to a tenant who wanted the space and was willing to pay a higher rent for her alternative-decor shop - currently, Endorah - think that's her name - sells her crystals and creepy statues in a space not from a venue, where the street parking is already tight. Needless to say, Endorah and the bank manager had several times shared some colorful words concerning the parking issue.
Max expressed his sympathy to the daughter, who appeared less than grieved. Whoever - whatever - was standing close to devoted-daughter, Max didn't want to know. One thing for sure, Reverend's eyes weren't the only ones to have that...ugh, scaley appearance.
Max drove out of the parking lot, and headed to a diner, not far from the bank. They still had good, and the people there, weren't too freaky. But Max knew, in his heart - namely, because he'd been reading the Scriptures - that would change, sooner than enough.
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