He lifted his tall frame from the sofa and marched towards the entrance with an air of grace and authority, leaving John wondering if it wasn’t time to just get back on the plane. He’d been in Miami little more than forty eight hours and already the cold winter winds he’d left behind were beginning to seem less complicated.
A familiar warm glow began to creep along the inside of his skin. The anxiety that had kept his muscles drawn tight was slowly beginning to fade regardless of the fact that he was suddenly sitting with FBI agents. With the conversation on pause for the moment he figured it was the perfect opportunity to down a couple more to make sure the demons were at a disadvantage when he was once again on his own. Then… then she stepped into the room and the thought fell away like raindrops on a window pane.
Deep red hair curled around her neck and draped across one shoulder, the light of the room reflecting in her cautious eyes with the hue of distant sunsets. Faded blue jeans and a casual buttoned shirt seemed out of place somehow, as if it were a costume rarely worn.
There was something about her face as she peered around the room, something in the curves of her cheeks and the way her small shoulders seemed confident yet fragile that had John quickly forgetting about the agents. Small scars across her cheek and chin were whispers of a hidden mystery, and he couldn’t help the strange sensation that he was looking at someone he’d known so long ago that only vague memories remained, the kind of memories that taunted from the edge of slippery dreams. It was of course impossible, he’d never seen her before in his life. Maybe it’s the valium softening the edges of reality, he thought, or maybe she’s just got one of those familiar faces.
“John, this is Doctor Candice Garland,” Devilian said by way of introduction. “Doctor Garland is working with us in our investigation.”
John stood and offered his hand. She seemed slightly uncomfortable at the attention her introduction had brought and quickly found a seat. When her eyes fell upon Bobbie though, his chin lifted and eyes closed in temporary bliss, she seemed to relax a little.
“What a beautiful cat you’ve got,” she said with a tentative smile.
“He’s gorgeous isn’t he?” Halls replied, growing more and more infatuated with her new friend.
“Now that you’re here,” Devilian stated while returning to his seat, “we best get down to the business at hand.”
Halls nodded in agreement. “So this is where we’re at John,” she sighed. “You’re looking for someone who’s likely involved with this Hallucigenia Project somehow, and tomorrow night you’ll be attending what looks like their last meeting. Both Doctor Garland and our agency are also trying to find somebody. His name is Doctor Chris Hendrix, and we’re almost certain he’s now involved with the project. He went missing three months ago.” She clicked her fingers with a snap. “Just like that, up and left his job, his family, everything. We figure you can maybe help us locate him.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” John said, “but seems you’re putting a hell of a lot of faith in me considering I still have no real idea what this cult is all about, not to mention the fact I haven’t even located my target yet.”
“I don’t know if I’d use the word faith exactly.” Halls couldn’t resist lifting Bobbie onto her lap. “In this instance I prefer the term confidence. Besides, anything you can find out will be helpful.” She edged her way forward. “You’ve heard a lot from us already so I’ll let Doctor Garland explain a little more.”
John turned his attention to Candice, who was quietly fidgeting with a red envelope clasped in milky white fingers.
“I’m sure this is all a bit of an overload for you,” she said softly, “especially considering the strangeness of the situation, so thank you for talking with us.”
“No problems,” John assured her.
“As Agent Halls explained, Doctor Hendrix has all but vanished without a trace and we’re pretty sure he’s become caught up in this Hallucigenia Project, whatever that’s supposed to be.” Her soft features scrunched up a little. “We worked together for quite some time on a number of things and I can assure you this isn’t normal behaviour. He was brilliant at his job and absolutely lived for it, so we were all blindsided when he simply stopped coming to work without so much as a phone call.”
“And no one’s managed to talk with him?” John asked.
“No,” Candice replied firmly. “No phone call, no letter, no email. One minute he was there and the next he was gone, and in case you’re about to ask he didn’t have any problems at work and lived on his own so no family problems either. There was nothing in his behaviour that hinted at anything. I mean, in all the time I worked with him he never even called in sick.”
“Okay,” John sighed, “he was good at his job and didn’t have any personal issues, but what makes you think he’s decided to start a new life with some damn cult?”
“That’s not really a question I’m in a position to answer,” Candice frowned, “but I can tell you that he left some documents behind that are a pretty good indicator.”
Now the pills were really kicking in, and John found himself needing little more concentration to hide the traces in his voice. “You’re right, this is all a bit of an overload, but okay, I’ll look for your doctor tomorrow night. Now, I’m assuming you’ve got an idea of what you want me to do if I manage to get lucky and actually find him?”
“Of course.” She reached across and handed John the red envelope and a small photo print of the doctor. “If you do somehow find him I’d like you to give him this and pass on a message.”
“What message?” John flipped over the envelope and saw that it was sealed with a small ring of white wax.
“I’d like you to tell him there won’t be any repercussions if he wants to come back, and that we’ve made some discoveries he’ll be interested in. Oh,” Candice paused for a moment with lips pulled tight against her teeth, “and tell him there may be less time than he thinks.”
John watched her gaze move to the floor and chose his words as wisely as he could. “If you don’t mind me asking, how exactly does walking away from a job warrant an FBI investigation? I mean, maybe he’s got his reasons, maybe he woke up one morning and figured he’d had enough. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure it’s a difficult situation for everybody but, if I have to be honest, there must be more to it.”
Candice lifted her eyes from the floor and searched Halls and Devilian for some kind of reaction. She must have found it, because she straightened her back and spoke with a little more surety.
“My team works for the government John.” The subtle red that was beginning to flow across her cheeks swelled the scars ever so slightly. “What we do isn’t really a matter for discussion. What I can tell you is that Doctor Hendrix chose to make his exit with a number of documents that don’t belong to him, and the information in those documents could cause some very serious problems. Personally I don’t think he’ll do anything with them, he is after all a professional who follows the rules of science, but none the less it’s important that we try to reach out to him. That’s why we’re here. We have to try.”
For a moment they all sat in silence. John could feel his body beginning to sink deeper and deeper into the sofa as the demons began to scrape their nails along the edges of his spine. It was Devilian who finally broke the spell.
“I need to pick up my daughter from piano, so I guess we should wrap things up.” He reached into his jacket pocket and placed a plain white business card onto the glass coffee table. “If you have any questions my phone’s never off. We’ll be in touch in a couple of days but Doctor Garland here can help if you need any more information about Hendrix.”
“I never asked his name,” Halls suddenly admitted as though there hadn’t just been a conversation about a missing doctor and strange cults.
“Bobbie,” John confirmed, “his name’s Bobbie.”
“Well I would love to take Bobbie home with me, but I know that’s not happening.”<
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With civilities at an end they all stood and headed for the door. As they spilled out into the hallway Candice turned and asked John for his phone before sending across her details, then all he could do was watch as she stepped away.
“Just remember John,” Devilian suddenly announced as he pushed the elevator button, “any information you can get will really help us out. Obviously we want to find Hendrix, but we’d also like to know what this group is getting up to.” The elevator doors opened and the visitors ushered into the brightly lit cube.
“Is America always this crazy?” John called out as the doors began to slide closed.
“Crazy hasn’t even begun,” Devilian managed before they disappeared, leaving John to stand alone in the hallway wondering what the hell had just happened and wishing he’d stocked the kitchen with a bottle or two of something strong. Somehow, in the proverbial blink of an eye, he was suddenly tasked with finding not one but two people he’d never met before, both of whom had fallen into the shadows of some sort of cult that nobody seemed to know anything about. It was, all things considered, fucking crazy to say the least.
He staggered back into the hotel room to begin the battle that accompanied every setting sun, his nightly cross to bear of simmering anxiety at the knowledge of what awaited in the shadows. The chemicals bubbling through his blood might help later but for now did little to slow the swirling thoughts. Between the deadly jellyfish, tales of murder and suicide, an endless search throughout steaming city blocks, FBI agents knocking on his door and divorce papers waiting to be signed, his head was ready for a forced shut down.
But then there was Doctor Candice Garland. From the minute she’d entered the room he’d experienced strange emotions creeping up from places he was sure no longer existed. Still, the sudden addition to the job at least meant there was the chance he might see her again. For now though there was nothing left to do but collapse onto the bed with his friend, ready to suffer the torment of the world behind the eyes. As he looked out through the break in the curtains he could just make out an almost full moon rising above the flickering city buildings. If it did hold any answers, he sure as hell couldn’t see them.
Chapter 12
The gun shook in blood stained hands and pressed against young flesh with enough force that it stretched and pulled at the skin beneath the eye. Overhead a light bulb swung like a pendulum, silently sending shadows pulsing across the room. A pungent of stale piss seemed to drip from the filthy walls. The man with no face, not this time anyway, hissed through his teeth so that sweat and bile flew from his mouth to splatter across the floor that had been lined with blue plastic. Chains hung on the far wall like metal saviours awaiting the resurrection.
“Now you’ll see,” the man barked, “now you’ll know what happens when you chase the devil. Keep your eyes open, it’s gonna be beautiful.”
John brought the gun level with his eyes.
“Don’t do it!” he screamed with stinging red eyes. “Please, it doesn’t have to be this way.”
The faceless man smeared the blood on his hand across his lips, lifted his head back and howled. The deep curdling sound bounced off the concrete walls.
“Oh you’re so very very wrong. This little soul is for you.”
The gun exploded and John screamed. Something moved across his chest. His eyes shot open to reveal early morning sunlight beaming into the room from the edges of the curtains and, sensing the sudden flood of waking stress, Bobbie began to lick the side of his face. John looked down at his watch and saw that it had just turned five in the morning.
He was still groggy, but there was no point in trying to get back to sleep. The risk of another nightmare just wasn’t worth it, so he pulled himself off the bed, showered, fed his partner in demon battles and brewed some strong, hot coffee.
Memories of the previous day came racing back as he walked out onto the balcony and looked out across a glowing city skyline, a cascade of visions vying for his attention. The traffic was already beginning to build, and off in the distance he could see the glistening blue of the ocean peeking between skyscrapers and fragile looking cranes that brought with it an odd mix of emotions. Glimpses of the water left him wanting to be back at home where there were no buildings to distort the long lines of the horizon, yet at the same time there was no yearning to return to the mess he’d left behind. Either way there was no point worrying about it now though, he needed to prepare for the long hot day ahead and so took one last look across the city before heading back inside.
Not liking the silence much he switched on the wall mounted TV and took a seat at the dining table, activated his tablet and finished what was left of his coffee. If he was about to step into some sort of cult, it made sense to try to get an idea of what he might be dealing with. The devil, he knew damn well, was always in the details.
The tablet screen began to glow as he pulled up article after article, slowly slipping down into a digital rabbit hole that had no beginning or end. Pictures and words spoke of different tragedies, all of them having a manipulating, charismatic leader in common. Murderers and serial killers were bad enough, but there was something sinister, something truly frightening in the way human beings could be drawn into a whole new and violent reality. What could possibly drive people to give away their mental freedom and reality and dedicate their lives to certifiable nutcases?
He scanned through various reports of Shoko Ahara, the man who somehow managed to bring people together to form Aum Shinrikyo, the Supreme Truth. When it came to members it wasn’t exactly a small number, John quickly learned. By 1995 the group had grown to over forty thousand across the globe. With the help of Ahara, members had decided the truth meant they should release deadly nerve gas into the Tokyo subway system. Whatever the teachings had been, the concept of live and let live had obviously been left out.
The rabbit hole twisted and turned, bringing a sun faded photo of Jim Jones onto the screen. When it came to cults, he was without doubt the poster child for all the wrongs that could come from dancing with a charismatic leader who promised salvation while cradling snakes in a far away compound. Known as the People’s Temple and swollen with more than a thousand dedicated followers, the world had recoiled with horror at the final piece of the utopian puzzle when, deep in the thick green of the Guyanese jungle, fragile minds had sipped sweet tasting cups of oblivion.
John stared at a photo of Jones with face obscured by dark sunglasses as crackly audio of the screaming, crying and dying contaminated the room, giving rise to the uncomfortable question that had been simmering in the shadows. Was he about to wade into the web of a cult that held only a hidden promise of heartache and despair, camouflaged with disarming beauty and intellect like Klementina? With the world so digitally connected with instant information at the finger tips, was something along the lines of the People’s Temple even possible in this day and age? He wasn’t sure but he knew that information was one thing, and the human mind was another.
The sound of Jim Jone’s deep voice delivering his final sermon accompanied with the wailing of dying children brought his stomach to a churn, and he quickly moved to another article. Still the sickness of blind faith continued, this time highlighting a dark day in Europe back in 1994 when more than fifty members of a group called the Order of the Solar Temple chose a blend of murder and suicide by fire to begin again on another planet. John was surprised to learn their apocalyptic teachings involved environmental disasters and end of world predictions, with their tendrils having reached as far as Australia. The pursuit of death, it seemed, chose to respect no geographical boundaries.
He took a moment of absence and brewed another cup of coffee while Bobbie lifted his head closer to the warmth of the sunlight that was beginning to stream into the room. This time he added an extra spoon full of sugar to help the mental gears turn a little faster, and when he returned to his seat and looked down at the screen he was greeted by the rugged yet handsome features of a smiling David Koresh, he o
f the infamous Branch Davidians.
John had studied the events of the 1993 raid on the fortress the group maintained in Texas as part of his tactical training. With more than seventy members being torn from the earth in a blaze of bullets and fire fuelled explosions, it had been a sobering lesson in how quickly things could go wrong when crazy was pushed into a corner. Ultimately though, Koresh had been just another face of the same monster, another alluring leader who broadcast to his followers that the end of the world was just around the corner while building stashes of high powered weaponry and destroying families with lies and sexual abuse.
The rabbit hole continued to open wider. There was the twentieth centuries’ quintessential boogie man Charles Manson and his twisted family of acid licking hippies, free love promoters who were proficient in the art of finger painting with human blood. Then there was Marshall Applewhite and his Californian cult Heaven’s Gate, a group that Devilian had supposedly cut his teeth on, who thought black Nike sneakers and poison laced pudding would transport them into orbit. And, not to be outdone in the race for the top of the ladder in senseless mind control and loss of life, the Movement for the Restoration of the Ten Commandments of God left its mark in Uganda in the form of more than three hundred burning corpses that led to the discovery of rotting mass graves, swelling the death toll beyond a biblical thousand.
As information about the Raelian Church began to scroll across the screen with the spruiking of aliens, UFO’s and human cloning, John decided he’d read enough. It didn’t take a fool to see what they all had in common, besides the shattering of innocent lives. He knew that when exposed to the light of reason it was nothing more than a broken mind manipulating other broken minds. What other explanation could there be? Take away the charisma of the so called prophets that preached from a soap box, take away the exotic tales woven from snippets of fantasy and religious folklore, break things down to the most basic components and group inflicted mental illness seemed the obvious answer. Did that make it somehow less evil? John wasn’t sure, but as far as leadership was concerned the benchmark was a little different. Insanity had a way of becoming sinister when it morphed into a tool of control.
The Hallucigenia Project Page 15