Chapter 17

The cat would know the way. That’s what Isaac knew anyway. The Birman strutted around Skid Row like he held the key to the city, sauntering in and out of homeless camps, jumping over cardboard furniture, and dodging oil-speckled puddles with confidence, nary a toe bean out of place or a spot of soot to mar its fur. This cat was in no need of saving. “Niles?” Isaac tried, but he went unanswered.

After navigating through a maze of crowded alleyways and deserted streets, the cat led Isaac to his destination. They were now in the warehouse district of downtown, which Isaac recognized from the, well, wall-to-wall warehouses that surrounded him. But what caught his eye most was the orderly line of people marching before him.

From Isaac’s initial observations of the marchers’ colorful clothes and rank smell, they were either more homeless from Skid Row, hipsters from the adjacent Arts District, Disciples of the nearest Super Jesus church, or some combination of all of the above. Isaac wasn’t sure whether or not he should continue to observe the group or join them, but the Captain Flapjacks cat made his decision for him. The cat plodded toward the tail of the line, as sure-footed as ever.

Once Isaac took his place at the back of the line, he discovered that these were indeed travelers from every category he suspected. What could this be? Isaac wondered. He was unsettled. He was shook. It was how everyone walked that irked him. They were single file, like first-graders on a field trip to the Annenberg Space for Photography. True to form, some people held hands in the classic and time-tested buddy system. No one would get lost. Even their legs moved in unison.

Left foot first. Right foot next.

Left foot first. Right foot next.

That’s how cats walk, Isaac observed, looking back and forth between the Birman and the people.

(Walk like an Egyptian.)

Good thing Isaac had practiced walking earlier, he thought, doing his best to fall in line and keep a low profile so he wouldn’t out himself as an intruder. But then Isaac saw the sign. And it opened up his eyes.

He will rise again.

It couldn’t be a coincidence that Isaac passed by that Kobe/Tupac/Super Jesus mural on the way to Skid Row. Because the man in front of Isaac wore a black hoodie with a Lakers Kobe Bryant (#8) jersey over it.

“Psst! Hey!” Isaac whispered to the man, who turned to look at Isaac, but the man didn’t seem to see him. His eyes were as glazed and frosted as a DK donut. “What are you doing?” Isaac asked.

“Following the leader,” the man murmured.

“Who’s the leader?”

The man answered Isaac’s question by pointing to the front of the line, but Isaac couldn’t see that far. The column of people was so long that it snaked itself around a corner to obscure any view of whoever was at the head.

Isaac tried to probe his witness, “Are you guys nazis?”

“No.”

“Fair enough,” Isaac said, but what Isaac thought was this: What else would a Nazi say? “Sorry, but I had to make sure. You can’t be too careful these days, know what I mean? So you must be a homeless person, an art student, or a Disciple of Super Jesus.”

“You could say that,” the man pulled something up from under the neck of his shirt to show Isaac. It was a cholo chain, and the pendant was Super Jesus’s chosen symbol, “the middle school S.” So, Isaac was speaking to a disciple.

Isaac put his finger and his thumb in the shape of an "L" on his forehead, the most common greeting between members of the faith, for Super Jesus was a big Smash Mouth fan. It was canon. (Walking in the Sun was used to predictable effect in the movie.) The man responded in kind, forming his own “L” to share with Isaac.

“Peace be,” the man said to Isaac, and Isaac felt it. Peace be indeed. Isaac sensed no disturbance in this man whatsoever. On the contrary, he was at ease, and he made it look easy.

Unlike the Jedis of the United Kingdom, the Disciple religion wasn’t always so pure as the man in front of Isaac. The movement started off as a joke. The Disciples bubbled up from Internet backwaters, similar to the “birds aren’t real” conspiracy. Soon, the participants took the bit a bit too far, delving so deeply into the irony that the only option left was to perform the religion earnestly. That’s when it attracted the masses.

“Don’t you want to be my buddy?” The man in the Kobe jersey held a hand out to Isaac, who accidentally ignored it.

“Where are we going?” Isaac asked.

“To a Late Night,” the man said, referring to the term used for the nocturnal meetings of Disciples. Isaac was intrigued. Recently, The Cut likened these gatherings to the Paris salons from centuries ago, with a dash of Studio 54 thrown in for fun.

After walking several more blocks, the group reached a street long enough, bright enough, and straight enough that Isaac could determine the group’s size. It numbered in the hundreds. Except they weren’t on a street, Isaac discovered as he tripped over a set of train tracks that serviced Union Station.

The entire east side of the city opened up in front of them once they left the cover of the warehouses and reached the LA River. It was all so familiar. To the north, Isaac saw the glittering backdrop of the Silver Lake area, and in the foreground, he could identify the bridge Seth and he used to get to the coroner’s office. What a long, strange trip it had been since Isaac had gone looking for a dead body! And he hoped to make it through the night without returning to that building.

At the head of the line, Isaac could now see the leader. And this was no ordinary pied piper parading through downtown LA, but Super Jesus himself. He was awash in a glow of white from a nearby floodlight.

Isaac was struck still.

This was a miracle(TM).

Isaac could taste electricity in the air, and his nerve endings tingled. He needed to know more. But he didn’t dare charge forward. Something held him back. There was a foul feeling in his stomach, and a pulse of adrenaline throbbed in his ears, but it wasn’t enough to animate him.

Instead, it kept Isaac from drawing Super Jesus’s attention. No sudden movements. Stay still. Not that he thought Super Jesus’s vision played by the same rules as a T-Rex’s, but he wasn’t willing to leave it up to chance. That was until he realized he was being left behind as the group marched on without him, indifferent, including the Birman.

What held all these people under Super Jesus’s sway? Isaac didn’t know. There were no dulcet tones of a pipe or the words of a magic sermon upon the wind. He couldn’t see the strings on these puppets. He wished he could. If he could, he could understand what was happening and be less scared, leaving Isaac with no choice but to believe Super Jesus’s miracles were just that.

Isaac wished he could inform Seth of this development, if only so he’d have someone to listen to him because Isaac was no longer comfortable being alone in this crowd. He needed his real buddy, not this man in a Kobe jersey. But when Isaac called Seth, a toneless ring answered him. The call could not be completed as dialed.

Isaac didn’t have any cell service. He groaned, mystified as to why there was no coverage in downtown Los Angeles. How was that possible? Yet again, he was the victim of another conspiracy. He looked up at the cloudless night. “God damnit,” he muttered, slapping the phone against his thigh, hoping to coerce it into finding a bar or two of reception. It didn’t work.

“Here,” Isaac’s buddy said, offering his phone. It held a 5G signal that had proved elusive to Isaac’s device, but the added connection didn’t help any since Seth didn’t pick up the call from the unknown number. Isaac should have known. He gave the phone back.

“Thanks anyway. Can I ask a homelessness-related question I’ve always had knocking around my brain? What do you use for your billing address, like for your phone? Did you buy it?”

“I’m part of the Super Jesus family plan.”

“Did he give you the phone?”

“It’s charity. Everyone who asks shall receive,” the man said through a dreamy smile and repeated one of Super Jesus’s most famous catchphrases, “Mi casa es su casa.”

“Ah,” Isaac acknowledged.

For Isaac, one of the most disconcerting aspects of Super Jesus fandom was its universal appeal. Perhaps Super Jesus’s mightiest superpower was his ability to cross political lines. Faithful to the original lore, Super Jesus had a very community-based philosophy he preached in the film. One love. Yet no one accused him of being a communist when he used his powers to raise the minimum wage. Or accused him of being a lib when he fought Captain America on the banks of the Rio Grande to allow a group of migrants to pass through the border. It didn’t matter.

Super Jesus was as popular from LA to LA, Los Angeles to Louisiana. It had always made Isaac suspicious. The hero’s morality messaging just didn’t filter down to Fox News. Super Jesus wasn’t the subject of any Tucker Carlson monologues. It was as if the franchise existed in a collective conservative blind spot. For Super Jesus, a Fox studios property, an exception was made.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Isaac was going to find out why.

“Want to be my buddy?” The man in the Kobe jersey offered his hand again. This time Isaac took it, grateful to have its steadying presence.

As they continued to follow Super Jesus, Isaac grew more concerned. They were on the wrong side of the tracks now, passing a dormant Surfliner train to stand on the concrete banks of the LA River. But they didn’t stop there. Super Jesus led them down a ramp that ended at the bottom of the river basin. Was Super Jesus going to recreate the Rio Grande miracle? Isaac wondered.

Isaac crossed his arms to stave off a chill. He felt exposed under the full moon, which was brilliant enough to reveal his shadow.

Disturbing Isaac further was that he didn’t see anyone around Super Jesus besides the Disciples. If this procession was part of a marketing stunt, where were the lights, cameras, and people yelling “action?” More importantly, where was the craft service table with the customary piles of luscious lox? Something about this miracle wasn’t adding up.

Then, Super Jesus led his followers into a man-sized mouth of an enormous drainage pipe that jutted out from the side of the concrete river bank. But when it was Isaac’s turn to enter, he broke his handhold with his buddy in the Kobe jersey and stopped short of the threshold. Isaac was scared.

He couldn’t see inside the pipe. It was as dark as night was supposed to be, and it wasn’t long before even Super Jesus’s brilliant radiance was swallowed up and extinguished. No one was immune. As the Disciples followed him down the pipe, they disappeared one by one. The man in the Kobe jersey didn’t even look back for his buddy. He was gone.

Trying to summon whatever courage he had left, Isaac took a deep breath before taking the plunge. He tested the air, and it tasted damp and unpleasant. Vampire weather, Isaac thought, but he didn’t have any garlic bread on his person for protection.

His hands trembled as he grasped the edges of the pipe to try and steady his resolve. That’s when Isaac felt it. Holding on tight, he tried to steel himself against a sinister force that began to pull him inside the pipe like a black hole, similar to the sucking sensation he had felt when he tried to fuck the hose to his vacuum cleaner. But, just like that day, Isaac couldn’t stay away. His feet were about to cross into the pipe when the Captain Flapjacks cat meowed to get Isaac’s attention.

Isaac had forgotten about the Birman, but the cat had remained by his side the entire time, ever loyal. But now he was padding away from Isaac and the pipe Super Jesus entered. Instead, he chose to go downriver of it.

Based on how the Birman looked back for him every few paces, Isaac knew to follow and was thankful to do so, happy to get away from that malevolent pipe. Unfortunately for him, however, the cat just led Isaac to a different one, except this pipe was smaller but no less menacing. With a graceful effortlessness, the cat hopped up and into the pipe. Its smaller opening made it so none of the moon’s silver rays could pierce inside it.

All Isaac could see within the pipe were the cat’s blue, bioluminescent eyes. They did not improve his mood, but a cheery meow from the cat convinced him to do what was necessary, so Isaac climbed up into the pipe no wider than his shoulders. Even with all the squeezing and shimmying, the fit was tight. And again, Isaac was reminded of his indecent incident with his home cleaning appliance. Hopefully, this venture, he thought, would be far more successful than that one and require one less trip to the E.R.

The journey through the pipe wasn’t a pleasant experience. Isaac had to army crawl his way forward through whatever muck that was being drained into the LA river. The overwhelming smell filtered through his nose and forced him to taste the waste he was heaving his body through. Isaac cursed the cat in front of him, who was deft of foot enough to hop between pieces of garbage like little lily pads floating above pond scum.

If Isaac could turn back, he would, but he was trapped by the pipe’s small size. There was no room to execute a three-point turn, so the only way was forward. Isaac gulped down his dread. It was hot and sour, like a bottle of kombucha left out in the sun.

A modicum of relief came to Isaac as soon as he could stand again. If the pipe he had just inhabited was a capillary in the Los Angeles sewer system, then the one he and the cat stood in now was the main vein, big enough to drive a car through, which gave Isaac some creative ideas on how to avoid traffic in the future, if he lived through the night that is.

Above Isaac was the pipe’s starry ceiling. Soft, dappled moonlight filtered in through the gutter grates that lined the streets of what he presumed was downtown LA. But that was only a guess. They could be in Pasadena for all he knew. But he continued to trust the cat and trust Anne’s assessment that this cat was made of magic.

The cat trotted on at a steady, confident pace until he stopped at a circular door, waiting for Isaac to catch up so he could utilize the magic of his opposable thumbs. Isaac was happy to finally assist, telling the cat that “they made a good team.”

Opening the door revealed a small service hallway that emptied into the bowels of a basement. It was so benign, a mop bucket here, a wash sink there. Nothing out of the ordinary. Isaac had expected something far more foreboding. But by the way his cat companion kept going, heading up a steel staircase now, Isaac knew this wasn’t his final destination. They were close, though. Isaac could tell.

When they left the basement, there was a charge in the air. An invisible electromagnetic pulse set off the synapses connecting Isaac’s tongue to his brain and his brain to his stomach. His animal instinct didn’t agree with this at all. Something was wrong.

The cat had led Isaac into the downtown public library. The books were his first clue. Walls and walls of them, for as far as the eye could see, which wasn’t far at all because the lights were dark and night still pressed in against the windows. Isaac longed for the dawn and couldn’t understand where it was, feeling as if he had lived several lifetimes since he had left Dr. Rousseau’s, yet the darkness remained. He blamed the vampires and the June Gloom.

Isaac had been to the LA Central Library before and always found it hospitable. In his four-star Yelp review, Isaac recommended taking advantage of the validated parking offered by owning a library card and eating at the Panda Express in the lobby. However, the place definitely hit differently after closing. Zero stars. With no school groups, tourists, or squatters around, the library felt cold, and the two stone sphinxes guarding the second floor didn’t seem so cuddly anymore. He could feel their eyes on his back as he passed by them. But it was the statue of Lucifer’s torch in the stairwell that really gave them the willies.

As Isaac and the cat passed rack after rack of books, a light flickered at the far end of the floor, and its warm orange tone indicated fire. In response, the cat slowed his gait and flattened his ears, and Isaac could read those signals clear as day. Now was the time to be afraid, and Isaac obeyed.

The two of them crept forward, Isaac’s fear growing proportionally as the room’s glow became brighter and brighter until Isaac could see what the hundreds of burning candles illuminated. They were at the edge of the library’s famous rotunda, the site of many an Instagram post. In it, he spied a large group of people gathered.

They stood in three layers of concentric circles. All of them were wearing dark robes the color of oxblood. Isaac noted this development as a definite red flag. But, at least he wasn’t dealing with the KKK and their tightie whities, nor did he see any crimson-colored Nazi regalia. He gulped, knowing by process of elimination which secret society this was. This had to be the Illuminati.

The Illuminati members were chanting in a different language. Despite his tin ear, Isaac knew it had to be romance in provenance. The chanters were all gathered underneath the rotunda’s famous globe chandelier. Ominously, it hung over the proceedings from the center of a giant pyramid that was the capstone to the library’s roof.

Isaac couldn’t see what everyone was focused on in the middle of the room, but he could make a guess. A brighter, whiter, more brilliant light battled with the warm colors of the candles. Isaac knew the hue. It was Super Jesus’s angelic aura.

After several more haunting stanzas of chanting, the crowd quieted, and the room filled with such silence that Isaac had to hold his breath, afraid of the noise his exhalation would make. Then, there was a part in the crowd that went through all three rings so Isaac could see the center of the ceremony, where there was an immense obsidian stone. It wasn’t decorated or cut to any particular geometric shape, but Isaac immediately understood the stone was an altar. Super Jesus stood behind it and commanded the attention of everyone in the room, even the Captain Flapjacks cat.

The identities of the people closest to Super Jesus, who stood as part of the innermost circle, were a mystery to Isaac. The hoods on their robes hid their faces, but Isaac scanned the room anyway, hoping against hope that he could see Zee here, but she wasn’t there.

Isaac was able to recognize some of the lesser participants, however. Elon Musk, PDiddy, and even Beyonce were in attendance! Seeing them left Isaac to wonder if this gathering was actually innocent after all, and he had merely stumbled upon a support group for know-it-alls with punchable faces rather than the Illuminati. But the presence of the beatific Super Jesus dispelled that notion, and so did the appearance of a monkey that Isaac recognized from the Super Jesus writers’ room.

Before Isaac could make heads or tails of this revelation, his attention was drawn in by a new figure entering the room, one dressed not in oxblood robes but in a purple Kobe Bryant Lakers jersey. It was Isaac’s buddy. The man Isaac had met outside ambled down the aisle formed by the parted members and toward the altar.

Left foot first. Right foot next.

Left foot first. Right foot next.

Approaching the altar, the man in the Kobe jersey did not seem as if there was a shotgun pointed at his back. Instead, he appeared at peace. His eyes were frosty, but was Isaac so dead inside that he could not recognize true bliss? Maybe a tongue lolling out of the side of your mouth was a common side effect of happiness. How would Isaac know? He had never been happy.

What if Isaac wasn’t witnessing something profane? Maybe this was only a misunderstanding on his part. Maybe this was simply an elaborate birthday party for his buddy. But that theory quickly fell apart as soon as Super Jesus reached into his robe and produced a ceremonial dagger. Its curved blade was notched with heavy wear and tear, which did not foreshadow a happy ending.

The crowd’s chanting resumed when they saw the dagger, this time with added fervor. It was contagious, and the chorus was pretty catchy, even if it had all the charm of fire and brimstone. Credit to Beyone’s compositional skills, Isaac supposed. Isaac had to grab his throat to stop himself from joining in with the crowd. He felt compelled to sing, and the longer he listened to it, the more he thought he had heard the tune before. Even the monkey sang the song in perfect unison in an impressively brassy baritone.

Something was about to happen soon. Isaac could feel it. Things were coming to a head as the chant rose to its climax, and Isaac watched Elon Musk nursing a growing erection under his gown.

Through it all, the Disciple in the Kobe jersey still smiled, his face tilted up at Super Jesus at the same angle one does to warm themselves in the sun. Then, with the help of Super Jesus’ steady hand, the man ascended to the top of the altar and laid down. Finally, the man turned his cheek, exposing his neck to Super Jesus, and faced Isaac.

That’s when Isaac and his buddy locked eyes, right as the chanting hit a crescendo, but the singing stopped when Super Jesus raised the dagger. He held it high in the air to prepare for the ritual bloodletting. God damn vampires! Isaac screamed inside his head.

The air whizzed as the blade came down in a graceful arc toward its intended target. But before the dagger plunged into the man’s throat, his eyes became lucid, and terror suddenly gripped him. It was horrible. Isaac could tell the man was paralyzed by fear, having been betrayed by his idol. All he could do was shout in Isaac’s direction, “¡Dios Mio! My buddy!”

Everyone in the rotunda but Super Jesus froze at the interruption. The room was so quiet that you could hear the Disciple’s hot blood sizzle as it hit the cold stone altar. Then, in perfect harmony, the entire congregation turned towards the disturbance, Isaac. The jig was up!

“Don’t go! Mi casa es su casa!” Super Jesus called out to Isaac, who was already making a break for it.

While fleeing, Isaac did look over his shoulder one last time and saw the Birman holding his gaze. It was a glance that said one thing, “goodbye.” And those blue pools of light promised him that everything would be alright before the cat turned to stand strong and calm in the face of the oncoming onslaught.

Everyone in the congregation was chasing after Isaac. Even Elon Musk, still hard, waddled after him. If there was ever a time to utilize the much-hyped cat power, this was it. But the crowd paid no heed to the cat, ignoring him at their own peril, as they raced to catch Isaac, who had to put his attention back on finding an exit route through the labyrinth with books for walls.

It was no use.

Game over.

Even though Isaac fled as fast as he could, his pursuers gained on him with every step until a blinding light erupted from behind him. The blast was like something out of Sodom and Gomorrah. A shockwave followed, hitting the library with enough force to open up the ground beneath Isaac.

There was no escape. He fell and fell and fell, and darkness rushed up around him to swallow Isaac whole.