The Book of Dema

CHAPTER THIRTEEN + A Bullet for Them; A Bullet for You

Tyler stood at the entrance to the concert hall, shaking the hands of the members of the Skeleton Clique as each one walked in the door. The band had finally built up enough of a following to make requests like this one of the ownership group: permission to use the hall for fan club meetings. He had felt a pang of deception in the request. The Skeleton Clique was much more than a bunch of eager fans. But he also knew that staffers of the hall, should they care to listen to the meeting, would find them hearing a conversation about nonsense, some made-up junk from a sci-fi rip-off. They wouldn't get the sense of urgency in the voices or the concern over not saving enough people. They would just pick up a weird cosplay vibe where everyone came dressed in the same costume.

He was grateful to the owners of the hall. He had even promised larger cuts of the gate at three upcoming shows for the favor. They had told him not to worry about it. "Don't trash the place, and just keep playing the venue forever," was the response. He had laughed and accepted their terms. But now as he stood at the door, he wasn't sure it was such a great bargain. There was a tide turning in the group that he had detected at the last meeting, and it troubled him.

In every handshake, he could sense the state of mind of every person he greeted. A firm one signaled commitment; a loose one, uncertainty. A clammy grip suggested self-consciousness and intimidation. A quick shake told him the person was being polite but was frustrated with the status quo. The few that lasted too long and accompanied a steely look alerted him to a potential challenge. There were too many of the last two.

The whole exercise made him uneasy. His goal was never to lead a movement. He still didn't view their work that way. It was a rescue mission. He sensed it was becoming more than that for members of the Skeleton Clique. Admittedly, he could see a certain religious fervor about the whole thing. It was why he was so careful not to frame his music in terms that could be easily viewed as theological.

He did not deny the various metaphysical implications of their experiences. The very existence of the doors was proof to them all that there were other dimensions or places accessible through non-traditional means of transportation. As one science fiction writer famously said, "Any technology sufficiently advanced is indistinguishable from magic." For all he knew, Dema was located on a mountaintop in Tibet, and the doors tapped into little wormholes controlled by frequency modulation that anyone with the right technology could access. The idea fascinated Tyler, but he would never let his lyrics devolve into language that could fuel a zealotry. His greatest fear was that his crew would stop destroying doors and start going through them in order to assault Dema. They simply were not equipped for that task.

The same rule applied to the spiritual implications. He did not hide his faith. Most who really knew him were aware of what he believed and what his family stood for. His father was the principal of the Christian school where Tyler had attended. There was no obscuring that. But these gatherings weren't church and could never become church. His purpose wasn't to sermonize or make statements about faith he felt himself incapable of living up to. In doing so, he would become a false prophet, failing his task and betraying those who trusted him. This had been a lengthy topic of coffee conversation with Jenna. His mission was to let people know they weren't alone. They needed to know they were loved, but he wasn't ever going to be their spiritual leader. Perhaps he would find a way to escalate the program against Dema, but they were not there yet.

He continued to welcome stragglers as they arrived, but he also watched those who he already had greeted begin to form up into their teams. Carter had divided the Skeleton Clique into nine groups he called The Circles. He had created an ingenious interweaving system where Tyler was the connector of all the circles, the line that intersected each one. The number of people in each group was not fixed, but no matter the size, each one elected a spokesperson. Carter had arranged the nine circles into a square. Every Circle also had people assigned to interface with adjacent circles.