“I feel uncomfortable up front,” said the reporter.
“You're up front wherever you sit. You're alone.”
“I'll stay here,” she said. She was a mousy sort with very large eyeglasses. Rubin wondered if bad eyesight could be cured by projecting a nonmousy essence. He would have to add that to a Poweressence course. As you think, so you see, he thought. It would be a good course. They could sell it for the cost of a hundred pair of eyeglasses, saying that with the proper use of the course they would never need eyeglasses again. There were lots of things he could do with vision. But these things were not on his mind this day as he read his statement.
“This is a message to the world about religious freedom. Today we face the slings and arrows of an oppressive government. Little do you heed. Today Poweressence, which has brought so much love and freedom to the world, suffers persecution. And why, you may ask,” read Rubin.
“Because we can cure insomnia without making the drug companies rich. Because we can make people happier and more secure without making the officially approved psychiatrist richer. Because we can help people without the government demanding more money. Today your government attempts to suppress people reintegrating with their essence, claiming it is some sort of mail fraud. How will they treat the Mass tomorrow? Can the Catholics prove the Eucharist is the body and blood of their Lord? Can the Jews prove their Passover really commemorates the flight from Egypt? Can Protestants prove the laying-on of hands heals? Yes, we have been indicted for promising and giving cures for headaches, unhappiness, depression, a poor love life, and the ever-popular and soon-to-be released seeing through your eyes instead of eyeglasses.”
On the last one, Rubin lifted his gaze from the printed page. He had just made that one up.
“Do not ask for whom the bell tolls,” he rang out. “It tolls for me.”
He liked that even better. The lone reporter from the county weekly finally came up for a press release. She had a small question.
“We certainly want to run your story, but we have an advertising problem.”
“Not enough space in the paper.”
“Not enough advertising. I also sell advertising space. My boss said to tell you it would be a wonderful story if we could run your large advertisement right beside it.”
“How much?”
“A hundred dollars.”
“A free press is vital to a free nation,” said Rubin, stuffing a wad of bills into her hands. “Don't forget to mention seeing through your eyes, not your eyeglasses. It's a new program.”
“Really, you can help me to see without eyeglasses?”
“Only if you want to help yourself,” said Rubin.
“I do.”
“Fill out an application for Poweressence. You've got to start at the beginning. I'll take back the entrance fee,” he said. Fortunately it came just to the cost of the advertising. And thus the last testament of Poweressence in America was given to the Bruce County Register, which Rubin noted would become famous just as the Virginia Pilot of Norfolk, Virginia, became famous for being the only newspaper to carry the first flight of man at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina.
“I never heard of the Virginia Pilot,” said the reporter-advertising salesperson.
“They'll hear of the Bruce County Register,” said Rubin.
Upstairs Beatrice was now fully realizing she was going to have to leave the estate. Rubin knew this because anything she wasn't taking she was breaking.
Glass littered the floor. Mirrors hung precariously on walls. Windows looked like a war had been fought through them.
“Rubin. No more playing around. We're hardball now. Do you know why we have to run?”
“We're going to go to jail if we don't,” said Rubin. “The forces of negativity are after us.”
“We have to run because we haven't been tough enough. We've played by their rules, not ours. Our problem is we've been too nicey-nice and not tough enough. No more games. We're going for it all. We're going for our own country. Then let them try to convict us. If you run the country, you can't violate laws. You make the laws.”
One of the young bodyguards Beatrice favored ran into the room.
“There's something at the front gate. He didn't take no for an answer.”
“What do you mean, 'something'?” asked Rubin.
“What do you mean he didn't take 'no'?” asked Beatrice.
“Well, we have Bruno and the dogs at the front gate. And you know how tough they are,” said the bodyguard.
“I do,” said Beatrice with a pleased smile.
“A guy came up to them, had a Powie with him. The Powie kept pointing toward here, saying you and Beatrice lived here. Said it was the spiritual home of the world.”
“What was her name?” asked Rubin.
“I don't know, they're all alike. All that trust and stupidity. Anything you tell them, they go and figure out how it makes sense. You know.”
“Who cares,” said Beatrice.
“Well, Bruno says they can't come in, and this guy throws the dogs halfway up the lawn like footballs with everything but a spiral and then tells Bruno he'll do the same thing to him. Well, Bruno panics. I know this because he's pressing the alarm and I'm listening in to this gate outpost and he's promising everything to the guy if he will just ask for it nicely.”
“Did the negative intruder have thick wrists?” asked Rubin.
“Wrists? Who cares about wrists?” Beatrice laughed. “What can you do with a wrist?”
“You saw the monitor. Did he have thick wrists?”
“I think so,” said the bodyguard. “Dark eyes. High cheekbones.”
“The negative force, Beatrice,” said Rubin. “The ultimate negative force has come after us. I've said it a thousand times. If you're good, they'll attack you. The better you are, the more they'll attack you. And if you're representing ultimate good, then ultimate evil will find you out.”
“Well then, kill him! Is that such a problem? What's the problem here?” said Beatrice. “Is there any reason that man has to live? Do I hear a reason? Do I see a hand?” Beatrice looked around the room, as though expecting to find an answer. “Thank you. Please shoot the trespasser.”
“Well, Bruno tried that,” said the bodyguard.
“And?” asked Beatrice.
“Bruno sailed past the dogs up the lawn. He isn't moving too much.”
“Bruno never moved too much,” said Beatrice.
“I could have told you guns wouldn't stop him. We've already tried guns. Our faithful Mr. Muscamente had many guns himself, and succumbed to the negative force. I have tracked this man across America. I have seen what he can do.”
“We're packed, let's go,” said Beatrice.
“No. I want to cover our retreat. I want to end this evil person now.”
“Rubin, I like that in you,” said Beatrice. “I'll go through the back way, and you can join me.”
“No. I'll set up everything and we'll both go.”
“How long will that take?”
“Three seconds. I have been expecting this. Miami airport proved that bullets cannot stop the man. And given that people cannot escape him, I came to the conclusion that the only way to destroy such a force—”
“Just do it, Rubin,” said Beatrice, and to the bodyguard added:
“If it weren't for me he would still be wasting reams of bond paper putting his silly ideas on them.”
“This will not miss,” said Rubin, and he went to the basement to activate the system he had arranged. Since it took twenty more seconds than the three he had promised, he found himself alone in the mansion, and had to run to catch up to the car the bodyguard was packing in the rear of the house.
“Don't drive away. Don't let him see us escaping. If he goes after us, my trap won't work.”