“The humidity is not going away. You want a drink?”

Hello to you, too. Maybe the sunshine and seaside air were stirring up his sensitivities. He headed toward the kitchen. “I could go another one of those craft beers you’ve got in there.” The place was quiet. “Do you live here by yourself?”

“Yes and no. I have a few lady friends. They come and they go. Naughty boy in that area.” Bruce handed him a beer and pointed outside. “Come sit out there. I have a few things to tell you.”

Bruce lifted a remote control from its wall-mounted holder, pressed a button, and replaced it in the holder. A soft salted breeze brushed across Wiley’s face as the large balcony door slid along its track. They walked out onto a spacious deck with sun loungers and chairs, a Weber barbecue, large pot plants, and an outdoor dining setting. An unusual shell coffee table, one Wiley thought should be in a museum, sat between the two sun loungers. He took a sip of his beer.

“Like the table? Been collecting the shells for years. Got someone to design a table to display them.” Bruce threw a coaster on the table. “Put your beer on that.” Bruce did the same.

He looked at some of the shells as he placed his beer down on the coaster. Yes, he was impressed. They sat facing each other. Behind Bruce, a hammock hung between two palm trees. Of course. Why not. This was a completely different world and lifestyle. He would enjoy it, make himself comfortable. The comforts of this house seemed never ending. The man’s voice brought Wiley back from his utopian daydream.

“You okay with me using your surname or do you prefer Thomas?”

“It’s fine. Most people do and I’ve never quite worked out why. I am so used to it I barely answer to my first name. Don’t worry I don’t find it rude.”

“I’m the same. Can’t remember the last time I was called Robert.” He picked up his beer. “Well, Wiley …,” he paused and gave a wink. “I’ve just been to a local disaster management team meeting. I’m a committee member. Things are not as bad as the media are reporting.” Bruce took a sip of his drink. “The emergency incidents get looked after by the appropriate agencies and we provide support as things get escalated. This is all done through our disaster coordination centre. Good stuff, hey?”

“That’s nice to know.” Wiley waved his arms to encompass the surroundings. “Wouldn’t think there was a problem out there. But it’s great what you’re doing. A good citizen.”

Bruce tilted his head slightly, and Wiley sensed some unease. He needed to curb his tongue. Sarcasm seemed to slip out without any problem. He took a longer sip of his beer.

“Good things come to those who wait,” Bruce said. “Committee members are talking about using drones to conduct aerial surveys to report on the damage done and to help with the recovery effort.”

Wiley gave a cautious nod. He’d nearly forgotten about that idea.

“You know where I’m going with this?’ Bruce asked.

“I think so.”

“The news gets better. The contact for the drones goes to our church.”

“Sorry … your church.” Had a seismic shift occurred with this man and his beliefs? “You’re a believer?”

The man laughed. “Many think so. I’m what Christians refer to as a wolf in sheep's clothing. Surprised you didn’t realise our members infiltrate churches.”

“Wasn’t aware of any in our city chapter. At least, not at meetings I’ve attended.”

Bruce stood up and pointed to the beer bottle. “You want another one?”

Wiley looked at his bottle, picked it up, and finished what remained. “Yep.”

Bruce returned, handing Wiley a chilled bottle and placing a bowl of mixed nuts on the table. “Think about it. They’re our enemy and to be perfectly frank, they’re easy to manipulate. They put complete trust in the elders of the church. They made me an elder because I had lots of money.” He grabbed some nuts.

“Why are they so easy to manipulate?” Wiley felt his anger brewing. Christians stirred up something inside him.

“I believe it’s a belonging thing. People want to belong in a community without having to think too much about it, meaning very few actually read the Bible—they leave such things—that is, the responsibility of knowledge—to the pulpit.” Bruce picked up a few nuts. “You can’t underestimate the need for belonging. There’s some power with the need to belong. Once connected, they don’t want to lose it.”

“Boy, we need to help these people.” Wiley laughed, and a piece of peanut flew out of his mouth. He hoped Bruce didn’t notice. He wiped his lips and leaned forward, rubbing his hands. Impatience was brewing.

“And their leaders—they’re driven by egos. Love being the centre of attention, control freaks, get offended easy because they’re never wrong. The list goes on.” He shook his head and reached over and found the nuts he was after. “It’s unbelievable. I attend meetings, and at times I have to control myself from bursting out laughing. They can’t see the conflict and distrust they generate.”

Good. This man was on the same page as Wiley, and he was pumped up.

“I had a recent discussion with one of the leaders. There was a glass door behind me that was obviously reflecting his image. The number of times he pushed his hair back off his forehead and checked his image in the ‘mirror’ was amusing. I smirked, and he didn’t notice because his focus was on his image on the glass door.”

What was Bruce’s ego like? But what he was saying about belonging and egos made sense. Wiley could see that in their group—people wanting to belong. There must be many different roads to take to belong. And there were some pretty big egos floating around.

“What do you achieve by infiltrating?” Wiley asked.

“A number of things. I start rumours, get the gossip treadmill going. You can weaken the so-called family of God through gossip. I’ve been quite successful with it. We’ve changed pastors a number of times, and the church is going nowhere.”

“And amber people?”

Bruce pulled out a trendy set of sunglasses from his shirt pocket and put them on.

“Well, you’re not an amber person.” Bruce chuckled.  “I got these specially made. The ones you purchase online from the New Agers … well, they look like glasses you’d buy from two-dollar shops.” He took them off and returned them to his shirt pocket.

He had a big ego. Wiley’s glasses would remain hidden in his backpack. “You know I was the one who got us onto those aura glasses.”

“Really? Well done.”

Not a lot of recognition there.

“I don’t use violence to deal with amber people. I have my own method.” He raised his eyebrows towards Wiley.

That comment stirred up mixed emotions. Wasn’t sure if it was good or bad.

“Most don’t last long in church. Too much gossip and too little teaching. I speed the process up where I can.”

“And how does one do that?”

“I have an associate who helps. We make calls asking for money, spread rumours.”

“Be easier just to blow the church up.” That was just tough talk. He knew the damage rumours did to the church community.

“My, you’re a nasty one. Now I understand why you’re here.” Bruce took a sip of his beer and looked at Wiley. “Yes, but it’s really all about revenge. Payback. Do you know how they handle revenge?”

“You mean the church?”

“Yes. As an elder, I sit in on counselling sessions with the pastor. Once there was a person with a similar background to me, he suffered what they call ‘clergy abuse’ early in his life and struggled with dealing with it. The pastor went down the ‘forgive them’ pathway. Didn’t work for the person. I think justice needs to come into it somewhere. You know, make the person pay for their crimes.”

“So we should just forget about the amber people and attack the pastors, the leaders?” The church taught that Judgment Day was coming, with Jesus as the judge. But it was all a bit confusing. His mind raced, searching. Searching for what? He didn’t know.

18 - Limes and auras

The lady who opened the flyscreen door for Jack and Cath had a presence about her. Of what, Jack couldn’t pick. A feeling of well-being, maybe. What colour was her aura?

After introducing themselves, they followed her down a passageway. A candle flickered on a narrow hallway table, giving off a lavender scent. Jack’s shoes echoed on the timber floors.