Dance For The Devil

by S. Kodejs

  “He knows you’re not involved.”

  “I can’t chance it. What if Vandercamp has left evidence? What if the sergeant decides to lock me up? How can I find my kids then?”

  “I doubt that would happen.”

  “Yeah? Well, I doubted any of this would have happened, and look at me now.”

  Cari regarded him steadily. “At least you should tell him about the meeting.”

  “Should’ve done a lot of things, but we didn’t, and we can’t second-guess ourselves. Here’s what I’m thinking: no one knows we have this information. Let’s use that to our advantage. The line’s getting muddied, we don’t know the good guys from the bad. These people are insidious, they worm their way into every walk of life like cockroaches. Carmichael fears even the police force might be compromised.” He told her about Lisa’s claim that all Marvelworks’ employees were Satan worshippers. “It makes me sick to learn I’ve been working and socializing with this bunch of social miscreants. It was hard enough to realize I’ve been suckered by Gil, but now I find it’s everyone.”

  “Kind of like Alice in Wonderland, eh?”

  “Yeah, surrounded by Mad Hatters.”

  She reached over and ran her fingers along the underside of his unshaven jaw, feeling the bristly whiskers. “The meeting isn’t until seven-thirty, right? We have plenty of time to prepare. Why don’t we go home, see if there’s any word about Skeeter, then grab a quick bite and a powernap.”

  “You’re hungry?”

  “Extremely.”

  “And tired?”

  “Exhausted. It would be better if we’re rested. Right now I can barely think straight.”

  He hesitated. “We do need to get our capes. No use crashing a cult meeting without proper attire.”

  Cari smiled slightly. “Especially since they’re so stylish in that gothic-executioner way.”

  “Cari Valentine,” Jake said, kissing her fingertips. “You’d look sexy in anything.”

  “You think? Maybe you should try seeing me dressed in nothing.”

  He grinned, despite himself. “Maybe I should.”

  **

  There was no reasoning with Gil, Suzanne decided. She had seen him upset before, on many occasions, but not like this. He was despondent. “I’m serious, Gil,” she said, making her voice firm. “I want to know where Jason is.”

  “I told you, he’s dead to me. He’s not coming back.”

  “He’s our son, Gil.”

  Gil whirled savagely. “No he’s not. I won’t have his name said in this house again.”

  Suzanne was alarmed at the maniacal gleam in Gil’s red-rimmed eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

  “What of it?” he snarled.

  “Nothing,” she soothed. “It’s just, well, you look ill, dear.”

  “Ill? You’re telling me I look sick?” His laugh was a cackle. “I am sick. Sick of everyone always questioning me, going behind my back. It’s coming unravelled, Suzanne. Our entire existence is coming unravelled and Jason is to blame.”

  Suzanne sat warily on the newly upholstered divan. “Tell me what you’re talking about, Gil.”

  He thrust his hand at the police band radio. “I’ve been listening to that squawk box. Our loving son, besides being disloyal, was sloppy. Perhaps deliberately so.”

  Suzanne shook her head. “You’re not making sense, Gil.”

  “Shut up and listen, for fuck’s sake.” Gil made a visual effort to calm down, and his skin lost a slight tinge of its alarming brightness. “After the last meeting, Jason was supposed to clean up, remove all traces. He left a hand behind, Suzanne. A fucking hand.”

  “You mean Bethany’s hand?”

  “Of course I mean Bethany’s hand. How many severed hands were lying around?”

  “Oh my.”

  “The cops found it, plus the infant, Suzanne. We really fucked up. We left evidence.”

  Suzanne licked her lips. “So what if we did? They’ll never trace it back to us.”

  He picked up a chair and hurled it across the room. “That’s exactly what they’re doing. It’s all over the radio, they’re looking for us. They’re charging us with kidnapping and murder and a host of other things. If they catch us, Suzanne, it’s over. You understand? Completely finished.”

  She looked at the damage the chair had done to the newly papered walls and her mouth thinned. “We’ve been through scrapes before, Gil. We’ve always managed to extricate ourselves.”

  “This is different. They know our names, our faces.”

  “So? We’ll get some plastic surgery, pick a new identity, move to Europe for a while. Maybe the south of France, the Riviera. Cannes or Nice. Oh, could we Gil? I love the Riviera! It’s lovely this time of year. Maybe we could be royalty, a count and countess. Wouldn’t that be fun? Only don’t pick out anything too German sounding, alright? I hate those guttural tones, couldn’t bear it if I had to listen to everyone calling us Gretchen and Heinrich. Sounds like one is spitting up phlegm. Yes, a countess, that would be lovely.”

  He was looking at her with an odd expression. “I don’t think so, Suzanne.”

  “Oh, alright, you party-poop, just a lord and lady.”

  He crossed over and grabbed her by the shoulders, squeezing hard. She made a little moue with her mouth but refrained from complaining. “You don’t get it, do you, you stupid bitch? It’s over. We knew the end was coming, we just didn’t know when. This is it.”

  For the first time, real fear mixed with comprehension in Susanne’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

  “All the signs are here. We’re being persecuted for our beliefs, Suzanne, persecuted by small-minded ninnies who haven’t a clue what The Temple of Seth stands for. Remember the premonitions? Everyone would turn against us, we’d be backed into a corner, forced to surrender to mere mortals.”

  “Unthinkable.”

  “Jason has joined the other side. Our own son.” Gil was bawling like a baby.

  “But –”

  “Don’t deny his guilt. His treachery is clear.” He turned his full attention to Suzanne and spat vehemently. “Even you, my wife, my life partner, are not without blame. Your deception helped me recognize the end.”

  She thought about leading the police to the hidden key, about her momentary lapse in the face of Jake Montclaire’s begging. She swallowed hard. Gil was right, all the signs were there. “When?”

  “Tonight. At the meeting. You got the stuff?”

  She thought about the case of potassium cyanide stored neatly amongst old photo albums and college memorabilia. Suzanne nodded.

  “Tonight we take the final step, the step we’ve been preparing for all these years.”

  “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  The redness had left Gil’s face but the brightness stayed. His skin looked shiny, dewy, almost translucent. His eyes, too, glowed brightly, the eyes of a visionary. He took Suzanne’s hand and began to stroke it. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, and his voice was calm, soothing. “Our work is complete. We performed a great feat for mankind, although we’re too far ahead of our time for people to appreciate it. But they will one day; the history books will vindicate us. Prove we were right, that Satan is the only true God. Don’t be afraid, my dear. Tonight we’ll see Seth, our beloved Maker. Tonight we’ll cross over, and by tomorrow, we’ll be playing in the Garden of the Dark Angels, away from the hypocrisy that plagues and haunts us.”

  **

  Jason huddled the girls together, taking care to keep his voice low. He hadn’t seen any evidence of a listening device but, knowing Gil, he probably had something hidden. Or perhaps, because of the newness of this location, he hadn’t had time yet to set up surveillance. Jason decided to play it safe. “I think I’ve found a way out,” he whispered.

  Amy and Charise looked at him hopefully, Gina eyed him with suspicion and Lauren continued to look at the ceiling. “The door,” he said. “See how it’s set from the inside? If we can loosen the screws, we can take off
the hinges.”

  “Great, let me pass you the screwdriver – oops,” Gina added, smacking her forehead with exaggeration, “must have left my toolbox on the outside.”

  “Gina,” he scowled, “give me a break, will you? I know we don’t have a screwdriver but maybe we could make one.”

  “Out of what? Kryptonite?”

  He frowned at Gina. “I’ve been thinking –”

  “Don’t hurt yourself, brainiac.”

  “Gina,” Charise said, “let him talk. At least he’s coming up with ideas.”

  “Thank you,” Jason said pointedly. “I’ve been thinking that we might be able to dislodge cement from the walls. See over here? It’s softer here, crumbling. If we can find a big enough piece and sharpen it against the wall, we might have a chance.”

  Gina scoffed. “The door screws are pretty rusty, I already checked them myself. We’ll need something stronger than crumbling cement to loosen them.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  “Yeah,” Amy added, shifting on the mattress. Her rear end burned like it was on fire. “At least we’ll be doing something. I’m tired of sitting here, waiting.”

  “Maybe if we all work together,” Charise added.

  They stood up and walked to the walls, probing and prying. Then, in a move that surprised everyone, Lauren stood slowly and walked over to the wall, and with bent fingers, began digging.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” Gina whispered. “The zombie awakes. Maybe there is hope after all.”

  **

  Lunch was simple: cold hot dogs and warm beer. “I promise, when we get out of this, I’ll take you out for a decent meal.” Jake vowed.

  Cari smiled. “Last time I heard that I ended up in creepy bar, surrounded by wannabe devil worshippers, wearing a hooded cape and taking advice from the weirdest bartender I’ve ever met.”

  “Can’t say it’s been dull.”

  “Dull, no. Exhausting, yes. I figure we have two hours before we should head out. Anything you want to do before we nap?”

  He chewed thoughtfully, thinking about the loaded shotgun. “Nope.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to excuse myself and do a little meditating. I need to center myself.”

  “Fine, I’ll tidy up here.”

  Cari left the table, her expression troubled. The aura of danger had escalated, swirling around them like fetid air. She could tell Jake sensed it too, but he remained silent. This is our last chance, she realized. If we don’t find Amy tonight, it will be too late.

  She retreated to the bedroom she’d used as a teenager, locating her Book of Shadows. The tome didn’t soothe her as usual, and this frightened her. Her faith in her craft remained true, but for the first time in her adult life, she worried that witchcraft would fail her. She’d always gathered strength from her calling, always felt it would protect her from peril, but now she wondered if it was enough. Could pure faith stand against evil?

  Cari began by preparing the room. Using chalk, she drew a magic circle that encompassed the bed, then placed lit candles and incense at the four corners. The room immediately took on a soft, eerie quality conducive to meditation. She assembled some objects within easy reach – her pentacle, wand and athame – a double-bladed iron knife with an ebony hilt.

  She stripped naked and centered herself on the bed with legs crossed, willing herself to relax, concentrating on deep cleansing breaths to replace the negative energy with positive. The bed shifted slightly as Daisy joined her mistress, and Cari started to admonish her, but then refrained. The dog obviously sensed her mistress’ mood and sought to comfort. Cari stroked the golden lab’s head. “You feel it, don’t you, girl?”

  Daisy gazed at Cari intently, eyes full of sorrow.

  Cari began the ritual by reaffirming her beliefs, casting aside the doubts that threatened to plague her. She visualized her power as a witch, her power as a woman, and with the athame, gently made a shallow slit along her inner left thigh. A thin streak of blood appeared and she deliberately smeared it between her legs, symbolizing the cleansing power of menstruation.

  Cari reclosed her eyes and began to chant softly. It took longer than usual to achieve the state of consciousness she desired, but when she finally got there, it was profound. Visions swirled through her, images of Amy down low and Skeeter up high. She visualized their safety, willed their own personal magic circles to exist and strengthen.

  Then she concentrated on reinforcing the ring of safety around Jake and herself, adding layer upon layer until it was as thick as steel. It wouldn’t stop bullets but it might protect against deliberate treachery. Then she said her prayers, thanking the Earth Goddess and employing her help.

  When she finished, she felt a strange combination of energization and lethargy, as if her blood had been drained, cleansed and replenished. She opened her eyes slowly, the depths fathomless as they settled on Jake, watching silently at the door.

  His gaze dropped to the blood covering her thighs and he opened his mouth to speak but she silenced him. He groaned with a sound akin to pain, then crossed the room, taking her in his arms.

  She opened herself to him, her final act of giving and receiving power. His clothes joined hers in an untidy heap, and there, on the bed, amidst the flickering candles and sweet scent of incense, under the baleful gaze of Daisy, they became one.

  His intention of wanting to claim her as his own was erased by a potent need so primal it eclipsed everything else. He lost himself in her, probing deeply and repeatedly into her warm, inner sanctuary. Each thrust brought him closer to her soul, and she met him eagerly, blond hair splayed wantonly, limbs wrapping around him like tangled vines, pelvis arched against his groin. A vague part of his brain acknowledged that his previous lovemaking had never been like this, never this powerful. When he climaxed, everything spilled into her, the pent up energy of his abstention, the anguish and frustration of searching for his lost children, the unending depth of his need for her, and she accepted every drop as if it was a gift from Heaven.

  Sated and exhausted, they stayed joined by unspoken agreement. Jake kissed her gently, her lips warm and soft. “You’re mine,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she whispered back, stroking his brow. “And you are mine.”

  “Always.”

  “Forever.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Skeeter was exhausted. After escaping, he ran through the castle, almost colliding into Rat. The teen had apparently grown weary of taking distant pot-shots and now appeared for some close range action. As he strode along, he merrily shot pellets inside the castle, which was Skeeter’s savior. As one pellet smashed a beautiful stained-glass window, Rat paused to appreciate the effect of the raining colored fragments. Thus engaged, his foe slipped nimbly behind him into another corridor, which led to the basement and, ultimately, a way out.

  Lochaven Castle was located in an older section of town, unfamiliar to Skeeter. The surrounding homes were small, yet tidy, with overflowing gardens and tree-lined streets. Skeeter ran to the first house and banged on the door, panting.

  A grey-haired gnome opened it a crack, took one look at the bedraggled youngster with his wild bloodstained face, and skull and dragon t-shirt, and promptly slammed it shut.

  “Please,” Skeeter whispered urgently. “I need help. I need to use your phone.”

  The door remained closed.

  He tried the next house, no answer. On the third, he saw movement flicker behind a gauze curtain and he banged again, crying. “Please help me. Phone the police.” But no one answered.

  He wiped his runny nose on the hem of his dirty shirt, wondering what to do. Why wouldn’t anyone help him? Couldn’t they see he was in trouble?

  Suddenly, Rat’s voice, yelling and taunting. Skeeter took off around the side of the house, ran down the gravel lane and curled up underneath a prodigious bush barricaded by two metal garbage cans. The scent wasn’t too terrible, just a little fishy, and he closed his eyes, praying to
God, praying for his father, praying for his mother, praying for Amy. Praying for the family they used to be.

  He meant to stay in that place for only a while, but the minutes slipped away, and without intending, he fell fast asleep, his tears making muddy tracks in the soil beneath.

  **

  Two hours before the final meeting of The Temple of Seth, Suzanne Vandercamp helped her husband prepare lethal cocktails containing a mix of Welch’s grape juice and potassium cyanide.

  Potassium cyanide, a white powder born from hydrocyanic acid and potassium salts, is a favored poison for mass-suicide. It’s highly effective, relatively accessible and has a lengthy storage life. If an amount near the lethal dose is swallowed, the victim will begin breathing rapidly and clutching his throat as he gasps for air. Dizziness, overwhelming nausea and violent vomiting will overcome him, and his face will flush red as his pulse begins to race uncontrollably. His head will begin to pound brutally as the cyanide seeps into his bloodstream, and before long, his skull will feel like a watermelon being plundered by a jackhammer. His body will twitch and contort spasmodically as his innards are asphyxiated. His red blood cells will fight vainly for oxygen but the poison will prevent them from absorbing it. When death finally occurs, one-to-fifteen minutes later, it is a welcome relief. The grape juice served to mask the faint bitter-almond odor of the poison, making it palatable for both adults and children of the sect.

  Gil mixed and measured, and Suzanne poured nearly one hundred Dixie cups full, then placed them carefully on a wooden table set up expressly for this purpose. Her mind was filled with conflicting thoughts, not the least being how utterly tacky Dixie cups truly were. At the other house were pretty glass flutes – hundreds of them, just waiting. There’d been no time to pack them, no warning. So now, for the final send-off, they were reduced to flimsy paper cups. The newspapers were bound to report on that little detail, and instead of being remembered for her elegance and savoir-faire, Suzanne Vandercamp’s final contribution to humanity would be equated with drinking vessels more commonly used for picnics and bathrooms.