The Revelator

[_Runtu]

Part Three

It had been two weeks since his lunch with Jack, and Craig had thus far succeeded in avoiding apologetics in all its forms. He had stayed off the boards and the Short List, and was starting to feel less of a pull to go back. His wife, Ana, had for a long time pleaded with him to disengage. She had a very simple and sincere faith, and she believed that spending so much time on such "trivialities" distracted people from the important parts of the gospel. Besides, she had begun to believe that the apologists were wolves in sheep's clothing, bent on destroying testimonies, not salvaging them. She wondered if they hadn't been partly successful with Craig, and she was naturally quite pleased when he told her of his plans to walk away from that mess.

"I've prayed for this for a long time," Ana said, hugging him tightly and kissing the side of his neck. "Sometimes it feels like I've lost you to those men. I want you back. I need you more than they do."

Craig had been surprised at how much more productive he had become without the distraction of the Short List. Each day he noted that the Short List folder in Outlook was filling rapidly--93 unread messages already, and he wondered what they could possibly be talking about. But each rise in the number reinforced in Craig's mind that he had made the right choice in walking away. It had been good timing because he suddenly had a lot on his plate at work.

He'd barely made a deadline to get a report to his boss, working an hour late before sending it off. He would check in later to make sure his boss had approved the report. Walking to his car, Craig called Ana to tell her he was late and would have to meet the family at the church for tonight's "Young Women in Excellence" meeting. He knew how hard Eliza had worked on her project, and he wasn't going to miss it. Craig was just finishing his Double-Double as he pulled into the parking lot. Eliza had recently taken a class in floral design, and for her project she would be displaying a carefully designed arrangement to show off her developing talent.

As he opened the meetinghouse door, he saw Tanner Scott dressed in an uncomfortable-looking suit and sitting in a chair in the foyer. What the hell was he doing here?

"Craig!" Tanner said cheerfully. "Where have you been, bro? We thought maybe you were in an accident or something."

"No, just busy," Craig replied, hoping to make a quick getaway.

"You must be here for the Young Women thing. Bo-ring!" Craig gave him a look of disapproval. "Oh, right, you have a daughter that age. What is she, 13, now?"

"She's 17," Craig said, trying to look annoyed--which he was.

"Uh, sorry, dude," Tanner said, sheepishly. "You've totally missed out. All that stuff about perversion and everything. You gotta come back."

"Excuse me?" Craig asked. Perversion?

"Oh, ya, we got some really juicy stuff on Arlen. I can't wait to see how it plays out." Just then the door to a nearby bishop's office opened. "Can't talk now, dude. Interview. Later!" With that Tanner was gone.

Craig hurried down the hallway and entered the Relief Society room. A few dozen people walked around several displays of arts and crafts, where beaming young women explained their projects and how they related to the Young Women values. In the corner Eliza looked radiant in front of a beautiful arrangement of pink roses on a table. A tastefully decorated placard read:

"Individual Worth."

"I am of infinite worth with my own divine mission, which I will strive to fulfill (D&C 18:10)."

"Hi, Daddy," Eliza said, giving him a brief hug.

"You look beautiful, as does your display," Craig told her. "I knew you had talent, but this is amazing. I'm so proud of you."

"Glad you could make it," Ana said, taking his hand and leading him to a chair. "I wasn't sure you would."

"I would never miss anything like this," Craig said, though they both knew he had in the past.

"It's enough to know you're trying," Ana whispered as the bishop stood up to begin the meeting.

Later that night, Craig logged into his computer to check on the report from work. As he had hoped, his boss had approved the report without changes--he was kind of lazy that way--and had simply forwarded it to the client.

The Short List box now had 107 unread messages. Craig's thoughts returned to his brief encounter with Tanner: What could he have meant by "perversion," and what did Arlen have to do with it?

Craig had long admired Arlen, a long-time LDS poster on MIC who taught humanities at a small college somewhere in Kansas. Arlen found LDS church history and doctrine fascinating and could always be counted on for insight into just about any topic. Arlen frequently reminded people that he had a testimony that the gospel was true, but he made it clear he was not interested in defending the orthodox, correlation position. Many times he had angered Dr. Kane and his friends at the association by publishing essays that poked holes in their apologetic works. Alex and a few of the others had begun taunting him for his lack of commitment to the gospel, saying he was obviously too lazy to choose a side and stick with it. Arlen had been unapologetic--no pun intended--and said he was comfortable with his faith and was happy to let others believe as they pleased. He was, he said, interested solely in the truth.

What did they have on Arlen, and what were they going to do about it? He had to know, so he opened the Short List folder.

The first few messages involved snarky jokes about Sidious, and then the bombshell dropped.

"To: Short List

"From: Tanner Scott

"Gentlemen,

"As you all know, a friend of mine has been working on identifying Sidious' in real life identity, and he is making progress, I believe. In the course of his investigations, he has discovered some information that may be useful to members of the list.

"Many of you are aware of Arlen Compton, who pretends to be a believer but constantly undermines all our efforts to bring scholarly light to the study of Mormon scripture and history. While not one of our main suspects for Sidious, Arlen has remained a 'person of interest,' so to speak, for obvious reasons.

"As you all know, last year Arlen confided in a fellow Short Lister that he had separated from his wife for a brief period of time. Out of sensitivity for Arlen and his family, this information was shared only with members of our group and a few others. However, in the course of his investigations, my friend has discovered that Arlen engaged in some fairly sleazy activities during that period.

"In September of last year, Arlen used his personal email address to join a 'fetish' dating site, where he listed his interests as 'handcuffs and light discipline,' among other things too disgusting to share here. My friend has found no direct evidence that Arlen ever met up with anyone from that site, but he has shared with me a few pieces of 'erotic fiction' that Arlen posted on the site's message board. (I will make copies available to anyone who is interested in verifying my friend's findings.) Arlen's participation in that site appears to have ended several weeks before he reconciled with his wife and returned home, though we cannot be sure.

"Our concern, of course, ought to be for Arlen's lovely wife and family, who are probably unaware of his activities. If he did indulge himself, he may well have put his wife at risk of AIDS and other STDs. I personally feel morally conflicted because this is something his wife should know.

"What say ye, brethren?"

Craig felt physically ill. He had long known some of these guys were capable of a lot, but he hadn't imagined they could go this far. Shaken, he continued reading.

"To: Short List

"From: Alex DuPlessis

"There can be no question, we have a moral responsibility to let Arlen's wife know of the dangers to which she has been exposed. The most honourable course of action would be an anonymous email to Arlen's bishop. Perhaps then he can get his fill of 'light discipline.' If no one else will do the right thing, I will."

Several members had responded to Alex's email, but they spoke only of making sure that nothing could be traced back to the group.

They hadn't as yet contacted Arlen's bishop, so the revelator would have to act quickly.

[_Runtu]

Part IV

Alex sat at the kitchen table, grumbling to himself about having to eat a such unsatisfactory fare. Most Saturdays Jean arose early to cook a hot breakfast for him and the boys, and today of all days he had expected something showing a little more gratitude. He and the boys would be working in the rose beds all day, and they would need real sustenance. Couldn't she understand that?

As he dunked the hard rusk into his steaming cup of rooibos, he opened the browser on his laptop to the MIC message board. He noticed straightaway that a thread posted the day before with the startling title "Sex Scandal at MDB?" had been locked immediately. Intrigued, he navigated straight to the MormonDiscourse board, only to find a new post from the revelator:

"As promised, I have a partial roster for the secret 'short list' of MIC posters. I can confirm that the following individuals are definitely involved in the group: Dalton Kane, Steven Marsden, Reid Gordon, Tanner Scott, and Alex DuPlessis. Others will be named at a later date.

"My sources tell me that this group's activities have been fairly benign, limited as they are to discussions of scripture studies, BYU sports, and the sex lives of MormonDiscourse posters. A recent discussion, for example, focused on using a private investigator to reveal intimate details of MDB posters' sex lives, after which the group decided that anonymously informing posters' bishops would be, in the words of Brother DuPlessis, 'the most honourable course of action.' It is not known if refreshments were served.

"Stay tuned for more of the wacky world of the Short List."

The response at the Short List was predictable: outrage and disgust that one of their number had betrayed them and given ammunition to their enemies.

Dalton Kane vowed to get to the bottom of this. "It is clear that an enemy hath done this, and I am sad to say, it is an enemy among our very ranks. This is deeply, deeply troubling. I am routinely accused of despicable behavior, but this, brethren, this is what real evil looks like. I do not know how or when, but the traitor will be exposed. Mark my words."

The outrage gave way to panic, with several posters asking how they could post on the list and feel at all safe. Then, as if the members had all come to the same horrified conclusion at the same time, the list had gone silent. Not a single email had been received for more than 8 hours, which was surely a new record. It was as if the Short List had simply closed its doors for business.

"Come on, dear heart, it's time to get to work on the garden!" Jean called cheerfully as she strode into the kitchen wearing a broad-brimmed hat and work gloves. The twins looked up from their video game as she called out, "You too, boys! Let's go!"

Alex didn't move a muscle. "Can't it wait, love? I've got some important work to take care of," he said through clenched teeth.

Jean frowned and wagged her finger at him in mock scolding. "You promised, my dear! A promise is a promise, after all."

"Come on, boys, you heard your mother!" he snapped at William and Daniel. They shrugged and shuffled out the door ahead of him.

The sun shone brightly as they trudged into the front garden. A security guard smiled and waved from his air-conditioned booth at the community's main gate just a few metres from their garden. They young man's name was Zanoxolo, and Jean had befriended him some time ago, although Alex had warned her that it was never a good idea to get too chummy with the help. But good-natured Jean had ignored his advice, and soon she and Zanoxolo had become fast friends. When the garden was in full bloom, Zanoxolo often wore one of Jean's favorite roses in the lapel of his dark blue uniform jacket. She often took him fresh produce from their back garden and gave him a few jars of whatever they had canned that year. His favorite, he said, was the rose-hip marmalade Jean made every year when the blooms had faded. Zanoxolo had never tasted anything like it, he said. "Like heaven on earth." They always had more than enough of the marmalade because Alex couldn't stand the stuff.

Jean explained that the garden as it stood was a little too crowded to accommodate the new plant, which had somehow survived the long journey relatively unscathed. It was downright miraculous, she said. Kneeling by the plant closest to the front walk, she showed Alex how best to cut the branches back and then to check for disease or signs of weakness. As she snipped off a stem, she became slightly emotional. "I don't know why, but I always feel a little cruel and guilty when I cut back my beautiful plants." She knew it was silly, she said, but she felt a motherly connection to each plant, knowing how she had nurtured and developed them to a beautiful maturity. At least one would have to go, she told him, her voice breaking slightly again. to make room for the new plant.

Alex did the best he could to stay focused on the roses, but his mind kept wandering back to the Short List. He had been right to worry, he thought, while the rest of those buffoons had been distracted by Sidious. As he worked, he wondered how he could keep the lines of communication open without exposing anything to the revelator.

"Alex! Be careful, dear! You're cutting too much out!" Jean shouted, interrupting his thoughts. She caught herself and said much more softly and sweetly, "I don't mean to be critical, but please do try to be more careful."

"Sorry, dear. I'm afraid I haven't the knack for this sort of thing." He tried to sound cheerful, but he thought it came out a little bitter. Jean winced slightly, and then her smile returned.

"You mustn't get discouraged," Jean smiled broadly. "One plant at a time, one stem at a time, and you'll get there."

That's it! he thought. One at a time, I'll peel back the masks and reveal the mole.

That evening, Alex sat with his laptop, wondering where to start. First, he knew he had to contain some of the damage on MormonDiscourse, where numerous apostates had feigned outrage over his actions. Somehow, his well-intentioned efforts to help a Latter-day Saint sister in real danger had been twisted into a tawdry tale of sexual blackmail. This could not be allowed to stand.

Although his fingers were still stinging from multiple thorn pricks, he began typing a new post on MormonDiscourse:

"Although I am loath to wade into this cesspool of the worst humanity has to offer, I must risk having some of the contamination rub off on me to set the record straight.

"Recently, in violation of the board's rules, my name has been used without my permission. Most decent human beings understand the need for anonymity on the Internet, and the continued 'outing' of my personal, private information by several people here is unacceptable, although entirely within character. I would try to reason with your better selves, but alas, I'm afraid you don't have any better selves."

That was a good start, he chuckled to himself. This wasn't the first time he had complained about his name being used here. It happened a few times a year, and he had taken the opportunity each time to condemn this outrageous invasion of privacy in the strongest terms. Yes, he was well aware that his name was widely known on that board and elsewhere, and he himself had acknowledged his identity on MormonDiscourses. Still, it was the principle of the thing, and board policy had been violated. Besides, it gave him another chance to drop in and vituperate the apostate horde. He so enjoyed watching them gnash their teeth helplessly.

He cracked his knuckles and continued:

"Under normal circumstances, I would be inclined to let such a dastardly deed pass without comment; however, in an unexpected and diabolically clever twist I hadn't thought you riff-raff capable of, my name has now been associated with a lie of the darkest hue. Only the most deranged and foaming-mouthed anti-Mormon could ever imagine me capable of delving into other people's most intimate lives, let alone using such information to hurt other people. I am left to consider that the purveyors of this devilish fabrication have devised it because such a scheme of blackmail is something they would do if they had the chance."

It was perfect. He hadn't actually denied the accusation, and at the same time he had masterfully turned a potentially embarrassing episode into yet another display of the depths to which the Lord's enemies would sink in their campaign to ruin lives.

Besides, whoever leaked the information could not possibly prove the accusation without revealing poor Arlen's situation. They wouldn't do that, would they? No, they were much lesser beings than he, but even they would never sink that low.

One branch at a time, he remembered. Now he just needed to find a secure and trusted channel for sharing information. Surely someone on the Short List had remained untainted by the recent discussion and could be counted on for absolute discretion and confidentiality. He looked over the list carefully and, after a quick prayer, made his choice.

He began typing: "Dear Craig ..."

[_Rollo Tomasi]

I'm so friggin' hooked! I need Part V quick or I'm gonna lose it.

[_Equality]

He began typing: "Dear Craig ..."

Bwahahaha! I'm on pins and needles!

[_Runtu]

Craig was pretty tired when he and Porter arrived home Saturday night, having sat through yet another two-hour stake priesthood meeting. Porter had looked miserable during the entire meeting, but what could anyone expect from a 13-year-old deacon? In his concluding talk. the stake president had urged priesthood holders to be more "spiritually proactive," like Captain Moroni and his band of stripling warriors, who had not waited for the forces of evil to make the first move but had gone forward nobly and obediently "with exactness" to confront the adversary's hosts. If anyone could make the scriptures sound like a middle-management training seminar, it was his stake president, who had made his fortune selling financial-planning services through multilevel marketing. If nothing else, he knew the market here in Utah.

Being honest with himself, Craig wasn't enjoying the meeting much more than Porter was. He did feel good about putting a stop to the group's efforts to hurt his friend Arlen. He wondered if he would have been so spiritually proactive if it had been someone less sympathetic than Arlen. Would he have objected if it had happened to someone less deserving, like Tanner Scott? Would he have stood on principle or simply have sat back and enjoyed watching the little crap squirm? Craig wasn't sure he liked the answer to this question, so he tried to console himself that he'd done the right thing in this case, at least.

After the meeting, Craig and Porter sat in a booth at the frozen-custard stand near their home in Bountiful. The Turtle Sundae had looked good on the menu, but it was too much. He had barely managed half of it, and now his stomach was full and he felt a little queasy from sugar overload.

"How's school?" Craig asked.

Porter shrugged. "OK, I guess."

"Still enjoying the Latin class?" Craig knew that this was Porter's favorite subject, and as he expected, Porter had talked excitedly for several minutes about Roman mythology and how much he was learning.

"I even translated a whole page of The Aeneid," he said. "It was hard because, you know, it's like poetic Latin, but I did it. I got an A."

"Wow, I'm impressed," Craig had said, and he genuinely was impressed. "Remind me what other classes you're taking."

"My Ecology class is fun," Porter volunteered. "We finished the lifecycle unit a couple weeks ago, and now we're working in the garden. I have two whole rows to myself: radishes, carrots, serrano peppers, and tomatoes. Huge tomatoes--at least they're supposed to be when they're ripe. Right now they're just tiny little green balls where the yellow blooms were last week."

"So, you like that class," Craig said.

"Well, yeah, I guess so," Porter said, frowning a little.

"You're not sure?"

"Well, it's just that there's a bunch of guys in the class who are kind of jerks."

"Are they picking on you?" Craig asked, suddenly a little worried. Middle school had been a nightmare for Craig, and he had always feared that Porter or one of the girls might have a similar experience.

"No, Dad, not on me," Porter said. "But there's this kid in our class, Loren, and they are pretty brutal with him. He's kind of different, you know, and his name doesn't help."

"Tell me what's going on."

"Well, besides the vegetables, one part of the garden has flowers, and the teacher asked for a volunteer to take care of that section in addition to the rows they planted. Loren really wanted to do it, so she chose him. Since then these guys have been calling him names, like faggot and pussy, and knocking him down, tripping him--you know, that kind of stuff. Yesterday someone pushed him into a rose bush, and he had to go to the school nurse because he was bleeding."

"Doesn't the teacher know what's going on?" Craig asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, she knows, but they wait till she's not looking, and Loren won't tell her who's doing it."

"Have you tried to do anything about it?"

Porter stared down at his hot fudge sundae. "I don't know what to do. Once I told them to leave him alone, and they just laughed and said I must be a faggot, too. I don't want to get beat up, Dad. And besides, most of the guys are in my deacons quorum."

"They are? Maybe I should have a talk with their parents."

Porter looked horrified. "No, Dad, you can't! That'll just make things worse! I've been thinking about this a lot, and I'll figure something out."

After Porter and the girls had gone to bed, Craig logged into his email. The Short List folder was still empty. Perhaps reason and kindness had prevailed, and he could relax knowing the madness had finally ended. Then he saw it: an email from Alex DuPlessis with the subject "Who's on the Lord's side, who?"

He had never once received an email directly from DuPlessis unless it had been sent to the entire Short List. They had never been friends, and as long as he could remember, he had been dismayed and a little embarrassed at DuPlessis's online behavior. With friends like him ... he thought.

No, he wasn't going to take the bait. He dragged the message into the Trash folder, and opened the latest epistle--the subject read "It hath been bloggethed"--from his verbose cousin, who clogged up his Inbox with huge photo files and links to political web sites. In the photos, her triplets looked pretty much the same as they had in last week's, and he knew better than to click "Welcome to Obama's World."

With nothing of interest to read, he let his mind wander to Porter's situation with his classmate. Craig wondered what he would have done at that age. Right, he remembered. He wouldn't have done anything because by seventh grade he was trying hard to be invisible so boys like that would forget he existed and would leave him alone. He would have stood by and watched them terrorize Arlen. No, that wasn't right.

Loren.

He thought again of Arlen, of DuPlessis, and of the whole mess. He'd stopped them this time, but what was keeping them from starting again right where they left off? Sure, the Short List was no more, but it wouldn't be difficult to replace it pretty quickly.

He opened the email.

"Dear Craig.

"We have been friends for many years now, and I've always held you in the highest regard." He had? Since when?

"No matter what the enemies of truth have thrown at us, you have stood firm and strong in defense of the gospel." Until he had apostatized, that is.

"And in all that time I have never once seen you compromise your standards or character." That was nice of him to say, but then it was a little unnerving to have someone like DuPlessis's ringing endorsement of his character.

"In you I see a kindred spirit who is dedicated to honourably and faithfully"--here Craig actually snorted--"upholding the cause of truth and righteousness."

With the obligatory flattery over, DuPlessis had arrived at his point:

"I have treasured the associations I've had with so many scholars and others who have given of their time to put forward solid and convincing evidence supporting our doctrines and scriptures. Recent events, I fear, have disrupted the synergistic relationship we have had as a group, and my first priority is to re-establish the bonds of trust so that we may go forward, working together again in this great cause."

I knew it, Craig thought. He's already trying to resurrect the Short List.

"It is with your high character and sound judgment in mind that I have prayerfully decided to ask you to work with me to discover the identity of the person who has done us so much harm. My plan is simple:

"1. We will work together as a team of two--a companionship, you might say--and invite one former member of the Short List to communicate with us. Every communication each of us receives from that person will be blind-copied to the other so that the other person is not aware that he is talking to both of us.

"2. Only if and when that person has proven he can be trusted will we invite him into our group, and the process will begin with another member.

"3. If we follow this procedure with exactness we will be able to build a trusted core membership strong enough to shoulder the burden of apologetics until it is time to pass it on to the rising generation.

"As a token of my trust in you, I will leave it to you to choose the first member.

"We have no time to waste, and I await your response anxiously.

"Your brother in Christ,

"Alex B. DuPlessis"

Craig sat back, speechless. Could DuPlessis really be that stupid? It was one thing to treat an Internet message board as if it were a dead drop in East Berlin during the Cold War, but any fool could see how ridiculous DuPlessis's plan was on the face of it.

He was tempted to write something like "Oh, brother," but he thought again of Arlen and began to type:

"Dear Brother DuPlessis,

"I share your dismay with what has happened to the list and to our friends, and I am willing to assist you in any way I can to bring to light the work we have done and will continue to do. In many years online, you have proven yourself capable of anything required to protect and defend the church and its members. Many times I have seen you do what I would never be able to do in correcting error and standing for truth.

"Your plan's strength is its simplicity. Sometimes it is the most simple-minded approach that produces the best results, and I believe your plan will bear fruit if we adhere to it strictly. As you note, we must place full trust in each other or risk failure. I pledge all the trust you have earned from me, and I hope it will be returned in kind.

"I have pondered over whom we should invite first, and it strikes me that from the beginning we must have a pipeline of information, a conduit if you will. Despite his youth and relative inexperience, our most reliable source of information has always been Tanner Scott. Like me, you may worry that he can be temperamental, but he more than makes up for it with his zeal and intelligence. I've always felt he was spiritually proactive, much like one of Captain Moroni's stripling warriors. Like them, he does not wait for our enemies to come to us but anticipates and often frustrates their moves against us. I feel strongly that we must be bold from the start, and I believe Tanner will be of invaluable service to us.

"I am confident that together we can do great things.

"Your fellow-servant,

"Craig R. Meyers"

Craig was almost embarrassed when he read through the email. Surely, DuPlessis was too smart to fall for such horse crap. Maybe asking for Tanner was going too far, as even DuPlessis had to know that a hotheaded kid (some critics called him "Bieber, Junior") was no asset to anyone. But if it were going to end in a spectacular flameout, they needed Tanner's unbridled zeal and total lack of perspective.

Craig sighed and clicked "Send."

[_palerobber]

"As you all know, last year Arlen confided in a fellow Short Lister that he had separated from his wife for a brief period of time. Out of sensitivity for Arlen and his family, this information was shared only with members of our group and a few others. [...]"

classic. the "and a few others" was a nice touch.

[_son of Ishmael]

Ok, so Runtu and Bob are the same people?

[_Runtu]

Ok, so Runtu and Bob are the same people?

"Bob Loblaw" was a sockpuppet I used in the past when I was feeling snarky. "Bob Bobberson" is someone else.

[_Analytics]

"I pledge all the trust you have earned from me..." Classic. I can't wait to hear where this is going.

[_hans castorp]

Runtu,

I've loved your writing ever since you began posting your mission story. But I didn't know you had such talent for fiction.

At its best, this board is simply astonishing, a cabinet of wonders.

hc