“Hey, ma,” she said as she stepped out of her high-rise apartment and locked the door.
“Hey sweetie,” her mom’s familiar voice replied. “I hate to ask this, but can you maybe swing by and take Kristen to school? She won’t come out of her room, and you always have a better time getting through to her.”
Kristen was Allison’s fifteen-year-old niece, the only daughter of her sister Laura. Her late sister Laura. It was still a sensitive subject for Allison.
Allison jogged across the hall toward the elevator. “Mom, I have to go to work. Just slap her upside the head and tell her to quit fucking around and go to school. I swear, being a grandma has made you soft. You never would have put up with that kind of shit from me or Laura.”
“It’s not like that, honey. She’s being bullied by the other kids. You’ve always been very tough and confident. I think you can motivate her.”
“Mom, I have to—”
“Just humor me, sweetie. Please? She’s your goddaughter.”
Allison sighed. “Fine, Mom. But I have to go open the shop first. My cashier doesn’t have a key.”
“Thank you, honey.”
Allison ended the call and sighed.
6
It was almost 11:00 when Allison pulled up to her mother’s driveway in North Las Vegas. Well, she thought, Kristen won’t miss the entire school day. That has to count for something.
Built in the early 1950s, the house was situated in one of Las Vegas’s oldest communities. It even had an old-fashioned wood porch and dated red-brick construction. On the roof was an arrow-shaped TV antenna that hadn’t been operational since the eighties. The house even smelled old, like hundred-year-old books with the faintest hint of mildew. The yard was more brown than green, but so were most yards in Las Vegas.
She made her way up the porch steps, swung open the flimsy screen door, and stepped into the house where she had spent her childhood. She moved past the entryway and into the kitchen where her mother was drinking a cup of coffee and watching some daytime courtroom show on her wall-mounted television.
“Where is she?” Allison asked.
“It’s lovely to see you too, dear,” her mother said with a coy smile.
Janet Lockwood was the spitting image of what Allison might look like in thirty years. She had a deceptively warm smile, a delicate frame, and shoulder-length dark hair that remained vibrant despite her age. Allison suspected that her mother dyed her hair regularly.
With an equally subversive smile, Allison stepped up to her mother, hugged her softly, and kissed her forehead.
“Have you eaten today?” Janet asked.
“No, Ma. I haven’t had time. I’ll hit a drive-thru on the way to work.”
Janet stood up and made her way to the gaudy pea-green refrigerator that had remarkably been in operation since Allison was twelve years old. “Fast food isn't real food,” Janet proclaimed as she opened the refrigerator door and scoured the packed shelves for a suitable meal.
“It's fine, Ma,” Allison groaned. “I don't have time to eat right now. Kristen’s already hours late for school.”
Just then, Allison noticed a figure in her peripheral vision. She turned toward the house’s main hallway. Standing in the entryway was Kristen, her blonde hair somewhat disheveled and her normally sweet face twisted in a thick, pouting frown.
On most days, she looked like a teen you'd see in a Disney Channel musical: rosy-cheeked, grotesquely optimistic, and cute enough to grace the cover of Teen Beat. Today, though, she looked like one of those former Disney actresses who starts taking on dark, grown-up roles in order to break free from her squeaky-clean typecasting. Allison kind of liked it.
“I'm not going to school,” Kristen grumbled, her arms crossed in front of her plain black T-shirt. Allison knew the kid meant business because she never wore generic shirts. Kristen was usually all about stylish tank dresses, floral V-neck T-shirts, and whatever else she could find on sale in the “OMG this is so cute” section at Old Navy.
“You're going to school,” Allison insisted. “Go get your shit and let's get moving.”
Kristen turned around and marched back to her room, but Allison sensed that it wasn't to grab her backpack.
“Well, gee, I could have done that,” Janet snorted with an amused grin. She was preparing a large Italian sandwich at the kitchen counter. “You certainly have a way with kids.”
Allison took a seat at the kitchen table. “Well, now you see why she's better off with you than me.”
Janet nodded. “I love having her here. Everything about her reminds me of Laura.”
“Tell me about it. I think that's why I just couldn't take her after Laura…” she trailed off. “I mean, I've never been able to figure out why Laura would make me her godmother in the first place. Laura and I barely got along most of the time.”
“You got along like sisters,” Janet said. “Sometimes, the love is unspoken.” She reached into a drawer and retrieved a large plastic sandwich bag. “But Laura loved you so much.”
“Yeah, Ma, I know we loved each other, but why would she want me to look after Kristen? Wasn't she afraid I'd corrupt her sweet angel?”
Janet chuckled, clearly understanding what Allison was referring to. As children, Allison and Laura both reluctantly attended Mass every Sunday. As they got older, though, the two sisters veered in distinctly different directions. Allison abandoned her faith for lack of empirical evidence, and Laura became a born-again Christian to save her unborn child.
At the age of nineteen, Laura had fallen in love with a charming but troubled 26-year-old named Dan. Dan made excellent money for a man his age, and it was all courtesy of his meth lab in the West Las Vegas suburbs. Unfortunately, Dan failed to abide by the age-old rule, “never get high on your own supply.” Not only was he a slave to his speed habit, but he dragged Laura down with him.
When she discovered her pregnancy at age twenty-one, Laura was already in the throes of a crippling addiction. Terrified of what the drug would do to her baby, she tried desperately to quit cold turkey. It was useless. The withdrawals drove her to the brink of suicide, and the cravings were unbearable. So one night, she fell to her knees and prayed to the god of her childhood to set her free. As she would later recount, the Lord saved her at that very moment. She never had another craving or another withdrawal, and baby Kristen was born seven months later as healthy as an ox.
After being delivered from her addiction and dumping her junkie boyfriend, Laura found a nearby church where she was baptized and born again. She raised Kristen in the ways of the Lord, and she tried desperately to get Allison to see the light. In fact, Allison could recall quite a few awkward family meals where the sisters would fight about faith versus reason. Laura acted as though Allison had a one-way ticket to Hell and was in desperate need of salvation.
Now Laura was gone, and Allison would have given anything to be able to bicker with her big sister once again.
“Laura knew exactly what she was doing when she chose you as the godmother,” Janet said. “You're smart, headstrong, and you’re not afraid of anything. You've never let anyone walk all over you. Laura always envied you for that, and I think she hoped that some of those qualities could rub off on Kristen.”
Allison contemplated her mother’s words for a moment. She thought back to that dark night when she received the phone call from her mother. “Laura was in a car accident,” Janet had said much too calmly. “She's in critical condition.” By the time Allison made it to the hospital, Laura was gone.
Allison was inconsolable, and so Janet told her that she would take care of Kristen for a few weeks. That was almost five years ago, and Kristen was still living under her grandmother’s care. She even slept in Allison’s former bedroom.
“Well,” Allison said, shaking off her reverie and turning to her mother. “I better get the princess to school.”
She stood up and made her way down the hall. Kristen’s bedroom door was closed, so Alliso
n knocked softly. “Hey, kid, is it okay if I come in?”
“Go ahead,” Kristen’s soft voice responded from the other side.
Allison slowly opened the door and stepped inside. It felt strange stepping into her childhood bedroom with its updated decor. It was like being a ghost and haunting an old home that no longer belonged to you.
Kristen was seated on her twin bed with her back against the wall. The frown on her face told Allison everything she needed to know.
Allison stepped toward Kristen’s bed, observing the many rock music posters that haphazardly decorated the walls. Allison was not familiar with any of these bands, but knowing Kristen, they were probably all Christian rock bands.
Allison took a seat at the foot of Kristen’s bed. “You know,” she said, “when I was fifteen, I went through a pretty bad bullying situation. Some kids at my school started a rumor that I was having sex with one of the guys on the basketball team.”
“Were you?” Kristen asked.
Allison stammered for a moment. “Just listen to the story. I got called a slut, a whore, and every other name in the book, and I was humiliated. I didn't want to show my face at school either.
“But then I noticed something that really pissed me off. While I was getting the Scarlet Letter treatment, Mr. Basketball Star was suddenly becoming a campus hero. And I'm like, ‘what the fuck is this shit?’
“So, I went and started my own rumor, told everyone in school that the guy had a micro-penis. Suddenly, people were done worrying about me because they had a way more hilarious rumor to spread around. So, you see what I'm saying?”
Kristen looked horrified. “No,” she shouted. “That's a terrible story.”
Allison shook her head. “Look, I'm not good at the whole pep-talk thing. Why don't you just tell me what's going on at school? Who's fucking with you?”
Kristen groaned. “It's just this one girl.”
“Wait, that's it? One girl? Well, just tell me who she is. When I get done with her, she'll be begging to carry your books for you.”
“No!” Kristen retorted. “It's no big deal.”
“Well, why is this girl on your case?”
“Promise you won't tell Grandma,” Kristen said after some hesitation.
“I don't tell her shit,” Allison said. “I still have weed hidden in this very room that she doesn't know about.”
After peering awkwardly around the room in search of concealed marijuana, Kristen finally opened up. “Yasmin Goode is telling everyone that I'm poor because I can't go on the trip to Disney World. Everybody’s going.”
“Mom won't pay for it?”
“Grandma gets social security checks. She can't afford it. I'm not even going to ask because she'd have to say no and it would make her feel bad. That's why I wouldn't tell her why I'm being messed with at school.”
Allison inched toward her niece and put a hand on her shoulder. “Kristen, that woman is way tougher than you think. She has to be. She raised me, for Christ’s sake. Your problem is you're too damned nice all the time. How much is this trip?”
“It's five thousand dollars.”
“Jesus Christ!” Allison remarked. “The cost of a field trip sure has gone up since I went to that school. Don't they know we have a Disney park that's just like a four-hour bus ride from here?”
Kristen didn't reply. The way she had winced at the “Jesus Christ” exclamation suggested that she was most troubled by Allison’s use of the Lord’s name in vain.
“Look,” Allison continued, “this may actually be your lucky day. I recently closed a very profitable new business deal, and I may need someone to help out with a few things. I need someone who's sweet and unsuspecting.”
“What would I have to do?”
“Little things, really. Internet research, interviews, maybe sneaking into a public exorcism with a hidden camera.”
“What?”
“I swear, I won’t ever put you in harm’s way, most likely. I just need a little help with a research project. The point is, I'll pay for your trip.”
Kristen's face lit up. There was that bubbly Teen Beat smile that Allison knew so well.
“Are you for real?” Kristen asked. “That's so nice, Aunt Allison. Thank you. Thank you!”
“Yeah, whatever. Just get your ass in the car. We’re both late as shit.”
Kristen skipped over to the closet to pick out some more school-appropriate clothes.
“Oh, Allison continued, “and text me a photo of this Yasmin chick. I'd like to meet her in the parking lot.”
7
After taking Kristen to school and spending a few uneventful hours at the store, Allison returned to her seventh-story apartment on East Flamingo Road and sat down at her desk. The desk was strategically situated beside the sliding glass door that separated her living room from her balcony. This gave her an unobstructed view of the famous Stratosphere observation tower and a few other hotels along the Vegas Strip. It wasn’t the best view in town, but it was pretty impressive considering her modest rent.
She opened her laptop, clicked on her Chrome web browser, and was greeted by the familiar Google launch page. Her search query was simple: “Las Vegas exorcist fraud.”
The very first search result wasn’t a text link but rather a video thumbnail. It was a YouTube video entitled “Aren Anzalone Exposes the Las Vegas Exorcist.”
Well, that didn’t take long, Allison thought as she clicked on the link. The name Aren Anzalone sounded vaguely familiar, but Allison couldn’t quite place it.
The video took a few moments to load, and in the meantime, Allison read the description. The video was apparently from a group called The Las Vegas Skeptic Society, another name that sounded only vaguely familiar. According to the video description, Aren Anzalone was “a world-renowned illusionist, mentalist, and debunker of all things supernatural. He’s been featured on ABC, NBC, and Fox News. His HBO special was seen by more than 8 million viewers, and his electrifying show plays nightly at the Venetian in Las Vegas.”
Oh yes, Allison mused. That’s where I know that name from. She had seen his billboard along Interstate 15. The enormous advertisement featured an image of a stunningly attractive man with shoulder-length dark hair and penetrating eyes gazing determinedly off into the distance. Alongside his shadowed face was a quote from Ellen Degeneres raving about how he was the greatest illusionist she had ever seen.
Allison had no idea what his show was all about, but she could recall sitting in her Ford Focus during many a rush-hour traffic jam, staring up at his photo and admiring his blue eyes, chiseled chin, emotive eyebrows, and perfectly symmetrical stubble. He had a rock star vibe, and he appeared to take himself very seriously.
Finally, the video started playing. It began with a close-up shot of two men—one of them unmistakably Anzalone—seated on some sort of public stage, their chairs separated by a folding table. Each man was holding a microphone, and they appeared to be looking out at a captive audience. Both men were young and attractive, but Aren definitely had the edge. Not only was he handsome, but he was handsome in an unpolished, counter-culture sort of way.
The man seated across from him was more clean-cut and strait-laced He was attractive like an up-and-coming young politician, and that had never been Allison’s style. As someone who had started sneaking into downtown punk rock shows at age twelve, Allison liked her men a bit rougher around the edges.
Even their attire demonstrated a striking contrast between the two men. Aren wore a tight and ostentatious pair of black leather pants and thick leather boots along with an almost-reflective gray T-shirt and a slightly darker sport coat. The other man wore a very conservative gray suit.
After brief applause, the clean-cut man began talking. “Thank you all for coming out today, and thank you to UNLV for letting us host this forum. I’m Dustin Ray, president of the Las Vegas Skeptic Society, and I’m pleased to introduce my very esteemed guest today, Mr. Aren Anzalone.”
The crowd w
ent nuts. It was like a Beatles concert circa 1963. Allison actually had to turn down the volume on her laptop for fear of freaking out her neighbors. For his part, Aren took the ridiculous enthusiasm in stride, smiling faintly and waving to the audience.
“It seems you have a few fans in the crowd,” Dustin joked. The audience laughed.
Aren raised his microphone to his lips. “The Las Vegas Skeptic Society has always been very good to me,” he said with genuine humility in his voice. “And I find that pretty damn inspiring. I mean, if there’s one thing this world needs more of, it’s basic reason.”
“Awesome,” Dustin replied. “Yeah, you’ve been with us at a few of these forums, but this one is definitely unique. We’re here today to talk about the so-called Las Vegas Exorcist.” There were boos and sneers from the audience.
“Now, you’ve been investigating this guy for a while,” Dustin continued. “Admittedly, some of his videos are chilling even to me, and I’ve been a skeptic since my parents forced me to read Bertrand Russell at the age of 5.” Snickers from the audience. “What do you honestly make of this guy?”
The camera panned back to Aren and zoomed in on his face. Allison was almost frustrated by how attractive she found him.
“Well,” Aren said, “the first thing that most people notice about Dominic Maffiore is that he’s insanely charming. Even if you walk into the room hating his guts, you really want to like him after talking to him for a couple of minutes. He just has that vibe. But, that’s exactly the thing that makes him such a good con-man. You don’t meet a lot of cons who are curmudgeonly, bitter, and openly aggressive. No, a really good con-artist is someone who can seduce you, even if you walk up to them thinking they’re full of shit. And let me tell you, Dominic Maffiore knows how the game is played, maybe better than anyone I’ve ever met before.”
Dustin nodded. “Okay, that makes sense. But you’ve seen the videos of this guy online. He’s causing people to fall to the floor, screaming and writhing and growling. They start speaking in tongues; sometimes they start puking all over the church. How is he able to get people to do this?”
The Devil's Lullaby Page 5