Even as a seasoned nurse, I was horrified by what I saw at his house.
By the age of thirty, Levon Rockell had amassed a small fortune preying on the innocence of others.
At first, I loathed him.
I’ll tell you why.
He was a Lost Boy, one of those pitiful, heartbreaking teenagers ruthlessly dumped on the side of the road by those Cornucopia wingdings. As a Lost Boy with absolutely no idea of the outside world, he’d fallen on hard times. These Cornucopia parents, at the slightest mention from their whacked Prophet that maybe their boy had been seen wearing a short-sleeved shirt or watching a horror movie, raced to fling these misbegotten boys into their cars. With the assistance of the nearby Avalanche police, these miserable boys, children really, were driven into the desert and literally dumped by the side of the road without so much as a by-your-leave.
Allred Chiles, their demented “Prophet” of the past thirty years, would dismiss them, basically sending them to their deaths, with such heartwarming platitudes as, “I bid thee farewell.” That’s what he said to a sixteen-year-old Levon fifteen years ago when he’d dared to date the daughter of some muckety-muck. “The greatest freedom is obedience. Now you’re an outcast, an apostate, among the damned. An apostate is the darkest person on earth. You are led by your master, Lucifer.”