A Future Unlike Any Other
Heinlen spends the rest of his day digging around in dirt. He typically clears his head by laboring on his passion – growing the best tomatoes on the planet: Jersey Beefsteaks.
When he purchased his property, it had an odd, wired off 15 X 20-foot plot about a quarter way into his backyard. He wasted no time upgrading this area to meet his high gardening standards. Hefty “Wolmanized” (pressure treated) and deep-anchored corner posts, rugged cyclone fencing, a proper gate with a latch and a PVC-piped water source hooked up to his rear house bib that made watering his plants easy.
The Beefsteak Tomato plants that he lovingly nurtures, fertilizes and stabilizes with traditional bamboo support strips are the real deal. He buys them from an exclusive Garden Center in the Great Swamp Reservation up in Harding Township. People come from as far away as Pennsylvania to snap up the Jersey Beefsteak and Italian varietal vine shoots that are sold at this Mecca of Gardening every year around Federal Income Tax time – April 15th. Prices are steep – but nobody cares. These tomatoes are the finest. Plant them in rich, black New Jersey soil and the results are always worth it. To die for. Cut up them in a salad or just eat them like an apple with some sea salt. The very best.
Truth be told, Heinlen is keeping out of Leeds’ way. He has some thinking to do about what she’s revealed to him – and his head is still reeling.
So here he kneels, up to his elbows in dirt, gently inserting this year’s crop of delicate Jersey Beefsteak tomato plants into precisely dug holes six inches deep and one foot apart – intending to plant ten rows in his 15 X 20 ft. garden enclosure.
Just as he’s reaching for his Poland Spring water bottle, he hears a car door close somewhere up front in his driveway.
“Probably the mailman…” he says to himself.
He keeps digging, absorbed in his own thoughts – until he hears someone clear his throat directly behind him.
Heinlen snaps his neck around, surprised by the phantom presence – and then smiles broadly.
It’s Brother Dimitrios – dressed in formal vestments – and standing with him is Major Stjepan Markovic. Their faces are pleasant – but visibly weighted down in sorrow. Heinlen jumps up and tears off his gloves. He firmly embraces them both, taking care not to smudge their clothes with his dirty shirt sleeves.
Heinlen is deluged with emotions as he sees their familiar faces. It’s the most delightful surprise imaginable considering his past few days. Brother Dimitri and Major Stjepan Markovic! Two Brothers in Arms, battle-tested veterans that served Simon Magus!
But their faces betray the dark grief that they, too, still bear due to The Magician’s passing. Simon Magus has touched them all in ways that can only be seen as transformative. He was their Hetman – their Leader. He was their spiritual conduit from whence they drank deep the arcane Christian mysteries that other people – even religious adepts – never experienced. He was living proof that Jesus Christ is Lord.
Heinlen can feel that Simon Magus’ passing has made these men even more devoted to their faith and unshakably committed to the Mission he and Longinus served. Of this fact, Heinlen has no doubt.
“Laboring in the garden of life?” Dimitri says, smiling.
Tears well up in Heinlen’s eyes as he pulls his friend close to his breast once again.
“Come into the house – I’ll fix us something to eat!” He enthusiastically announces. “Leeds will be tickled to see you guys!”
Dimitri’s mirthful expression darkens ever so slightly. He hands Heinlen a folded piece of paper. The words he speaks are barely audible and there’s a tinge of sadness in his eyes.
“Your doorbell went unanswered – and the front door was open. We were concerned. This was taped to the refrigerator for your eyes…“
Heinlen unfolds the paper. It’s Leeds’ handwriting.
“Heinie – Just got a call from my old Captain in the Bordentown New Jersey State Police HQ. There’s a problem at the State Police Pine Barrens Barracks – the Red Lion facility. They called me because it’s weird.
A location I investigated before in Chatsworth – child disappearances, claims of Satanic rites and cannibalism – has become a full-blown shitstorm. There’s even strange evidence that our “fanged” adversaries may be involved.
I’ll keep in touch in my own way. Don’t piss-through all your sweet new money in Las Vegas on some funky mid-life crisis. Stay away from Hookers and Blow.
See ‘ya ’round, Big Guy.
Yours, Leeds.“
Heinlen’s shoulders sink as he reads and rereads the note. It isn’t exactly a “Dear John” letter – but it isn’t a declaration of eternal Love, either.
Brother Dimitri breaks the uncomfortable silence. He obviously wants to get down to the business that has brought him there.
“You may have noticed that I’m dressed differently than I was in our previous interactions – the Outer and Inner Cassock and an Epitrachelion – this gold fabric stole around my neck. It signifies pastoral authority. As does my Pectoral Cross slung over my chest…
I’m an ordained Greek Orthodox Priest now.
I have been assigned by the Head of the Greek Orthodox Church in Constantinople, His All-Holiness Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew to be your personal Spiritual Advisor, Confessor and Valet – as per the wishes of Simon Magus as set forth in his Last Will and Testament.
Major Stjepan Markovic is designated by The Master in his Last Will and Testament to be your Chief of Security and Bodyguard.
I am here to formally Consecrate you as a Hetman of the BratvaVarang pursuant to my authority from Patriarch Bartholomew and the BratvaVarang’s Board of Directors.”
Father Dimitri pauses for a few minutes for Heinlen to let this all sink in, his eyes blazing with intensity. Finally, he continues.
“William Heinlen – do you accept the services of Major Markovic and myself in the roles designated by Simon Magus in his Last Will and Testament and his nomination of you as his successor? Do you understand that by undergoing this consecration today you will henceforth be addressed as Hetman and assume the Mission that Archangel Gabriel entrusted to Simon Magus many, many years ago?”
Heinlen is – once again – numb. Only last week he wrestled with his own irrelevance, convinced that his life was little more than a vessel of lost opportunities and regrets. Now he can barely conceive of what he’s being handed from beyond the grave by one of the most enigmatic and mystical personalities of the Christian Canon – Simon Magus.
How can this be happening?
Father Dimitri asks him again: “Do you accept these gifts of Faith? You must respond according to your own free will…”
Heinlen stares at the Priest. Awkward seconds pass. He whispers “Yes” as he falls to his knees on the backyard grass.
With full Pastoral Authority, Father Dimitri withdraws his “Kropilo” – a hand-held Holy Water dispenser specifically designed for ritual sprinkling – and administers the Consecration Blessing to Heinlen in the ecclesiastical Greek language.
“Stand, Hetman.” Father Dimitri intones. “Rise and enter into a new and glorious life of service to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ”.
Heinlein responds instinctively – from his heart.
“Thanks be to God.”
Father Dimitri continues to look with urgency into Heinlein’s eyes. All mirth and frivolity have disappeared from his countenance. His tone is solemn – even grave.
“We must talk. We must talk about Leeds. About what your life is to become. I will answer all these questions. There is much you do not know – and much that you must know going forward. You must steel yourself to what is coming. Spiritually, emotionally and physically. You must accept that you were chosen for this role by our Lord. You must accept that you will suffer.
Everything is going to be different, my Hetman.
The Mission of Simon Magus is now your Mission. With all the privileges, responsibilities and onerous burdens thereunto appertaining. May God grant you the serenity, good judgment and Faith to succeed.
We’re here to escort you to Sullivan & Cromwell in New York, where Partner Jonathan Avery will personally advise you in detail the extent of your fortune and holdings as well as any legal matters that deserve your immediate attention. It will be a comprehensive presentation – catered, of course. Change into something casual but comfortable.
We will dine at Rao’s in Manhattan thereafter.
Are these plans agreeable, Hetman?”
Meanwhile, back in the Pine Barrens…
When she struts into New Jersey State Police HQ in Bordentown, a chorus of voices – mostly male and raucous – erupt in a locker-room detonation of exuberance and salutary admiration. Like ancient Gladiators cheering one of their own in victory. The spirited clamor and applauds of a “Blue Wall” of Troopers reverberate throughout the hallways – like huzzahs for George Washington as he paraded through Philadelphia in 1776.
“Mother Leeds!!! The Myth, The Legend Returns!!!! Jersey Devil Alert!!!”
After she makes her way through her throng of welcomers, her Captain – Basil Furman – joins his voice to the platoon of cops. He’s clearly pleased to see her once more at Bordentown HQ.
“Great to see ‘ya again Sargeant – we’re in need of your Magic…Thanks for comin’.”
After an hour of reading paper reports and witness interview statements, Captain Furman asks her to take a ride.
“Let’s head down to Red Lion State Police Barracks and meet with the young Trooper – his name is Burkin – that responded to the Burns Blueberry Farm incident. He’s got some facts he didn’t put in his report – for obvious reasons. He’s even got a couple of souvenirs…”
As they head down Route 206 to the Red Lion Barracks in Southampton Township, in Captain Furman’s Ford Explorer cruiser, they make “cop talk” to pass the time. Furman speaks first.
“So, how’s it been globe-trotting around God’s green Earth with that Warren Township Detective doing secret shit for the Attorney General’s Office? What was it – some kinda’ CIA shit? ”
Leeds stares out the windshield as Route 206 draws her closer and closer to where she belongs – The Pine Barrens. She notes every gas station, farm stand, post office and business they pass – and recognizes them all. It’s good to be home.
“Nahhh…” Leeds finally responds to Furmans’ query. “It wasn’t CIA Shit or Secret Attorney General Shit – just Shit…”
After reflecting a few minutes, she adds a couple more choice thoughts.
“It’s amazing how much of a freekin’ toilet the rest of this world is…..New Jersey’s got it beat by a mile. It’s nice to be home, Captain. You have no idea how good you got it here…”
“So where you gonna’ stay? Your old family Craftsman cottage in Tabernacle? Red Lion Troopers have been keeping an eye on it for ya’, you know.” Furman is obviously proud the “Blue Brotherhood” has been watching her home while she was on extended leave.
“Yup – I’m goin’ back to Tabernacle. Thanks for keeping an eye on things for me”. Leeds smiles as she said it.
“I’ll get the water and electric switched back on – maybe clean things up a bit. You know – be it ever so humble……”
Furman almost jumps out of his driver’s seat. “GREAT“ he bellows as he bangs his hands against the Ford’s steering wheel in a uniquely cop-like display of hyper-aggressive male excitement and approval.
“That’s Freekin’ Great, Leeds! Any chance you home for good then?”
Her smile creeps back over her lips.
“Yeah. I think I’m stayin’. Tabernacle suits me just fine….Flyin’ around sucks, Europe sucks…Fancy Food sucks…I think I wanna’ just drink beer, eat hamburgers and stay the Hell in one place for a change. Maybe settle down for good.”
*NO PART OF THIS WORK PRODUCT IS AI
Copyright, 2026 – Jon & Jedeiah Croft
www.bogironfoundry.com
Email: vlchek1@gmail.com
Post: BOG IRON FOUNDRY, PO Box 2017, Southampton, NJ 08088
