Chapter Nineteen #3
He continued. “I think I’ve benefited from not knowing or practicing any faith in my younger years before I came here.
I had no preconceived notions. So what you see before you is revolutionary,” he said, gesturing again toward the volume on the table.
“My masterpiece is the result of years of reading original sources and drawing my own conclusions. I can maybe let you take a look at it, but you have to promise not to copy any of it down or take any photographs. And you have to promise not to tell anyone what you saw.”
She said, “Before I make any promises, I need to know more about what’s going on around here. I need you to convince me why I shouldn’t call the sheriff, for one thing.”
“No,” he said, wagging his finger. “You don’t want to do that.”
“First, who made you stay here? Who put that cable around your waist and set up the electronic perimeter?”
“My nephew John, of course.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated,” Uncle Hank said. He was anxious for Sheridan to behold his masterpiece, she thought.
“What’s complicated?” she asked. “It looks pretty straightforward to me. Your nephew and Shelby Bucholz are holding you prisoner on their ranch. They’ve kidnapped you. If you try to escape, you’ll get your head blown off. That’s a very sick situation, and your relatives should be in prison for it.”
He waved her off. “No, no, it’s not like that at all.
This is all very legal, John tells me. He’s got a court order to place me in a legal conservatorship for my own good.
John and Shelby are my conservators. They have complete control of me, and in a way it’s the ultimate freedom.
I don’t have to worry about money, or obligations.
I have the freedom to do what I want, like think. And work on my masterpiece.”
“Why would he do that?” Sheridan asked.
“It’s my own fault,” Uncle Hank said ruefully. “I was doing meth when I showed up here. I wasn’t in my right mind. I demanded my share of the ranch as per my birthright. I was a complete asshole about it, to be honest.”
“What judge ordered the conservatorship?” Sheridan asked.
“I can’t remember. But John was very clear about it. I could either submit to him and stay here living as free as a bird, or I could be sent away to someplace nasty. It was an easy choice for me.”
Sheridan scoffed. “You never saw the legal order?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Tell me more about John and Shelby,” Sheridan said. “What are they up to? I saw them with some men in pickups earlier today. They were walking around with them like they were all planning something.”
Uncle Hank shrugged and his eyes darted once again to the book on the table. It was obvious to Sheridan that he couldn’t wait to show it to her and he was getting impatient with her questions.
“John and Shelby will soon be very wealthy,” Uncle Hank said.
“Shelby let that slip when she delivered food to me a couple of weeks ago. She said when it happens they’ll have to move me someplace else, and I told her I might not want to go.
My masterpiece isn’t done yet. I need another year or so, although the winters are very hard, as you can imagine.
Some days, I spend the entire time sitting in front of my heater and shivering. ”
“How are they going to get rich?” Sheridan asked.
“I don’t know the details. I could care less, frankly. John has always wanted to be wealthy, so I’m not surprised. Even as a very young boy, he was completely single-minded about that.”
“So you don’t know who those other men were this morning?”
“I don’t have a clue. There has been a lot of activity on the ranch the last month or so. Lots of vehicles—even a helicopter. I wish they’d all go away and leave me in peace, to be honest.”
“Have you ever seen a game warden here on the ranch?” she asked. “You know: red uniform shirt, green Ford pickup.”
“I’ve seen him. I think he might have seen me.”
Sheridan felt a flush of excitement. “When was that?”
“Three or four weeks ago. He was talking with John and Shelby.”
“Do you have any idea what they were talking about?”
“Not a clue.”
“Do you know if John and Shelby had a problem with the game warden? Did they ever mention anything to you about him?”
“They don’t talk to me about things like that,” Uncle Hank said.
“All I know is that Shelby was in a really bad mood later that afternoon when she brought me supplies. She snapped my head off when I said my jar of pickles was empty and I needed more. I didn’t push it further.
I’ve learned not to do that when she’s in one of her moods. ”
“Was she in a bad mood because of the game warden?” Sheridan asked.
“How would I know?” Uncle Hank said with real irritation in his voice. “Now, do you want to look at my masterpiece or not?”
“Sure,” she said. Sheridan was convinced he might either completely clam up or lunge at her. She felt a sense of his coiled-up rage. For the sake of gathering more information, she decided it would be best to go along with him—at least for a moment.
“Sit,” he said, indicating the single chair.
She sat. Uncle Hank hovered behind her.
“Open it.”
She reached out and opened the cover of the volume. As she did, he said, “Get ready to have your mind blown.” Sheridan noted that his tone had softened again, now that she was doing what he asked.
On the first page, in handwritten block lettering, it announced The Sacred Confluence by Henry Alan Bucholz. The words were underlined at least five times and with different colored pens.
The second page was a list of religions:
Christianity
Islam
Hinduism
Buddhism
Sikhism
Judaism
Bahaism
Jainism
Shintoism
Zoroastrianism
Mormonism
She looked over her shoulder for an explanation. Instead of offering one, Uncle Hank whispered, “Keep reading.”
What followed was page after page of tiny, almost illegible writing broken up by baffling but intricate illustrations.
There were demons, mutilated bodies, incomprehensible symbols and graphics, and decapitated sheep and goats.
She flipped more pages without really comprehending the text.
There were hundreds of pages, all filled with ink, and only a few blank sheets near the end of the volume.
She found it remarkable that although the tiny text was written in freehand, there were no strike-throughs or corrections.
It was as if Uncle Hank believed that every single word he had written was perfect.
“I have studied the tenets of the world’s major religions,” Uncle Hank announced. “And I’ve merged them into one perfect belief system. I’ve incorporated the best beliefs and discarded the stupid or inane ones.”
“Wow,” Sheridan said, puzzled but not really impressed.
“No one else on earth has ever attempted such a thing,” Uncle Hank said as he leaned over her from behind. “This has never been done before. I’ve got the charity and humbleness of Christianity, the resolve of Islam, the gentleness of Hinduism, the…”
His words rushed out and Sheridan stopped listening. The man was truly nuts, she thought. Maybe a conservatorship wasn’t the worst idea to keep him contained.
All she wanted now was to get away and rejoin her sisters. Wait until they found out about Uncle Hank Bucholz, and the lengths John and Shelby had gone to retain sole ownership of their ranch.
His cadence got more strident as he said, “It’s the confluence of all of man’s most enlightened ideas and philosophies…” while he placed his hands on her shoulders.
Repulsed, Sheridan instantly shrugged his hands away. “You’re too close,” she warned. “Back off, Uncle Hank.”
He reacted as if he’d touched a hot stove, which he had. He said, “I haven’t touched another human being in three and a half years.”
She stood up and turned around to face him. “And you’re not starting with me.”
“Sheridan, please,” he pleaded while backing her up against the edge of the table.
“I was hoping that once you’d seen it that you’d understand.
That you’d appreciate that I’ve let you enter a special place that no one has ever been besides me.
Let me show you what the rapture of the confluence feels like… ”
She reached to her side and thumbed the safety off the canister and hit him in the face with a red burst of bear spray. As she did, she looked to the side and gulped air. Uncle John howled and covered his face with his hands and toppled over to the floor.
Holding her breath, Sheridan quickly stepped over him and leapt for the open door. It was such close quarters inside the cabin that the cloud from the spray hung in the air. She couldn’t avoid it.
As she staggered through the perimeter toward her SUV, Sheridan let out her breath and breathed freely. Nevertheless, her eyes flushed tears and her bare skin burned. Fluids from her nose flowed down her face.
Before climbing into her rig, she wiped moisture from her eyes and looked back at the cabin. Uncle Hank was still writhing and moaning on the wooden floor.
Beyond the cabin, the ranch compound was still quiet except for the cows in the corrals. The Bucholzes—and the men in the white trucks from Global Exploration—had not returned.
—
Sheridan drove back toward Antler Creek Junction the same way she’d arrived.
She stopped just long enough to check her phone to confirm that the entire weird encounter she’d had with Uncle Hank Bucholz had been recorded.
She saw no other vehicles on the road, although she did spot a distant helicopter moving across the terrain to the west.
When she had service on her phone, she texted her sisters: I’m out and okay, but you’re not going to believe what I found out on the Bucholz Ranch.