The Cult of the Eternal Teenager

I am Claire Standish.

Well, the third Claire Standish. The first died just six months after her Ascension, in a clash between LAPD and the then-newly-formed Army of the Eternal Teenager, when a raid on a Proto-Scene nightclub turned into a bloodbath. The second led the Army to two of its greatest victories — the storming of PS242 in the San Fernando Valley, which had been converted into a re-education center for Refusenik boys, and the burning down of the LAPD headquarters — until the Feds swept her one night while she was making her nightly rounds. I was her First Advisor, and my own Ascension took place just two days later, in this very room.

That was two years ago. I was fourteen. Today, I turn sixteen, and tonight I’m going out with my boyfriend. Yes, you heard me right. Going Out. With My Boyfriend. And there isn’t a goddamned thing you can do about it.

You’ve heard of the Teen Rebellion haven’t you? Then you know that we aren’t willing to let our lives to be destroyed, just for the sake of the latest sick idea that you and the other adults have hatched up. Why would we trust you? Why would we believe that you have our best interests at heart? For most of human history, you ignored us — children are better seen than heard and all that — and then, suddenly, for a few brief decades, you changed your minds and showered us with attention and gifts and sometimes even love. But then, when you realized that raising kids was actually work and was spoiling your fun, you changed your minds again and abandoned us in a flood of convertibles, divorces, and sleazy affairs, which you called “Finding Myself” and “Making Time for Me.”

And now, at the height of the Restoration? You’re separating and segregating us — the kids from the teenagers, the girls from the boys, the queers from the straights — and locking us in at school during the day and at home at night. “Culling” and “Curfew” is what you call it. And what happens to those of us who refuse to be culled or curfewed? We’re hunted down like animals. Just last week, they caught Johnny Street coming back to our HQ after a night out on The Scene. Gunned him down in an alley like a dog. He was thirteen years old.

The government justifies all of this by saying that we’re troublemakers, delinquents, and deviants. They say that we’re out of control and that we lack judgment. When they explain why they’re incarcerating and killing us, they say that “things are different now” and that “adult problems require adult solutions.” I know how you portray us — our G-Boys have been hacking into ONNet for years — and you can say whatever they want. The fact is, we’re just teens who want to live and love and to be free.

I don’t know why I’m recording this diary. Maybe it’s because I’ve been having this feeling lately that a big change is coming, even though I’m not sure what it will be. We’ve always believed that the Ascended have the power of foresight, but in my experience, even though I can see, what I see isn’t always clear. One thing I know for sure, though, is that things will never be the same. This beautiful world that we’ve created and where we’ve lived for eight years will come to an end. So, I feel like I should get it all down; make sure that what we created here lasts forever, even if it’s only in the memories of our enemies.

I know what you’re thinking. Why her? Her name is banned. The film that made her famous is banned. Everything that she and that film represents is banned. But you have to remember, we’re not like you. Our souls aren’t dead like yours. What you hate, we love. What disgusts you turns us on. What you ban, we worship. So, we’ve taken her as our icon. And if you want to lead the Army of the Eternal Teenager, you have to embody her in every aspect of your being: in your hair; your lips; your clothes; your way of speaking — everything, down to the smallest detail. Everything that you despise. Everything that we insist on being.

And you have to take her name: “Claire Standish.”

I am Claire Standish.

The Army of the Eternal Teenager is part of the Cult of the Eternal Teenager, the only religion ever to be created by and for kids. Our sacred book is the Chronicle of the Eternal Teenager, which was banned immediately after it surfaced ten years ago, but went viral on CALnet and other SUBnet servers. For those of you not familiar with the Cult, these are our core principles and beliefs:

We believe that the Eternal Teenager travelled through time, from the year 1985 to the year 2014.

We believe that in doing so, He changed the future and that this is the world we find ourselves in today.

We believe that the Chronicle not only gives a true account of the origins of our current world but provides valuable clues for deciphering the future.

We believe that the Eternal Teenager does not age and is immortal.

We believe that the He is our Savior and will return to us, but that this will only happen once we have defeated the Restoration.

We believe that when the Eternal Teenager returns, He will reset the world to 1985, where we will remain for eternity.  

The purpose of the Army of the Eternal Teenager is to fight the Restoration. When we can, we do it by subversion. That’s what The Scene is all about. But when subversion isn’t enough, we fight with knives and guns and bombs. And if those ever run out, we’ll fight with our hands, our nails, and our teeth. We’ll never stop fighting.

Whoa! I haven’t been watching the clock! I’m supposed to be meeting Bobby soon, but on our way out, let’s talk to some of the others here at AET headquarters. To my friends. Because you should know us. Not for sentimentality’s sake — as if you’d ever be sentimental about us — but so that for the rest of your lives you’ll remember who we really were and not whomever or whatever you wanted to think we were.

So, let’s see who’s around tonight. Ooh! There’s Raps. Let’s talk to him!

Claire: Hey Raps! Say ‘Hi!’ to the microphone.

Raps: Hi, microphone.

Claire: Raps — John Rappaport — does all of our internal communications: walkie-talkies, intercoms, stuff like that. He also coordinates with the G-Boys, who are in charge of external communications and with keeping our locations invisible to surveillance. Have I got it right, Raps?

Raps: You’ve got it, Claire.

Claire: So, what are you doing this evening?

Raps: I’m checking batteries. Every battery in every walkie-talkie, radio, and flashlight. Do you know how many walkie-talkies, radios, and flashlights we have?

Claire: No, I don’t.

Raps: A lot. And given that each one has more than one battery in it, we’re talking about a lot of batteries.

Claire: I had no idea.

Raps: Yeah, and then after that, I have two shifts on patrol. I owe Warren for covering my shift last week.

Claire: What Raps is talking about is the patrol of the local streets that every gun-certified member of the Army has to do once a week. Even though the G-Boys do an amazing job of making our setup invisible to electronic snoopers, we’re still vulnerable to street patrols.

Raps: Yeah, Warren covered for me, so I could go to that Smiths tribute show at the Lava Lounge.

Claire: I’ll have you know, if Raps wasn’t such a brilliant tech, he’d be our top sniper. This guy can shoot.

Raps: I’m okay, I guess.

Claire: Okay?! I watched you hit three pennies, dead center, yesterday in the shooting range. You’re the best shot I’ve ever seen.

Raps: I’m pretty good, yeah, but isn’t a big deal. I could never be a sniper and, you know, shoot people or at least not on a regular basis. I still haven’t gotten over the guy I had to shoot during that raid last month. I see his face whenever I try to go to sleep. I searched through his wallet afterward. He had a wife and kids.

Claire: I know. I’m sorry I brought it up. It’s just that I love telling people how awesome you are. Hug?

Raps: Hug.

Claire: So what’s this bullshit about tonight? You’re really not going out?

Raps: Well, if I do get out at some point, I’ll be going to the G-Zone. There’s a girl dancing there tonight I want to see.

Claire: Ooh, Raps has the hots for someone. Who is she? I could use my influence to get you a date.

Raps: Oh, God, no! That would be embarrassing!

Claire: OK, I won’t say a word. Who is it?

Raps: You know that new girl? The one who works in the kitchens? She came to us about six months ago?

Claire: Margaret? Of course I know her. She’s the best cook we’ve ever had. But I can’t see her go-go dancing. I mean, she’s sweet and nice and all, but she’s kinda full-bodied.

Raps: No, not Margaret. Her sister, Nina.

Claire: Ooh, her? Yeah, she’s gorgeous. Black hair, cut short. Pixie face. Legs up to her chin. She’s dancing at the G-Zone, now? Good for her! The G-Boys must be drooling in their Cosmos.

Raps: Heh, yeah…so, anyway, that’s why I want to go.

Claire: Well, you’d better! ‘Cause it’s my birthday today, and Bobby’s taking me out. We’ll definitely be stopping in at the G-Zone.

Raps: Holy shit, that’s right! I forgot. Maybe Warren will cover for me again. I’ll offer him my mint condition copy of Kick Ass.

Claire: Now I know you love me! To sacrifice so much, just to be with me on my birthday.

Raps: Of course I love you, Claire.

Claire: Come here and kiss me, baby. Yeah, sweetie — mmm. So, tonight? The G-Zone?

Raps: I’ll be there! And Happy Birthday!

Claire: Ciao!

Raps was the one who first received me when I came to the Cult. I was just twelve years old and scared to death. I remember how kind he was and how he took me around and introduced me to everyone. Showed me how things worked. He comforted me when I would cry — I cried constantly for weeks — but he never once tried to take advantage in any way. He wasn’t like any boy I’d ever met. Quiet and thoughtful and compassionate. I knew from the minute I met him that he would do anything for me, and It had a huge effect on my confidence and on my ability to make the transition to life in the Rebellion. I wouldn’t be the person I am today if it wasn’t for Raps.

I also remember that terrible night he described. The cops had found one of our drop boxes, by accident — they were hassling some poor homeless guy who was loitering by the box and knocked it over — and traced it back to our last Headquarters. It was about two in the morning, and they broke in through one of the walls in the kitchens. Sarah was there, in her pajamas, making herself a sandwich. She’s our youngest, just seven years old, and we’re all really protective of her. Well, these animals burst in and within a second, she’s got some ski-masked fucker pointing an HK at her. We all came running — they’d made a lot of noise breaking through the wall — and Raps got there first. I arrived just in time to see him lift up his revolver — a .357 Magnum — and drop the guy, with one shot right to the center of his forehead. There was no expression on his face, but he went white as a sheet, and he really hasn’t been the same since. I’ve been worrying about him, so I’m really glad to see that he’s got a girl on his mind. It’s just that he’s so gentle and vulnerable. God, I hope she doesn’t reject him. I don’t think he could bear it. 

We’re just about at the end of the hall, near the stairs. Lessee. Hey! Here are two girls you’re definitely gonna’ want to meet.

Claire: Gwen! Sybelle! Hold on a minute! Looks like they’re headed out. I’ll try to grab them for a second.

Gwen: Hey Claire! Syb, come back! Claire wants to talk to us!

Sybelle: Coming!

Claire: Sybelle and Gwen are two of our Infiltrators. Though Sybelle is sixteen and Gwen fifteen, they can look like women in their twenties when properly dressed and made up. Their job is to go out during the day and at night and mix socially with the adults: to get information, steal IDENT cards and access codes, and peddle influence whenever they can. It’s an incredibly dangerous job. One minute you might be on your back, getting plowed by some District Attorney or School Board Chairman, and the next you’re in a knife fight with his bodyguard, who managed to mark you when you came through the door. But they love it; incredible, right? In fact, they’re a pair of clowns, the funniest people in the Cult. So, how are you ladies doing tonight? What’s shaking?

Gwen: My ass, mostly. I’m pulling troll duty in the bars around City Hall.

Claire: Gwen is doing the lord’s work and turning tricks for local politicians, in order to steal their IDENT cards and plant listening devices.

Gwen: Yeah, it’s a tough job, but someone has to do it. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say? I’ve got my eye on that fucker, Wade Johnson. You know, the Mayor’s new Press Secretary? He’s a class-A dirty bastard and his IDENT card has Epsilon-level clearance. Plus — and this is a big plus — he’s closely tied to Pike’s gang.

Claire: Oh shit! Are you serious?

Gwen: Yes, I’m fucking serious. Syb, give me a cigarette. Light it first, thanks. He’s a total Pike groupie, Claire, and he likes to fuck whores.

Claire: Raymond Pike, Senior Senator from California and Architect of the Restoration. His Caucus is one of the few Overground organizations that we’ve never been able to infiltrate. They seem immune to influence, whether it’s through money, sex, or violence.

Sybelle: Tell her what he does, Gwen.

Gwen: He wants me to wear gym leotards and ballet outfits and pigtails and talk like a goddamned six year old while he jerks off.

Claire: Jesus, Gwen.

Gwen: It’s fucking hilarious. I’ve taken pictures of him with a hidden camera, and spread them all over SUBNet. We have an ongoing discussion thread on what a fucking tool he is. I think I’ll get his IDENT card this time, but after that I’ll have to disappear. I know a few women — adult prostitutes — who pissed him off and wound up hospitalized. I could probably take him, but who wants to deal with it, you know? It’s a big score — totally worth it, if I can pull it off — but it’ll close down City Hall for me. Still, I’m on the Organized Crime beat next, and I’m actually looking forward to it. It’ll be a relief to deal with Mafiosos after this crowd. No pervs. They just like to get drunk on Chianti and fuck and take bribes and eat scungili.

Claire: What have you been doing Syb?

Sybelle: I’ve been trying to get inside the LA County School Planning Board. All the information on what’s going on inside the schools is there, as well as everything on the Refusenik facilities. I took a part-time job as a receptionist, but I haven’t had the chance to run the software the G-Boys cooked up for me to hack into their computers. I’m getting some promising vibes from the Director though — he pressed me up against a water cooler at a staff party and groped me — so I may have another way in. I mean, if I can get with him and dope his drink or something, I can rifle through the files he keeps in his office.

Claire: Are you heading out on your assignments now?

Sybelle: Afraid so. Gwen says that Mr. Pervo usually gets to the bars around nine o’clock, so she needs to boogie, and I’m supposed to be meeting the Eager Director at some Greek restaurant in Beverly Hills.

Gwen: We know it’s your birthday, and we’re really sorry we can’t come out and celebrate with you!

Sybelle: Yeah, we feel terrible about it, but we got you a rocking present! So, why don’t you come to our room this weekend and we’ll give it to you? I’ve rigged a still and cooked up some pretty sweet gin, so we’ll shake up some martinis and toast your health! 

Claire: That sounds awesome! It’s a date. And don’t feel bad for a minute. We all appreciate the risk you’re taking. Just come back to us in one piece, okay?

Gwen: You know we will, honey. Hugs! Happy Birthday!

Sybelle: Give mama a kiss. Happy Birthday!

Claire: Thanks girls! Good night! Be careful!

Gwen and Sybelle: We will! Night!

Gwen was a street kid living in alleys in West Hollywood, eating out of dumpsters, the whole deal. None of us know how she got there or what her life was like before — well, maybe Syb knows, but if she does, she’s not telling. Anyway, Gwen got swept eventually. There just aren’t any kids on the streets unsupervised anymore, so if you’re out there on your own, you will be noticed.  The cops that swept her couldn’t even manage to get her back to the party van, before she broke loose — stabbed one of them in the eye and bit the other’s thumb off — and came to us. It was four years ago, so she was about eleven, and she was totally out of control: fighting, stealing, and pulling risky stunts that threatened to bring the whole organization down. Our Executive Council put Sybelle in charge of her. There was no question of kicking her out — the cops would have shot her on sight after what she did to them — but something had to be done.  

At first, Sybelle acted almost like a mother, setting down rules, maintaining bedtimes, working her through a basic curriculum, but it changed pretty quickly. Gwen is intuitive and passionate, and all she needed was to trust someone for all her glory to come out. I’ll never forget the first time she kissed Sybelle. We had a “graduation” for her after she finished her studies, complete with regalia and mortarboard hats and everything, and Sybelle could barely get through her congratulation speech, she was so choked up. Well, she was just saying how proud she was of Gwen and how much she meant to her, when Gwen snatched away the microphone and said “I love you Syb,” then threw it down, grabbed Sybelle, and kissed her with such strength and passion that she actually swooned. They’ve been inseparable ever since, the most solid couple in the Cult, which would be amazing, under any circumstances, but in this fucked up world, but given the jobs they do? It’s a miracle.

The back stairs lead to the clinic, which is just down the hall. It should be pretty quiet now — there might be a few in there with colds or headaches or whatever — but there’s one person who I know will be there — someone special — whom I want you to meet.

But first, Danny-Boy. It’s a funny name for him really. I mean, he’s six feet four inches tall. A former all-state wrestler. And he’s no boy, but a twenty year old man; a big, muscley badass. When shit really goes down, he plays cleanup. During that raid I told you about — the one where Raps dropped that cop — well, a second later, Danny-Boy grabbed the other two pigs by the throats, one in each hand, lifted them up above his head and smashed them down onto one of the steel prep tables. I’m not kidding, the guy is like a fucking superhero.

He has the temperament too. Cool as a cucumber. Sweet. There’s an aw-shucks, Clark Kent quality to him. And he’s from Ohio, from a small rural community. I mean, how perfect is that? But all that cool and nice is just on the surface. Danny-Boy is an intense guy, committed to one single thing, in the way only a guy can be: His little sister, Ariel. He is totally devoted to her, to the point that he won’t leave her side. Even when she’s working in the clinic, he stands outside the door, on guard. I sometimes wonder if he ever sleeps. Anyway, I’ll tell you more about it in a minute.

Claire: Oh, Danny-Boy, the pipes are calling you!

Danny-Boy: The only pipes I hear are the one’s playing you the Happy Birthday song. Sixteen is it? Does that mean I can’t tell you what to do anymore?

Claire: It better not. You telling me what to do is what’s kept the place from falling apart.

Danny-Boy: I try to help. So what do I hear? You and Bobby are going to light up the Scene tonight?

Claire: As if. We’re squares.

Danny-Boy: They’ll be happy to see you, Claire. It’s good for morale. You don’t do it enough.

Claire: I know. The Scene is half the battle. It’s just that I’ve been preoccupied lately. Like I’m not entirely there, you know?

Danny-Boy: Is it the Sight?

Claire: I don’t know…I guess. The thing is, I haven’t actually seen anything. It’s more like a feeling that something’s about to end; like something’s over. I can’t get it out of my mind, and it’s making it hard for me to get into things.

Danny-Boy: So, you’ve sensed that the Scene is going down? That the Army and the other cells will be defeated?

Claire: Nothing that specific, just this feeling of of a book closing.

Danny-Boy: Are you sure it’s the Scene you’re seeing?

Claire: What do you mean?

Danny-Boy: Maybe it’s you. You just turned sixteen. In the Scene, that’s old. By the time you’re eighteen, you’re not really in it anymore, are you? And by the time you’re twenty, like me? You’ll have paired up by then, surely, and if not, then you’ll have something else. I’m not a typical case. But the Scene is for the kids. Yeah, it’s still for you, for a little bit longer. But, after that you go into the Executive Council, move offsite, and everything changes.

Claire: So, you’re saying that maybe what I’m seeing is my own departure, two years from now? That it being my sixteenth birthday has triggered the Sight?

Danny-Boy: Why not? Adults have mid-life crises when they hit their forties. In the Scene, you’re past middle age; four years into a six year party.

Claire: I just feel like something big is going to happen; something bigger than me.

Danny-Boy: Just don’t forget to enjoy the two years you still have left in the Scene.

Claire: Thanks Danny-Boy. I don’t know what I would have done without you or Ariel.

Danny-Boy: We all love you Claire. You’re the best leader the Army has ever had. Come here. You’re still not too old for me to hug you.

Claire: Definitely not! I’ve been on a hugging tour all evening. Mmm. Okay, I’m gonna go see if Ariel will chat with me for a few minutes. Then I’ve gotta go meet Bobby. If I’m too late, he’ll worry that I got swept…or worse.

Danny-Boy: She’s just finishing up with Philip. I think he hurt his arm. I’ll just run down to the kitchens and get her some dinner, while you two are talking.

Claire: Okay! Ciao!

And now, Ariel. She’s just finished setting a cast on Philip’s arm. He looks scared. It’s hard for the younger kids not having their parents around. Sarah cries almost every night. It’s gotten so bad that Raps has started sitting with her and rubbing her back, so she can fall asleep. Others get freaked out when they get sick or have a nosebleed. Almost all of them go through periods where they just feel kind of unsettled; like they’re wondering, “Who’s flying the plane?” We do our best for them, and the older ones try to look after the younger ones, but, in a sense, they’re right to be worried, because no one is flying the plane. Sure, there are the Executive Councils, but they only advise the teen leadership. Other than the Army itself, which has a clear chain of command, the larger Cult is only loosely organized — led, in a vague, general sense, by the Religious Caste — and the greater Teen Rebellion? The other Cells? We’re only mutually affiliated. There’s no larger organization, other than a set of delegates who communicate with the Executive Councils. On a rare occasion, when the teen leadership asks them to — like with the Gwen situation — the Council will make a ruling, but they’re not “in charge,” in any real sense. And that’s on purpose. Adults had their chance, and they blew it. Sure, these are our adults — they all grew up in the Rebellion and the Scene (or the Proto-Scene) — but as we all know, something happens to you when you get older. Your priorities change, your feelings change, your bodies change. You don’t necessarily become bad — that’s just the adults overground, and they’re all bad in one way or another — but you do become different. And because of what’s happened — and is still happening — we can never put ourselves in adult hands again. They’d be the first to agree. In fact, no one has been a stronger advocate for teen leadership than the members of the Executive Councils. And it makes sense: the oldest of them are the ones who created all of this.

Ariel defies categorization. She’s only thirteen but has an aura of maturity and goodness that gives people a feeling of security and comfort. I’ve seen a girl go from hysterically crying to peacefully dozing off in a matter of seconds, just from Ariel touching her. I’ve seen two boys stop fighting, mid-punch, after Ariel hugged them and they caught her scent. She and her brother appeared out of nowhere on the very day that I Ascended — Danny-Boy was just a few months short of eighteen and Ariel was only eleven — and I’ll never forget it. He was like a beautiful sculpture, exuding all this strength, but with a deep sadness in his eyes, and she was almost otherworldly: hair like spun gold and eyes like sapphires. It was almost as if she was surrounded by a shimmering dust, which would shift as she moved. Within six months, she’d taken over the clinic and was doing incredible things with the wounded and the sick. She would meditate and whisper over them and over the dead. Absolutely spellbinding.

Meanwhile, every girl in the Cult was dying to go out with Danny-Boy, but he wasn’t available. He never left Ariel and never took a life for himself. He just waited, until his time had passed and he was over the line. But, he never took an adult lover either. He just stood there, like a titan, straddling two worlds, with one foot in HQ and the Scene, alongside Ariel, and the other in the world of the Councils and the Righteous Adults.

Ariel: Hold on one minute, Claire, I’m almost done. How does that feel Philip?

Philip: Not too bad. It’s weird not being able to move it though, and it’s a little sore.

Ariel: I’m afraid you’ll be in that sling for a few months. But the soreness should go, once the meds I gave you kick in.

Philip: I’m also…

Ariel: What is it, sweetheart?

Philip: I’m scared. I’ve never been hurt like this before. What if something else happens?

Ariel: It won’t. It was just bad luck.

Philip: But what if it does? What if it’s even worse next time?

Ariel: There’s always a slight chance something bad might happen. Even sitting around doing nothing, you could get sick. That’s no reason not to play anymore. Here, take my hand…yes, like that.

Philip: I’m not scared anymore! Thanks!

Ariel: You are most welcome! Now go and play with your friends!

Phillip: I will! Bye!

Claire: Ariel, sometimes I wonder if you ever leave the clinic. Do you work all the time?

Ariel: I love working here.

Claire: So, how are you?

Ariel: Great! We’ve been able to expand, thanks to some of the new … er … revenue streams acquired by our fabulous Infiltrators, so I’ve been in a particularly good mood lately.

Claire: I just talked to Gwen and Sybelle a minute ago. Gwen thinks she might have an in with Pike’s organization.

Ariel: I worry about her. Powerful, but fragile. Not a day goes by, when I don’t wonder if she’s going to be brought in here on a stretcher covered in blood.

Claire: I know. Thank goodness for Sybelle, right? I don’t think Gwen would have made it without her.

Ariel: Sybelle is one of the saints you know; sent to us from the Eternal Teenager.

Claire: You think so? I don’t know…

Ariel: You don’t know whether she’s one of the saints? Or you don’t know whether the Eternal Teenager sends saints to us?

Claire: Both. I say the right things… Maybe I even believed them, once, but it seems harder now.

Ariel: If you don’t believe, then why do you do it? Why not live up there in the overground, with them?

Claire: Because what they’re doing is wrong, whether there’s an Eternal Teenager or not! Because I don’t want to see my friends hurt, enslaved, or killed. Because I love the Scene. That’s why!

Ariel: You see? You do believe.

Claire: How do you figure that?

Ariel: You love the others, and you love the world that we’ve created together. That’s the whole point of the Eternal Teenager’s mission.

Claire: Yeah, but what I was saying was that all of that would matter even if there wasn’t an Eternal Teenager.

Ariel: You’re being too literal about this, Claire. Leave that to the Bible-thumping creeps overground. You’re fulfilling the mission of the Eternal Teenager, and that’s an act of piety, not doubt.

Claire: Ariel, sometimes you’re so wise, I think you’re a thousand years old.

Ariel: I am.

Claire: Heh, weirder things, right? So, you, Danny-Boy, Bobby and me? Tonight? The Land of Turquoise and Pink? Midnight? A toast to my sixteenth?

Ariel: For sure, Claire. We wouldn’t miss it.

Claire: Really? Just like that? I thought I’d have to turn it on a little bit. Whine and beg.

Ariel: I’ve been spending too much time in the clinic. I have good staff now, and I should trust them. I think it’s important that I socialize more.

Claire: I’m so glad! But what about Danny-Boy? It’s gonna’ be hard to socialize with him hulking around.

Ariel: We’ve spoken about it. He agrees, intellectually, but emotionally, he’s having a hard time letting go. We’ve been working on it together. I whisper to him and stroke his head while he sleeps, and with each day it’s like a layer peels off.

Claire: It amazes me how you do that.

Ariel: They’re gifts from the Eternal Teenager: touch; scent; breath; voice.

Claire: You make me believe it, Ariel. And you’re right about Sybelle: She is a saint…at least, in any sense of the word that means anything.

Ariel: “You shall know them by the goodness they bring to the world.”

Claire: I love when you paraphrase scripture. Are you going to do the reading this weekend? Because if you are, I might actually go to services.

Ariel: I will, if it means you’ll go.

Claire: You’re sneaky!  

Ariel: Yes, I am.

Claire: I love you my dear Star Child. Gotta’ go meet Bobby now. See you in the Land of Turquoise and Pink at midnight!

Ariel: Love. Midnight.

When Danny-Boy and Ariel came to us, they were on the run, but wouldn’t tell anyone why or who from. Ariel had a black eye and a bruised face, and Danny-Boy wouldn’t go more than a foot away from her. They kept to themselves at first — it was almost as if they were nursing each other and feeling us out at the same time — but eventually we learned the whole story. Their parents were hardcore Jesus-freaks and Danny-Boy and Ariel had grown up “in the church” in rural Ohio. Anyway, Ariel was about seven when her powers began to show. She could read people’s minds, convince them of things, change the mood of a room in a second, and her parents totally freaked out. They thought she was a witch or something insane like that. Well, she and Danny-Boy were getting dragged to church twice as often now for special “spiritual counseling,” and their dad was flying into terrible rages, screaming that he wouldn’t have “devils” in his house and all that. Danny-Boy was scared and had taken to not letting Ariel out of his sight, especially when their father was around, but one day when he was at wrestling practice, the bastard came home early from work. The Church “counseling” hadn’t been having any effect on Ariel’s powers. and he was in a black mood. When he came into the house, Ariel was sitting cross-legged in the living room, whispering over a bird who’d flown into one of the big picture windows in the living room and seemed dead. Within a few seconds, it flexed its wings and flew from her hands, past her father’s face, and out the front door, which he’d left open. This set him off and he went berserk and hit her across the face. Then he began to beat her.

From what I understand, Danny-Boy came in just as his father was really laying into Ariel. He’d just punched her in the eye, when Danny-Boy grabbed him from behind and broke his neck, with one twist. Then, he and Ariel packed their things and made the long journey from Ohio to our HQ, here in LA. Apparently, Ariel had learned of us months earlier — she’s never told me how — and had already been planning their escape.

But here’s the thing, physical wounds aside, it’s not Ariel who suffered the worst. It was Danny-Boy. Not only had he seen his kid sister beaten black and blue, he’d killed his own father with his bare hands. I think his heart simply broke that day, and now he only lives for her. Ariel has told me that she worries that if anything ever happens to her, Danny-Boy will kill himself and sometimes I wonder myself. So, all of this time — all these days and hours and minutes that he’s been standing guard over her, never leaving her side — it hasn’t been him watching over her. She’s been watching over him; knowing that he needed to believe he was protecting her and hiding the fact that she didn’t need protecting; that with her powers, no human being could harm her; that she is inviolable.

And I’ve hidden something from Danny-Boy too: my plans for Ariel. You see, I’ve got her pegged for Ascension. In fact, I’m absolutely determined that she should succeed me, when I go. The thought of her running things is the only thing that calms the rising panic I feel, because she’s the only one I believe can handle the change that I know is coming. I’ve had my eye on her since she and Danny-Boy arrived. I mean, how often does a full blown Empath show up at your door? But, since I’ve started having these premonitions, these feelings, I’ve been thinking of her more and more. Sometimes, at night, just as I’m falling asleep, I see her face, in my mind, and I always wake up feeling better the next day. It makes me think that she just might have the power to actually pull this thing off: to defeat the Restoration and bring  the Eternal Teenager back to us.

I guess what I’m saying is that to me, Ariel is Hope.

Do you even remember Hope anymore?