In turn, she was pulled out of the rut. In one day, almost, her wishes became reality.
Then the black priest smugly brought out Olga’s contracts, talked about the movie she was filming, all the interviews, and the offers from Hollywood.
Finally, Olga said that she was thankful to everyone who had got her where she was, indicating that her sacrifice was a small thing: renouncing virtue and denying Christianity…
But what a reward! What a triumph! A golden future was opening before her, and she was inviting everyone present to imitate her. She was getting more and more worked up, intoning the words they had whispered to her in place of a liturgy.
“I am Mephista! I am Evil! I have been baptized in blood, by the body of a boy who desired me who came crashing down at my feet and the scarlet wine of death splattered me… I am Satan’s Daughter! Through my image, spread across the world by the millions, I will stir up all desires, I will break up true love, I will build up impure ones, I will set man against woman, man against man, and I will ascend a throne of gold and blood to reign like the women whose bodies inflame and corrupt all men on Earth…”
She talked and talked, boasting of all the monstrosities that she hoped for, that she wanted to see come forth on her path to becoming the perfect femme fatale, the woman who gives nothing, loves nothing, who is pure, cold delight and whose eyes and kisses are lethal poison.
Finally, trembling, she thundered:
“Tonight, for you, before you, I will celebrate the sacrifice and this will be the supreme red mass. I will sacrifice what I hold most dear to me…”
The small frame in the white dress did not move. Drowned in horror, disgust and the dizzying nonsense, Martine realized that the awful comedy was going to turn into a bloody tragedy and she fainted—which spared her from hearing this:
“I have to sacrifice the person I hold dearest… I have no parents, I have no lover. I have no child, but I’d throw it on this altar if I had one. I do, however, have this young girl by me. One of those girls who are crazy enough to want to remain pure, to believe in love… It was decided that she would be my red offering to the Prince of this world. Therefore, it is to him I pay homage by offering up this pure blood...”
Hysteria broke out among the audience. Among all the men facing the altar, there were two who were bare-chested and in black stockings like all the others, but they looked at each other, and a flame lit up in their eyes that had nothing to do with the demented perversity that shined in all the others.
No one paid particular attention to them. All the worshippers were too absorbed in the exalted words of the naked priestess and in thinking about the atrocious act that was about to be committed.
Olga cried out:
“Do not back down! Do not tremble! All together with me you will stick the knife into this fresh, young throat. All of you will drink the cup of life and death! You will delight in sin, you will reach the plenitude of the Unfaithful…”
A kind of panting, a gasp rose from the crowd where the caresses were already becoming more focused, more daring.
The black priest led the next stage with gestures. One of the three women in black brought a cushion with a silver knife that shined eerily. Another approached Martine, still unconscious, and started opening her dress, specifically buttoned in the front for this gesture. The ambiance in the room became surprisingly tense. The lunatics gathered in the black, coffin-like crypt, had showed self-control so far, but were now quivering in anticipation of the hideous spectacle promised to them, which would be, according to Luciferian tradition, the signal to unleash their basest, most bestial passions. A storm of debauchery and blood was looming.
Two men in the crowd were sweating profusely, like the rest, obviously, but for different reasons. They did not share the vile desires of the gathering. These women, lower than dogs, and these blinded men, this whole audience waiting for the Devil’s gifts, made these two men’s hair stand on end, and froze the blood in their veins, despite the sweat seeping out of their skin.
The black priest was now off on an infernal prayer punctuated with arcane words borrowed from the kabbalah and even older texts. The hermeticism of the speech brought the hysteria to a peak for this crowd that, like all crowds, was impressed by what it did not understand.
The three wanton priestesses who were starting to quiver, like everyone else, surrounded the victim whose throat had been laid bare.
The priest growled hoarsely and Olga, Mephista, she who had sold her soul to mount the artificial heights of fame, grabbed the knife lying on the velvet cushion.
She raised it up, offering her perfect nudity to the crowd and presenting the weapon like a sacred object.
Then, she spun around and stood next to the altar where Martine was still motionless, still passed out. All eyes were on Olga. The storm was waiting to break out. These lunatics, these depraved creatures, this whole group of monsters, were holding their breath for the final gesture, the crime that would unite them in infamy, that would earn for them, through the blood-thirsty figure of Olga, the good graces of the Prince of Darkness.
But the knife did not strike.
A shrill whistle rang out under the black ceiling. Shouting broke out on all sides and a mad scramble erupted.
A voice like thunder shouted into a microphone:
“Police! Nobody move!”
Two of those present were not willing, it seemed, to obey such an order. Together, they rushed to the altar and charged at the priest and priestesses. Olga’s wrist was broken by a judo chop and she collapsed, dropping the knife, which stuck the altar only a few inches away from Martine’s immobile face.
The black priest tried to target his frightful eyes, his hypnotic eyes, on his attacker but a taunting voice said:
“Oh no, pal, not on me.”
And the villain got such a hard punch in the stomach that he fell backward into the huge candelabras that stood on the altar, knocking them over. The thirteen black candles tumbled onto the black nylon curtain and it caught fire.
Screams and shouts echoed through in the crypt where the panicking, frenzied crowd was quickly surrounded by the police, who were jumping through the openings in the black curtains.
The curtains themselves were spreading the fire at breakneck speed, reaching the ceiling so that now it seemed like some punishment from on high was striking those who dared to deny Heaven and who could already feel the devouring fire descend upon their heads…
It was one of those weird Parisian landscapes of the late 60s. Giant buildings springing out of the ground among muddy lakes and oceans of churned up dirt. Here and there, a few feet away from the circular boulevard, amidst the ultra-modern houses, near the motorway, a few ulcers were still attached to Paris, run-down shacks, old homes surrounded by gloomy gardens, clinging to the ground as if out of remorse, withered shrubs and stunted bushes.
The police cars were here, in the rain, grouped around one of these old houses, not far, as Olga had said, from the water tower of the Porte de Lilas. The wailing fire engine sirens could be heard. Fire was spreading through the house’s basement that had a whole network of tunnels that extended rather far, but that the police were guarding well after the plan had been set up in record time.
There was an endless line of policemen, both in uniform and plain clothes, coming and going, in and out of the basements, dragging off characters in cultish outfits, men in black stockings, women in obscene dresses, half-nude, disheveled, some burned, others prey to epileptic fits, many of them crying and begging or yelling that it wasn’t not supposed to happen like this, or that it was all a big mistake…
The whole crazy cult was thrown into the paddy wagons.
One man seemed to be directing the operation. He put himself on the line, had risked his life in the burning cellars, despite the fact that the air had become nearly unbreathable because of the fumes given off by the nylon in flames…
“Chief! There’re burn victims… casualties… The fire is sp
reading all over the house!”
Chief Farnese gave orders, but the firemen were already on the job and barging through.
Near the policeman’s car, a woman was pacing back and forth, holding a cigarette that she barely smoked. She threw it away just to light another.
“Madame Hossegor,” Farnese said, “I understand what you want, but this is no place for you.”
Beautiful Edwige Hossegor was not here out of vain curiosity. Bravely, she wanted to see the job through to the end and she was the one who had informed the police chief of Teddy Verano’s reckless plan.
“Nothing surprises me from him. He’ll end up biting the dust one of these days,” Farnese had grumbled.
He knew the private detective, the ghost detective, who at least once in his life had wanted to attend a red mass. And Michel Roz was right behind him, his mind made up to do anything to see Martine again, who had come into his life like a meteor, and for whom he was ready to risk his body and soul.
Edwige Hossegor was terribly nervous. The police had discreetly invaded the hideout of the Devil worshippers, but Edwige she knew that Teddy and Michel had plotted to slip in amongst the cultists to be near the altar at the critical moment. What had become of them?
The firemen, it seemed, had a lot to do; the suffocating smoke from the fire was already being contained. The police officers were pushing and pulling even more people in their bizarre clothes.
One solid young man came out gripping a woman’s body wrapped in a white tunic. She struggled and screamed something.
“Why, it’s Michel Roz!” Edwige Hossegor cried out.
He had scorched hair and a few burns on his shoulders and arms. He let go of Martine whom he had yanked off the altar of blood. He yelled for someone to take care of her and they brought over an oxygen mask.
Another man among the prisoners was protesting. It took Chief Farnese himself to free him and give him more decent clothes by tossing an officer’s cape around his shoulders. Through his coughing, he told Farnese briefly how he and Michel Roz had intervened just in time.
The Chief bit his lip. Could his men, given the same opportunity, have stopped the final gesture? Of course, they had been able to locate the damned house, raid the basements, and surround the maddened gathering. But to save Martine, this was hardly enough. Without Teddy Verano’s help...
“What about Olga Mervil?” asked Farnese. “The vamp playing her movie characters in real life?”
A police officer approached.
“She’s not in the wagons, Chief. She must still be down there with a few others.”
The fire chief announced that they were having a hard time bringing up some the burned, disfigured bodies.
CHAPTER XVI
Quai de la Rapée. Two days later, early morning. It was drizzling. Everything was gray, gloomy and forlorn.
Two men left the Morgue where Chief Farnese had asked them to come and at least try to identify the bodies: Teddy Verano and Michel Roz.
The day before, other witnesses had come, including the director Marcel Trempont and various employees of Teleor. All the people who knew Olga Mervil. Farnese had likewise thought of Martine, but in her condition, they had spared her this gruesome glimpse of death.
In any event, all results were negative.
Five bodies, three of which were women, had been recovered from the basement of the diabolical house, from the ruins of the sinister chapel where the monstrous, bloody red mass had taken place and ended in a torrent of flames. Charred, unrecognizable bodies. Impossible to identify. Moreover, they still did not know the exact number of devil worshippers, or the exact identity of all the fanatics.
Olga Mervil… What had become of her?
One of the bodies, as far as the burned remains could be identified as a woman, certainly seemed to be approximately the same size as the beautiful girl who wanted to become the new Mephista. But neither Marcel Trempont, nor his collaborators, neither Teddy Verano nor Michel Roz, could say for sure. It might be her, maybe, but maybe not…
Michel Roz and the detective were walking slowly along the Seine. They were heading for the parking lot where Teddy Verano’s beloved black DS was waiting for them. They still had not said a word. They were haunted by the frightening vision of the ghostly faces, horrible to see, and the twisted limbs partly eroded by the fire.
“The Devil used them,” Chief Farnese said as a funeral oration.
Teddy Verano, however, was determined to snap the young man out of his reverie.
“Farnese won’t be satisfied. I think he’ll want to ask Edwige Hossegor to come down, but it won’t do much good.”
“Plus, the last I heard, she’s going to be very busy. Do you know that since Tragny returned, there’s been a big meeting at Teleor. Millions have been lost; all the scenes of Horror at Midnight shot with Olga Mervil are now useless, since they can’t finish the film without her.”
“I know. They’re starting over. At least, with everything the heroine was in. And they end up where they should have started.” Teddy Verano snickered, but not out of meanness. “Dear Edwige! Her career’s got the better of her again! She’s agreed to take on the role… I think that, when all’s said and done, she’s still convinced of her moral innocence. An actress can play a wicked role to perfection without spreading evil. She just simply can’t have the abominable state of mind of Olga Mervil who believed she was summoned to success in order to sow destruction in the minds and hearts of others.”
“Sure. Marcel Trempont must have sighed with relief when Edwige agreed to play the part. Olga Mervil would not have lasted. She’ll soon be forgotten. Another starlet will replace her.”
“But no one’s going to replace Edwige Hossegor anytime soon. Whether she wants it or not, she’s still the perfect Mephista. On the screen. While in real life, she’s the best of women. But let’s talk about Martine. I imagine it’s a more interesting subject for you.”
Michel Roz lit up.
“She’s doing better. Professor Gelor is sure that the emotional shock won’t have any harmful after-effects. When I see her, she has this smile… Oh, I know she’s going to be fine.”
Teddy Verano put his arm around the young man’s shoulder.
“The worshippers of the red mass never imagined such an outcome. With their hypnotic powers, their sacrilegious rites, and all that ridiculous mumbo-jumbo, they still gave you a happy ending; that, I believe, is positive.”
Michel Roz relaxed and began to forget the dark hours spent in the Morgue.
“Yes. I can breathe. And Martine is going to live… far from this nightmare.”
Teddy Verano stopped by the river to take out a cigarette while Michel Roz offered his lighter. The detective mused for a minute.
“What a bunch of idiots! Devil worship! They must have been crazy!”
Michel Roz suddenly looked more somber.
“Excuse me, Monsieur Verano, you seem to think that this whole thing was mostly an illusion; a few exploiting the gullibility of a bunch of perverts…”
“That’s right.”
“I always refused to believe in the stories of a world beyond ours, but in this circumstance, there’s something that troubles me a lot.”
“What’s that, my young friend?”
“Olga Mervil did sell her soul to the Devil. You’ll tell me she came to a tragic end… assuming, of course, she’s really is dead, like the others… But what about the other girl she mentioned during the red mass, the one who wanted to marry a rich man and become a billionaire and who actually did?”
“What are you getting at?”
“These women, just two examples among many, got what they wanted, at least to some extent. I’m sure that the investigation will show that among the Satan worshippers, many were in very high, desirable positions...”
“If I understand correctly, you’re trying to convert me to devil’s worship by saying that, after all, if you have ambition, you should take a chance on it…”
&nbs
p; Michel Roz started laughing.
“No, a hundred times no, and you know it. If Martine feels the same as I do, which I believe, her love will be enough for me. And I can work hard to provide for her and make her happy. I don’t see myself going back to those silly caves where we managed to interrupt the evil sacrilege… But it’s a fact that Olga was getting successful and it all happened… let’s say miraculously.”
Teddy Verano threw his cigarette into the Seine.
“What if I told you, my friend, that there are others, many others, who also denied Heaven and who were not at the red mass, at least not the one we broke up, but who are living today, living well, even better than well? Wealth and honors. Piled with money and glory and all the pleasures of the Earth…”
“I’d almost believe you.”
“And you should. Because there are. They signed the pact with their Master, the Prince of Evil... Except that sometimes, like in the old legends, he comes to demand a payment that costs so dearly.”
Michel Roz tapped his foot.
“But who nowadays, except for lunatics, can believe in the Devil? You know it’s stupid.”
“I agree with you.”
Michel grabbed Teddy by the wrist and squeezed tightly.
“So? So? This is troubling me, making my mind spin. Success… so desired and paid so dearly for, they’ve got it, you yourself admitted it, only to end up, sooner or later, in tragedy. And if the Devil doesn’t exist, who gives it to them? Who prepares it, builds it, directs it, so that events are always so favorable to them, like with Olga Mervil’s incredible rise to stardom? Who?”
“Who?”
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