“Frank,” Mike said, sternly. “That’s enough.”
“It’s true!” Frank turned to him. “You told me the same thing. Or have you forgotten about that?”
If this embarrassed Mike, he didn’t show it. “Our personal spiritual beliefs are not the issue. The main focus of our discussion is the various crimes perpetrated by this organization, and their threat on Vince’s life.”
“And that’s all based on their spiritual beliefs,” Frank said. “Their belief that they are somehow aiding in God’s plan by helping to bring about the end times as described in the Bible. What they’re doing is no different than some Christian wacko who blows up a Planned Parenthood clinic because he says God told him to kill the abortion-providers.”
They were silent for a moment. Reverend Powell was glowering with anger. “You may not believe now,” he said, his gaze fiery, “but as we go deep into battle you will believe. I pray to God that you believe before it’s too late.”
“The bottom line is this,” Mike said, leaning forward, addressing them all in a clip, authoritarian style that must have worked wonders in the classroom. “Whatever our personal beliefs may be, we need to agree on some basic things that are very much real. One, this group exists and they’re extremely dangerous. Two, they’re responsible for the murder of Maggie Walters. Three, she was involved with them to some degree in the sixties and early seventies and she may have had some knowledge or participated in criminal activities. Four, she wised up and fled with Vince and went completely underground and was successful in changing her and Vince’s identity. And five—”
“They killed her and want Vince for the same reason,” Frank said. “Whatever Vince and Maggie were exposed to, whatever they might have witnessed, The Children of the Night want to silence them.”
“And you,” Vince said, nodding to Frank. “You told me yourself that you were having similar dreams. You don’t think they’re after you, too?”
“My guess is they think I’m too much trouble,” Frank said. He took a sip of Coke. “Besides, I think those dreams are finally just coming to the surface of my subconscious because they have no place else to go. As to them wanting to silence me, I really doubt it. I was a rebellious son-of-a-bitch to my mom, and I haven’t caused them any trouble since she booted me out when I was twelve. I haven’t been in touch with her since, and back then I was a fuck-up and a drug addict. She probably still thinks that. But I haven’t completely ruled out them coming after me. That’s why I’ve taken the precautions I have.”
“Well, it makes more sense for them to try to kill me if they think Mom and I witnessed something or had some knowledge of their activities,” Vince said.
“I still don’t believe The Children of the Night were the ones responsible for your assassination attempt,” Mike said. “What happened at the airport was too brazen, too out in the open.”
Frank nodded. “The Children of the Night are secretive. They’d rather make it look like an accident.”
“Or like Maggie’s murder?” Reverend Powell asked.
“Yes,” Frank said. “In fact, that’s one of their strengths. Making select murders appear to be the work of some deranged lunatic, sprinkle some occult-like symbols in the mix and that just stirs things up. These guys feed on this kind of chaos.”
“They feed on it,” Mike continued, “because it diverts attention away from them. The authorities go after their own pre-conceived notion of what a Satanist is supposed to be and that’s why you always hear about them arresting heavy metal teenagers. And while so-called ‘occult-experts’ are training law enforcement and church officials to be aware of Satanists by the kind of music kids are listening to, or the way they dress or wear their hair, or the kind of jewelry or tattoos they may have, the real culprits are right in front of them.” Mike cast his gaze across the table, like a professor sizing his class up. “They’re wearing the cloak of respectability. They’re the lawyers, the police officers that are drumming up these so-called ‘facts.’ They’re the businessmen that are funding their operations. They’re the ministers who are working for the light during the day, but when night falls they take off their clerical collars and bow before the Prince of Darkness behind closed doors.”
Reverend Powell appeared to think about this. “What you’re saying is…”
“Crazy?” Mike grinned slightly.
“Not in the least bit,” Reverend Powell said. “In fact, it’s something that I can believe very easily.”
Mike nodded. “Let me give you a little crash course in the Black Arts, or at least as they pertain to The Children of the Night.” He reiterated what he’d told Vince a few nights ago about The Children of the Night fostering the urban legends about Satanists infiltrating popular music and taking over the day care centers. “And the Christian community has bought right into it.”
Reverend Powell nodded, still looking angry, but appearing to calm down from his sudden outburst at Frank. “I can see what you mean. I’ve always held the notion that the devil would do everything he could do to spread lies and false witness among the body of Christ. I’ve never subscribed to many of the urban legends surrounding Satan’s influence on the world. But when you put things in this perspective, I see that his influence is working in the world in the same powerful way. It’s just…more subtle.”
“It’s a form of psychological warfare,” Frank said.
“I thought you held to the notion that all this was a bunch of gobbledy-gook?” Hank said, turning to Frank with a frown.
“I do,” Frank said with a smile. “That these people believe their theology is true.”
“Well,” Hank said, “no matter what you believe, perhaps it’s a good thing we’re joining forces. I think we need somebody to fight them on a spiritual level. You, obviously, feel otherwise, although I do not for a moment disagree with that method. I think it’s good to work on both levels.”
“We think so, too,” Mike said, quickly. “That’s why we decided to approach you.”
Hank Powell nodded. “So I guess we need to talk strategy now.”
They talked strategy for nearly an hour. Vince sat back and listened as Mike and Frank talked to Hank about the various ways to approach this. Mike and Frank were very well versed in the background of the cult, and listening to them talk was like listening in on a well-planned strategy for battle. They discussed turning all of the evidence they’d collected, including the box containing the photos and news clippings, over to William Grecko. Reverend Powell asked if they were confident a proper Federal investigation would be started. Mike revealed that William had very strong FBI contacts who were unconnected to the group; they could pull the right strings that would result in arrests. Frank sheepishly admitted that similar federal investigations had always blown up. “Basically you need somebody to infiltrate them to get the proper evidence,” he said. “Everything we’ve collected is circumstantial. But it’s a lot more than what other people have collected. In fact, it’s pretty goddamned solid.”
“What kind of a risk do you suppose there is for one of you infiltrating the group?” Reverend Powell asked, his features serious and penetrating.
“Pretty great,” Mike said.
“Not to mention impossible,” Frank said.
“You couldn’t contact your mother?” Reverend Powell asked, turning to Frank. “Sort of in the guise of a reunion type thing?”
Frank shook his head. “No way.”
“Why not?” Vince asked.
Frank turned to him. “You think I can crack her? Forget it. If what Mike’s found out is true, she and Tom are so high up in the organization they’d be impenetrable.”
Mike nodded, brow furrowed in concentration. “There’s also the possibility that making Frank’s presence known would make them aware of us.”
“Fuckin’ A,” Frank said.
Reverend Powell glowered at Frank.
“Still,” Mike said, rubbing his jaw, thinking. “It might work.” He turned to Frank. �
��You haven’t been in contact with your mother and Tom for almost eighteen years now, right?”
“Yeah, and I ain’t calling her sorry ass now,” Frank said, his voice rising with a hint of annoyance. “So you can forget it.”
Reverend Hank Powell’s features had softened, becoming concerned. He looked at Frank pensively, as if he were a doctor treating a patient. “What is it you’re afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Frank said quickly. Vince could tell that Frank was afraid of something just by the way he responded so fast. “It’s just that I don’t think contacting my mother is going to help. She’s going to wonder why I would want to see her after eighteen years. She’ll be suspicious.”
“That might be true,” Mike said, nodding. “But then again, you said yourself that the last she knew of you, you were a drug addict. You’re clean now, and that will come as a surprise. That could provide reason for your wanting to contact her.”
“Forget it!” Frank said, hissing the sentence through gritted teeth.
Reverend Powell was watching Frank with a different look; compassion. “Are you afraid of physical violence? Of some kind of physical harm coming to you?”
Frank fidgeted. “No. I…I don’t know. It’s just…”
“You’re afraid of their power,” Reverend Powell said softly. “You’re afraid of the power they have over you. You think it’s a psychological power, and I’m not going to debate that now. But you are afraid of something malignant happening to you, something that you can’t see or feel, correct?”
Hesitating for a moment, Frank nodded.
“Frank,” Reverend Powell leaned forward, staring directly into Frank’s eyes. “Do you really believe these people have supernatural powers?”
Frank looked like he was going to bounce off the walls. He cast nervous glances at Vince and Mike, and then turned to Hank. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “All I know is that…their power scares me. I’ve seen what they can do. And I’m…I’m just scared of it happening to my family.”
Hank regarded Frank solemnly. “Are you afraid they will…somehow find out what you’re up to?”
Frank nodded. “Yes.”
“And how will they find out?”
“I don’t know!” Frank yelled, now animated with worry and fear. He rose from his chair and began pacing the den. “I don’t know how they’ll find out, but they will, I just know it! I can feel it. It’s like…an instinct, my inner voice telling me that the minute I show myself they’ll be able to look into me and see my motivations. Then that will lead them to you, to my wife and kids! Christ!” He ran a hand through his long black hair, visibly shaken.
Reverend Powell remained calm. “Perhaps that’s exactly what you need,” he said.
“Whatever,” Frank said, heading to the bar. He retrieved a Coke. The others remained seated around the table, waiting for something to be said. Vince felt nervous, like everything that was happening, the bad vibes, the mixed emotions, were his entire fault.
Vince thought Reverend Powell would have sought this opportunity to proselytize to Frank but he didn’t. Instead, the preacher said, “Perhaps we should plan another method of attack. Have you thought about talking to the Pennsylvania State Police to see if they’ve discovered any new information on Maggie’s death?”
“That’s a strong possibility,” Mike said. “But that would have to be something Vince will have to do.”
“I can do it tomorrow,” Vince said.
“We can analyze whatever they tell us then,” Reverend Powell said. “If no new information is forthcoming, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“I wouldn’t either,” Mike said. “Any clues they would have left would point at somebody else. Or nowhere at all.”
“What about the attempt on your own life?” Reverend Powell asked Vince. “Have you heard anything more from the detectives investigating?”
“Nope.” Vince shook his head. “That’s something I can follow up on as well.”
“What kind of research will it take to connect the attempt on Vince’s life to this cult, The Children of the Night?” Hank asked Mike.
Mike sighed. “I really don’t know. It will be almost impossible until we hear what kind of leads the police in Irvine find.”
Reverend Powell remained silent for a moment, as if deep in thought. Frank Black remained at the bar, sipping his Coke.
“I still think a contact with Gladys Black is our best bet,” Reverend Powell said. “At least from the secular level of our investigation.”
“I’m not contacting that bitch,” Frank muttered.
“I’m no longer considering using you for that option,” Reverend Powell said without turning around.
“I’ve got an idea,” Vince said.
Mike and Hank turned to him. Vince could feel Frank’s eyes light upon him too. “We could…or I could…get in touch with her somehow. I could go on the notion that…I’m contacting mom’s old friends and family to…tell them mom is now deceased.” He looked at Mike for some kind of approval.
“It might work,” Mike said, turning to Frank who remained silent behind the bar. “But it would have to be done with a phone call. We don’t have the time to communicate by mail.”
“How are we going to get her phone number?”
“I’ve got it,” Mike said.
“You want to contact her so fucking much,” Frank muttered from the bar, “you guys contact her. Leave me out of it.”
“And what will you do, Frank?” Reverend Powell turned toward the imposing figure who, despite his physical appearance, looked like he was scared to death. “If we contact your mother—if Vince does, rather—what will you do?”
“I could ask you the same question?” Frank shot back, defiant.
“I’ll be praying for guidance and strength for all of us,” Reverend Powell replied. “The Lord hasn’t failed us yet and I don’t believe He will. And God forgive me for this hint of self-righteousness, but I believe we need somebody who is a Christian in this battle. Because, my friends, while you see this battle as a secular one, I see it as a spiritual one first and foremost. And while I join you in the physical aspects of this case with as much vigor as you, I have the spiritual background to arm ourselves against the forces of darkness.” He cast his gaze across each of them, turning to Frank who met his gaze with equal determination. “I can sense your fear. And I can sympathize. We are dealing with the forces of darkness, there is no doubt about that. Our enemy is great, both in spiritual prowess but in physical strength as well. They have their agents of destruction, their assassins, and they have the uncanny ability to work like the mafia.”
Frank huffed. “You can say that again!”
“I will do everything physically to help the three of you,” Reverend Powell continued. “And I will act as a spiritual advisor in the fight and work at breaking down the forces of darkness through prayer. If you’d like, I can even make the call to Gladys myself. I can do so on the grounds that as Maggie’s friend, I came across her name and phone number and wanted to inform her of her sudden passing.” He looked at Mike pensively. “What do you think?”
“It might work,” Mike said, turning to Frank. “It just might. As long as you…”
“I’ll keep my occupation a secret from her,” Reverend Powell said, nodding. “Deception can work for the Lord, too.”
“Why don’t we sleep on it,” Mike suggested. “Tomorrow is Thursday. We’ll have three hours tomorrow morning to finalize our plans by the time the west coast wakes up.”
Vince nodded. Frank looked like he agreed with the plan, as did Reverend Powell. “Agreed,” Reverend Powell said. “We can talk more about what the rest of our plans will be for the day. I think one of those things will be for Vince to contact Tom Hoffman. I can go with him to the Warwick Township Police Station as well.”
“What about us?” Frank asked.
“Perhaps you can come with us,” Reverend Powell suggested. �
��There is the matter of those dead dogs to deal with. I’m sure Tom can provide you with information that wasn’t leaked to the press. We can reconvene on strategy tomorrow by noon.”
“Sounds good,” Mike said, standing up.
Vince felt better now that they had some kind of plan. As he helped clean up the basement, he couldn’t help but wish that this would be over soon. Perhaps the end was drawing near. He felt that it was.
As they ascended the stairs to the main floor of the house, Reverend Powell said, “One of you will have to sleep in the living room. I’ve got linens in the closet.”
“I can do it,” Frank said.
“Maybe we should rotate shifts,” Mike said, pausing in the living room. “One of us stay awake in the living room as a look-out for a few hours.”
“That’s a sound idea,” Hank said.
“I’ll go first,” Frank said, planting himself in an easy chair, well out of sight from outside. “It’s a little after ten o’clock now. How does three hour shifts sound?”
“Three hours is fine,” Mike said. “I’ll go next. Be sure to have a pot of coffee brewed before you wake me up.”
“Of course,” Frank said.
“I can bring a bottle of whiskey up from downstairs if you want a shot or two to help you sleep,” Reverend Powell said.
“That’ll be great,” Mike answered.
When Reverend Powell headed back downstairs for the whiskey, Mike turned to Frank and Vince. “Whatever we do tomorrow, we stick together. Even if we do meet with Sheriff Hoffman.”
“What’ll we tell him?” Vince asked.
“Leave that to me,” Mike said.
Reverend Powell returned with the Jack Daniel’s bottle and handed it to Mike. “Now I think we’d better turn in. I can take the third watch. Vince, you luck out tonight.”
“Get a good night’s sleep because tomorrow you get to be up at two in the morning,” Frank said. Vince grinned as he caught a glimpse of a smirk on Frank’s face.
“I’m in the bedroom at the end of the hall,” Reverend Powell told Frank. “And I’m armed. I know you and Mike came well armed, but is there anything else you may need?”
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