Read Raymond Benson - 2012 - Hitman: Damnation for Free Online Page B

he usually delivered the sermons. Even non-Church members
would come to the compound from all over the country to hear him. He was
essentially a rock star.
                 Greenhill
was fairly isolated from other communities in Virginia. Located just east of
Interstate 95, the compound was south of Coal Landing and west of Arkendale . Around the northwest bend of the lake were other
villages, streets, and recreational facilities. Willow Landing Marina wasn’t
too far. Nevertheless, the area Greenhill occupied on the north shore of Aquia Lake was private
and quiet. No member was a prisoner, of course. Anyone could come and go as
they pleased. Residents often visited Stafford, Garrisonville ,
and Garrisonville Estates, the closest sizable towns.
And if one wanted to go to a big city, Washington, D.C., and its sprawling
suburbs were less than an hour’s drive away.
                 Helen
entered her building, inspected her personal mailbox in the lobby—it was always
empty, but she checked it daily, anyway—and then climbed the stairs to the
second floor. Her one-bedroom apartment was as good as anything one might find
in any city, and the rent was nominal since she worked for the Church. It was
comfortable and homey, decorated with knickknacks she’d collected over the
years and with Church of Will iconography. Her favorite was a framed,
autographed poster of Charlie Wilkins, who pointed at the viewer à la Uncle Sam
and asked his signature question in a dialogue bubble: “Will You ?”
The Church was all about taking control of one’s destiny and finding and
applying inner strength to get through life on a daily basis. Wilkins believed
that each individual should follow the “Will” of the common man, collectively
bound as a desire to be governed only by the “Supreme One” and not by men or
women who made false promises and led people into partisan politics, paths of
war, and financial catastrophe. The Supreme One was not necessarily “God” but
could be if that was what an individual wanted to believe. The Church of Will
allowed its members to interpret the religion in any way they wanted, as long
as certain creeds were followed.
                 She
poured a can of soup into a pot to heat up on the stove, then went to the bathroom to wash her face and hands. As she dried off, she gazed at
her features and repeated the mantra Wilkins had drilled into her.
                 I
am pretty. I am worthy. I am Helen McAdams and I have the Will.
                 Most
men found her attractive, she thought. Helen felt them gazing at her. And why not? She was thirty-one years old, thin, and had a
pleasant face. She had dated a few of the Church members, but nothing ever came
of it. Her shyness and insecurity played a big part in her failure to land a
lasting relationship. Her college boyfriend—well, she didn’t like to dwell on what
happened there. Since then, Helen’s love life had been closer to the latter end
of the hit-or-miss scale.
                 They
say “loneliness is just a word,” she thought to herself.
                 Six
o’clock. Time to turn on the TV.
                 She
returned to the living room, switched on the set, and went back to the kitchen
to pour the hot soup into a bowl. She grabbed the open but corked bottle of
white wine from the fridge, poured a glass, and then took her supper to the
couch in front of the television.
                 The
news was just ending. The top story concerned the New Model Army’s attack that
morning on an Internal Revenue Service building in Cincinnati, Ohio. Three
bombs had gone off simultaneously, destroying an entire side of the structure.
Luckily, it was prior to rush hour, so only forty-something people were
injured. Two fatalities. If the explosions had
occurred during the workday, the death toll would have been disastrous. In many
ways, Helen was sympathetic to the NMA’s cause,