Dance For The Devil

by S. Kodejs

  Jake’s mouth went dry. “Hundreds?”

  “For every cultist, there are dozens of peripheral members committed to protecting them. With their lives if need be.”

  “That’s mind boggling. Can’t they be charged with something?”

  “Like what? Roasting marshmallows? Having a private party? There is rarely proof.”

  “But surely missing pets, and...” he thought of Amy, “missing children?”

  “They may be involved but unless we catch them we have no recourse. There are hundreds of missing children reported in North America annually. Have some of these children ended up at the hands of these sadists? Unquestionably – yes. How many? Who knows? Maybe some kid was chasing his ball and fell down the neighbor’s well. Or, maybe someone tortured and mutilated him and tossed him down. Either way, the kid is down a two-hundred-foot well and no one ever finds him. Without the body, we can’t determine cause of death, and not too many bodies show up. Satanic cults are exceedingly creative about disposing bodies – often the remains are consumed by an unsuspecting populace. Think your burger tasted a little off at that roadside stop?”

  “That’s disgusting.” He thought of all the barbeques he’d attended at Gil’s house and the bile rose in his throat again.

  Carmichael shrugged. “It’s been known to happen. And at some pretty respectable joints, I might add, we’re talking five-star restaurants.”

  “Ugh. I may never eat out again. So they never find the bodies?”

  “Not always. The files remain open, the families continue to suffer. No one ever finds out the real story.”

  “Are Satanic cults responsible for all those missing children?”

  Carmichael shrugged. “Certainly not, but they are responsible for some.”

  Jake was silent, trying to absorb this information. It was too horrific. “Is Gil Vandercamp a Satanist?”

  Carmichael leaned forward. “That’s what I’d like to find out. If he is, then hopefully he’s left clues.”

  “Why don’t you haul him in and question him?”

  “Because if we alert him, he’ll cover his ass, maybe even disappear for good. We must catch him by surprise. Now, tell me about your ex-wife.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  “When did you last see her?”

  “Not since she left, almost a year ago. She moved to Los Angeles to be an actress.”

  “Your last contact?”

  “Late September, when our divorce was finalized. The kids wrote letters but she informed us she wanted no contact. I tried notifying her of Amy’s disappearance but I can’t locate her. Disconnected phone, no forwarding address.”

  “Rather unusual for a mother.”

  “Elizabeth is going through a difficult time. She has some psychological problems.”

  “What kind of mother was she? Was it out of character for her to leave her children with no warning?”

  Jake frowned, trying to explain, feeling the need to defend Elizabeth. “I sensed something was wrong, that she was unhappy, but I never imagined the extent. Elizabeth was devoted when Amy and Skeeter were toddlers, but as they aged, she grew distant. She had her own friends, her own life. We weren’t much for family activities but that was mostly my fault. Elizabeth tried organising things and I always had excuses. Eventually she gave up, but I never noticed. I was busy at work, didn’t pay attention to her... to any of them. When things got tense, I went to the office, thinking it would all blow over. I took everything for granted.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to your ex-wife, either in person or by telephone?”

  “Not since she left.”

  “Never?”

  “No.” Jake shook his head slowly. “All correspondence was done by writing. First the farewell letter, left on her dresser. Then subsequent notes, and lately, nothing. You’re... you’re not suggesting...oh, God. You don’t think...?”

  “Just examining all angles. Is it possible the letters you received were forged?”

  Jake frowned, remembering. “No, it was Elizabeth’s handwriting.” Doubt began to form. “I’m sure it was her writing. God, I don’t know, I was distraught, angry. I suppose it’s possible. But the divorce papers, those were legitimate.” A pause. “At least I think they were.”

  “Do you still have them?”

  “Yes,” Jake said ruefully. “It’s one of the few things I do have. I didn’t want to leave them lying around at home, thought it might upset the kids, so I hid them in my briefcase. Otherwise, they would have never survived the fire.”

  “That’s where we’ll start. We’ll track down her lawyer; see if we can find neighbors, friends, her agent. Somebody’s got to know something about Elizabeth Montclaire.”

  “Elizabeth Avignon. She changed her name.”

  “Avignon? Alright, we’ll see if we can locate Elizabeth Avignon.”

  “And Amy?”

  Carmichael pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling. “We’ll keep looking. Hope for the best but prepare yourself for the worst.”

  “My daughter is alive.”

  “I hope so, Jake, but in my experience with these cases –”

  Jake shook his head. “Amy is alive, damn it! Alive. We just need to find her.”

  **

  Skeeter was tossing a ball to Daisy in the front yard. He looked up as a shiny red Mustang purred to a stop. “Jason!” Skeeter’s face broke into a cautious smile.

  “Hey, little dude. How’s it going?”

  Jason threw the ball to Daisy. Instead of loping after it she stared at Jason, her head hanging low, tail between her legs. “Okay. Amy’s still gone.”

  Jason’s face fell. “Yeah, I know, sorry about that. How’s your dad?”

  “Choked. He says we’ll find her.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Don’t know. I went to school today and Cari picked me up. We were supposed to play cards but Cari got a phone call and had to leave, some emergency at her store.”

  “All alone, huh? Want to play some video games at Marvelworks? We’ve got some awesome new ones. You’d be the first kid ever to play them. You could tell all your friends about it.”

  “I don’t have many friends, just Darren, but he’s in Hawaii, so I don’t have anyone to hang out with.”

  “Really? I thought you were popular.”

  “I had lots of friends in Toronto, but not here. Not yet.”

  Jason nodded. “It takes time. But you’ve got me, I’ll be your friend.”

  Skeeter looked at him measuringly. Nothing to see but Jason’s wide-open smile. Suddenly embarrassed, Skeeter turned his attention to the ground, muttering, “Thanks.”

  Daisy growled.

  “What do you say, man? Want to play a few games?”

  “I don’t know, I think I’m supposed to stay here.”

  “It’s three-thirty, if we left right away, you’ll be back by five.”

  Skeeter hesitated. “The games are really awesome?”

  “Yeah. The best one is Python’s Pit, all about huge snakes. The graphics totally rock. 3-D. Looks like the pythons are coming right out of the screen. There’s a part where the snake wraps around a monkey and squeezes until the monkey’s brains and guts pop out – totally gruesome.”

  “Wicked.” Skeeter thought for a moment. “I suppose if I’m back by dinner no one would care. I could leave a note.”

  “Good idea, only don’t mention you’re with me or that we’re going to Marvelworks. Since my old man canned yours, your dad might get steamed.”

  Skeeter nodded. “I’ll say I’m going to the mall. Back in a second.”

  The Labrador began to bark.

  “Daisy, don’t be stupid. Jason’s okay, he’s my friend. Daisy, stop it! You’ll piss off the neighbors. I’ll have to put her inside,” Skeeter said apologetically. He called Daisy but she wouldn’t come. The dog focused on Jason and barked steadily, her fur rigid. Skeeter grabbed her collar, pulling gently, but she wouldn’t budge. It took all his st
rength to drag her into the house.

  Daisy continued her diatribe while Skeeter jotted a note. As he opened the door, Daisy tried to slip out, so he opened it just enough for himself. “Calm down, Daisy,” he admonished. “You’re a nutcase.” Skeeter climbed into Jason’s car and they drove off, leaving the dog alone in the kitchen.

  Daisy ran around the house madly, barking. After an eternity, she settled by the front door, curling morosely, her tail slung between her legs, and alternated between a deep growl and a furious whine.

  **

  “Ain’t exactly the Hilton, is it?”

  Amy whirled around in surprise. She hadn’t noticed the other girl. “Who are you?”

  “Gina.”

  “Are you... going to have a baby?”

  “No shit. What was your first clue?” Gina stood up and stretched, her enormous belly protruding. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”

  “Sorry... I....”

  “It’s okay. Staring’s about the only thing to do in this hellhole. What’s your name, kid?”

  “Amy Montclaire. You’re kind of young to be having a baby.”

  “I’m fourteen.”

  Amy gasped. This girl was younger than her, which surprised Amy. Gina looked older. Her eyes were tired, her expression cynical.

  “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others.”

  “Others?”

  “Uh huh, through this door.” Amy watched Gina, seeing her awkward waddle. She lowered her eyes discreetly but not before Gina caught her. “It’s a bitch, huh? I can’t wait to get this fuckin’ thing out of my body.”

  “The baby... you don’t want it?”

  “Shit no!”

  “But then... why?”

  Gina laughed, the sound raw and humorless. “It’s not like I had a choice. You still don’t get it, do you? None of us had a choice, and neither will you.”

  Amy started to back away. “Look, this is a mistake, I’m not supposed to be here. I’m a friend of Gil Vandercamp.” Amy turned to the outer door and began banging. “Let me out! Please!”

  “Save your breath, no one can hear you.”

  “Mr. Vandercamp!” Amy hollered. “Gil!”

  Gina sighed and waddled to Amy, putting her arm around the semi-hysterical girl. “Vandercamp won’t help you, he’s the one who put you in here.”

  “No! He said he would help me.”

  “He’ll help you, alright.” Gina pointed to her belly. “He’ll help you get like this.”

  Amy’s eyes widened. “You’re disgusting.”

  Gina laughed again, that strange, humorless laugh. A sound devoid of hope, devoid of life. Her eyes were old, ancient. Witnessed too much to ever be young again. “Amy Montclaire, if you think I’m disgusting, you haven’t seen nothing yet.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jake sat in the public library, shaking his head in horror as the written atrocities leapt off the page. The ‘cult’ section was stocked with information so disturbing it went beyond the realm of human tolerance. Graphic descriptions caused him to put a book aside before he forced himself to resume. Ignorance was easier but it wouldn’t help him find Amy. This twisted, hideous knowledge might.

  Sergeant Carmichael mentioned cult-leaders were often successful, enigmatic individuals. Jake learned that Satanism dated back to the Middle Ages, where Satanists dallied among the noblesse and European royalty. He learned about sacrificed infants, with tiny hearts and entrails cut out, their blood served to unsuspecting consumers. A black market dealing in stolen children and aborted fetuses. Clubs for highborn young rakes whose lives revolved around gambling, drinking, whoring, blaspheming, and ultimately, violence. Wealthy young men turning to Satan to satisfy their growing lust for debauchery. Churches that offered blood-sacrifices and sex-rituals, bestiality and the ingestion of human feces... all in the quest for spiritual advancement. Churches where the ‘priests’ sacrificed their own illegitimate children.

  He read about people like Aleister Crowley, who carried Satanism into the twentieth century, and how the Sixties Hippie movement embraced spiritualism and magic and drugs... an entire culture committed to self-indulgence and free love... and not all of it centered on lava lamps and flower children. A time when idealistic young minds could be shaped by charismatic messianics who fed them acid and LSD and a method to obliterate the suffocating conformity of their parental generation. A time when someone like Charles Manson could influence followers to commit crimes that shocked a nation. Crimes that continue to occur, but now are executed underground, away from the eyes and ears of the moral majority.

  Jake finally closed the last book, his eyes weary and his head full. Would any of this help him locate his daughter?

  Like lost virginity, there was no going back. This knowledge could change a person, forever stealing innocence. The capacity for human atrocity was astounding. Of all the species on earth, Jake reckoned that mankind was the only creature who tormented and killed purely for pleasure and sexual gratification.

  He walked across the library and sat at a vacant computer. Reading the instructions, he logged onto the Internet. It took him less than ten minutes to find the bulletin board he wanted, and after thinking for a moment, he typed:

  ‘I believe my fifteen-year-old daughter has been kidnapped by a Satanic cult in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada. Does anyone have information that might be helpful?’

  What was left? He was armed with knowledge and modern technology. Now he needed to talk to people, to feel them out. Alex Kreschenski’s folks might know something. Likewise, the grieving parents of Elise Keeler.

  But before he did anything, he would talk to Gil Vandercamp.

  **

  Jason was right: the new game was awesome. Skeeter navigated his avatar through a colorful swamp, narrowly missing the forked-tongue of a python hiding in a banyan tree. He completed the level and turned to Jason, his cheeks red with excitement. “That’s the best! Wait’ll I tell the kids at school.”

  Jason laughed. “Feels good to be the first to try something, doesn’t it? We should get going, though, it’s already four-thirty. Didn’t you need to be home by five?”

  Skeeter’s face fell. “Yeah, right. Thanks for reminding me. Wish I didn’t have to go.”

  “Come back, anytime.”

  “Really? Tomorrow?”

  Jason laughed again. “Sure, I’ll pick you up at school. Tell your dad you’re going to a friend’s house for dinner and you’ll be out ‘til seven. Then we can play all afternoon.”

  Skeeter beamed. “Thanks, Jason. I mean, for being so nice.” But it was more than Jason – it was everything. This place, the camaraderie. The other times had been different; everyone had ignored the dorky kid accompanying his father. Now he belonged, all because he’d arrived with Jason. Even Rat, the quietest, coolest kid of all, was warming up to him. Rat, so named for his uncanny rodent-like resemblance with his sharp features, beady-eyes and lank dark hair, never acknowledged Skeeter before. Now, he was giving pointers and insider clues to some of the more difficult games.

  It felt great being part of a group, especially after the stress at home. First Mom left, then Amy whacked out, then moving to this new city. The new house was better, but everyone was always fighting. It gave him nightmares, yet he tried not to complain because Dad had enough problems with Amy... especially now. Amy was gone and so was their house. Then Dad got fired and they had no money. Even Darren was away on vacation so he had no one to talk to... no one to hang with.

  Except for Jason and these guys. His new friends.

  And tomorrow, he’d be coming back.

  **

  There were three in all, not including Amy. Three young girls, all in varying stages of pregnancy. Gina was the youngest and most pregnant, and she’d been here the longest. “Almost two years,” Gina said, “although I wasn’t much use to them in the beginning. I was only twelve and didn’t have my period. Still, it didn’t stop them from screwing me.”


  Charise was next youngest, also fourteen, only a few months older than Gina. “I’m four months along,” she confided shyly. “I was hoping I’d feel better by now. Gina felt better after twelve weeks but I still barf all the time. Maybe it’s the food they give us, I always feel sick after eating.”

  Lauren was the eldest, an old lady of sixteen. She was tall and willowy and, Amy thought, very beautiful with her flowing dark hair and sad grey eyes. She looked like a fashion model. Amy was surprised to learn Lauren was six months pregnant.

  “It’s her height,” Gina explained. “If you’re short like me you always look bigger. If you’re a giraffe like Lauren then all you get is a tiny lump out front.”

  Amy looked from one to another. “It is shocking,” Charise said softly, “at first, anyway. You’ll get used to being here. We’ll help you.”

  “What is this place?”Amy whispered.

  “Breeding station central.”

  “Gina! Be nice.”

  “Well, that’s what it is. We’re breeders. Baby machines. God, I’d kill for a fucking cigarette.”

  “It’d be bad for the baby,” Charise scolded.

  “So what? With any luck it would kill the little bastard.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to Gina,” Charise told Amy. “She’s had a rough time. She’s been on her own since she was ten. Her parents are alcoholics and she kept running away from her foster homes.”

  “You’re a street kid?”

  “Was. A million years ago. It was tough but at least I was free. Now I have nothing.”

  “You have us. Ignore her, Amy. Gina acts tough but she’s soft inside.”

  Amy nodded, not really listening. Her focus had shifted to Lauren. The girl was sitting on her bunk, stroking her stomach, staring dreamily into space. “You look really familiar. Do I know you?”

  Lauren didn’t reply. “She’s quiet,” Charise explained.